[image]"AS THE SEAL PLUNGED INTO THE SEA, SAM BROUGHT HIS HAMMER DOWN."Meanwhile, the other animals, scared by the noise, had flung themselves into the water, and were swimming towards the mouth of the tunnel."Well done, young Sam!" said Dick. "You did that famously.""So I did, to be sure," replied Sam, "but I couldn' help it. You shot un, Maister Dick; see his blood."There was a red tinge upon the water."How are we to get him up?" said Dick. "He's a monstrous big fellow.""We'll wait till tide is down and skin him here. Be his body good to eat?""That I don't know; we can try. But the skin is the valuable part of him, and having that we may leave the rest."In two hours the receding tide had left the dead seal on the sand. The boys took out their knives, and, expert in such work, in another half-hour had removed the skin. Their torches were by this time burning low, so they clambered up to the ledge, and carried their implements and booty as quickly as possible through the adit to the foot of the well, and then up to the surface.Vastly pleased with the success of their expedition they set off towards home. The night was very dark, and a thin rain was falling, which increased as they proceeded, until it became a steady downpour. They were tired; their burdens, light enough when they started from home, now seemed to be pounds heavier; the rain beat full in their faces, finding out every crevice between their clothes and their skin; and the ground was rough, covered here with tussocks of grass that squelched under their tread, there with fragments of mining gear which threatened to trip them up. They trudged on in silence, feeling the loneliness and the inclemency of the weather the more keenly because it ensued upon the high excitement of their adventure.As they struck into the path leading by Penwarden's cottage, Sam suddenly declared that he saw a flicker of light to their left, some distance across the moor."I can't see it," said Dick, scarcely looking in the direction indicated, "and it doesn't matter to us. I'm tired; this skin is heavy; I want to get home.""'Tis moving," said Sam a moment later. "Maybe 'tis Maister John comin' back from Lunnon.""He wouldn't come that way. I see it now; 'tis some belated traveller, no doubt.""But the light bean't on the road; 'tis too far away.""Never mind about the light," Dick replied, testily. "Come along."They soon came to one of John Trevanion's new fences, which compelled them to leave the path and seek the high road. In his moody frame of mind Dick resented this bitterly. They now perceived that the light, spread starwise by the rain, was much nearer to them, and presently heard the creaking of wheels and the dull thud of horses' hoofs on the turf. A minute after they had struck the road a closed travelling carriage, drawn by two horses, turned into it from a byway, scarcely more than a bridle path. On the right of the driver there was a single lamp. Catching sight of the two figures on the road, bending forward under their loads, the driver hailed them and pulled up his horses beside them."Hi! can 'ee tell me if this be the right road for Polkerran?" he asked."Iss, fay, right for'ard," answered Sam."And where be the Five Pilchards?""Down-along through village. Better mind the hill, if you be a furriner, 'cos 'tis 'nation steep and twisty.""So be they all, od rake it."Here another voice interposed, and a head showed itself dimly at the carriage window."Vill you—ah! how say it!—vill you embark on ze—ze coach, and, if you please, show ze road?""Drat it all, why will 'ee talk?" cried the driver. "Put yer head inside, for gospel sake. Come up beside me, friends, if you'll do a kindness, and say the word when I do come to the hill. I don't want to break hosses' knees nor my own neck."The boys, glad enough to get a lift, mounted beside the driver, with a tingling curiosity about the passenger inside who spoke in so strange an accent. It was not far to the Towers, and when they came to it Dick asked the driver to stop, and bade Sam get down and carry the sealskin and his share of the other burdens to the house."You bean't a fisher?" said the driver to Dick as Sam was descending. There was a note of anxiety in his voice."I fish, but I'm not what you would call a fisher.""I knowed it by your speech. Well, then, I won't trouble 'ee, sir, this mizzly night," said the man, with some eagerness."No trouble at all. 