"'Tisn't known for certain that the house was tried," the farmer explained. "'Tis thought that some of the lads was giving the old boy a scare, he having been extra sharp on the poaching this year. All that's known is, he heard some person trying his shutters, and let fly out of his bedroom window with a gun; and what you can build on that I don't see." "You shall though." He began to cross-examine the girl. "At what time that night did your father see the hearse?" "I believe, sir, 'twas soon after eleven. He has a cow, sir, in calf, and went round to the chall to make sure she was all right--" Mr. Noy nodded. "And the hearse was passing--in what direction?" "Towards the church town, sir; or, as you may say, towards St. Neot parish." "Inland, that is?" "Yes, sir. But later on that same night Reub Clyma, up to Taphouse, saw it too; and this time 'twas moving fast and making towards Polperro." "Fits like a puzzle. Is Polperro a seaport town?" he asked the farmer. "A sort of fishing town, sir." "Your nearest? Good. And you reach it by a road running north and south across the coach-road? Good. Now if you wanted to drive to Polperro you could do so across the downs for some distance, eh? before striking this road. Good again. How far?" "You'll excuse me, but I don't know that I rightly take your meaning." "Then we'll go slower. Suppose that you wished to drive towards Polperro over turf, never minding the jolts, and not to strike into the hard road until you were compelled. How far could you contrive to travel in this way?" Farmer Menhennick found a seat and sat scratching his head. "Three miles, maybe," he decided at length. "And what sort of road is this when you strike it?" "Turnpike." "Indeed? And where's the pike?" "At Cann's Gate." "That tells me nothing, I'm afraid; but we'll put the question in another form. Suppose that we are forced at length to leave the turf and fields and strike into the road for Polperro. Now where would this happen? Some way beyond the turnpike, I imagine." "Indeed no, sir: it would be a mile on this side of the pike, or threequarters at the least." "You are sure?" "Sure as I sit here. Why the road goes down a coombe; and before you get near the turnpike, the coombe narrows _so_." The farmer illustrated the V by placing his hands at an angle. Mr. Noy found his snuff-box, took a heavy pinch, inhaled it, and closed his box with a snap. Then he faced the farmer's wife with a low bow.