Judge. But he had not those arms upon him, because you pursued him immediately. He had, according to you, only this old pistol.
Prisoner. I have nothing to say.
Judge. Your domestic, instead of flying into woods, which skirt the road, ran straight forward on the road itself: this, again, is very unlikely.
Prisoner. This is a conjecture I could answer by another conjecture; I can only reason on the facts.
Judge. How far did you pursue him?
Prisoner. I don’t know exactly.
Judge. You said ‘two hundred paces.’
No answer from the prisoner.
Judge. Your domestic was young, active, robust, and tall. He was ahead of you. You were in a carriage, from which you had to descend: you had to take your pistols from a cushion, and then your hammer;—how are we to believe that you could have caught him, if he ran? It is impossible.
Prisoner. I can’t explain it: I think that Rey had some defect in one leg. I, for my part, run tolerably fast.