'Tis not very far.""Well, 'twas to be," muttered the coachman. Dick thought it was an odd thing to say. Still more surprised was he when the driver leant over and extinguished the candle-flame with his fingers. "You see," he explained, "the gentleman inside is terrible bad, met with an accident, as 'a med say.""Bring him to our house, then," said Dick instantly; "my mother will be pleased to do something for him.""Not for gold and di'monds," replied the man quickly. "No, we go to Five Pilchards; 'tis a good enough inn, I've heerd tell."Dick said no more. He wondered who the stranger was, and what brought him to Polkerran, where visitors were rare. The carriage rumbled on slowly; every now and then the driver made the horses walk, though the road here was level. It seemed to Dick that his attitude and manner were those of a man intently listening.They came to the spot where a short drive led from the road to the Dower House, which could just be discerned, a black mass in the rain. "That villain has not returned, then," thought Dick, seeing no light in the house.At this moment there came upon their ears the clattering sound of several horses from the foot of the hill which they had nearly reached. The driver jerked his horses to a standstill, looked from side to side, and seeing the carriage-drive, to which there was no gate, wheeled the horses round and drove in, not on the hard road, but on the bordering grass."This is a private road," said Dick, wondering."'Twas my thought. These be ticklish times for travellers, and 'tis best not to meet strange riders in the dark. I'll bide till they be past, and then go on again."He drew up under the trees about forty yards along the drive, within a few yards of the house. Dick heard him breathing heavily. The clattering of hoofs drew nearer: the driver seemed to hold his breath; then, when the horsemen had passed the end of the drive at a fast trot, he heaved a sigh of relief. He waited until the sounds had died away in the distance, and wheeled the horses round. There was not room on the grass for the carriage to turn completely, and the wheels made a crunching sound on the pebbly road. The side of the carriage was still turned to the house when the door opened, and John Trevanion appeared on the threshold, holding a candle above his head, and peering into the dark.CHAPTER THE NINTHDoubledick's Midnight Guests"Who's that?" cried Trevanion.Dick, being on the offside, was concealed by the driver's burly form, but he shrank back against the front of the carriage. He did not wish to meet his cousin's eyes at that moment, and began to wonder why he was on the box in the rain when he might have ridden inside."Axin' yer pardon, sir," replied the coachman, "I be afeard I've took the wrong road. 'Tis 'nation dark, and my lamp has gone out.""What was that clattering of horses I heard?""Ah, I can't tell 'ee that. I didn't see no one. Maybe 'twas riding-officer. I axe yer pardon for disturbin' ye, sir, this terrible bad night and all, and I'll drive on to village.""You're a stranger, aren't you? Have you got anybody in your carriage?""Never a soul, sir. The truth is, I've lost my way, and shan't be sorry to get out o' this pesty rain.""'Tis heavier now. Well, good-night. You'll find a warm room in the inn at the foot of the hill, if the innkeeper hasn't raked out the fire and gone to bed. Good-night."He retreated with his guttering candle into the house and shut the door, the coachman driving back to the high road. Dick was mystified. Why had the man denied having a passenger? Why had he extinguished his light and turned out of the road on hearing horsemen? The driver said nothing, except to grumble under his breath at the weather, and Dick refrained from questioning him, thinking that some light might be thrown on the mystery when they reached the inn.The carriage had just wheeled into the road when Dick felt a touch on his right arm. He looked round: the passenger was leaning forward out of the window."How is ze name of zat man—him zat hold ze light?" asked the stranger eagerly.Dick hesitated; then, seeing no reason for not answering, said: "That is Mr. John Trevanion.""Tre—vat say you, if you please?""Trevanion.""Trevanion!" repeated the questioner, giving a strange intonation to the name. "Ah! Shank you."He withdrew his head into the carriage. Dick heard the driver mutter:"Why can't he clap a stopper on his tongue, the stunpoll!"He drove slowly down the steep winding hill."There's the inn," said Dick presently. "Doubledick isn't abed, late as it is."A light shone through the red blind of the inn parlour. The door was open, and Doubledick stood in the doorway, illuminated by the light behind. In spite of the heavy rain several men, among whom Dick distinguished the elder Tonkin, were grouped about the door. They had heard the wheels of the oncoming carriage, and there were signs of excitement among them. As the vehicle drew up, Tonkin stepped forward, thrust his head in, uttered a smothered exclamation, then opened the door hastily. The eyes of all the men were fixed on the figure that emerged, so that Dick on the box was not noticed. A short, broad man, clad in a long overcoat, his cocked hat pulled low over his brow, descended from the carriage and went quickly into the inn, the men following him. The door was shut. Feeling that he was in a somewhat false position, Dick seized the opportunity to slip down from his seat and withdraw round the angle of the wall, where a flight of steps ascended between it and the wall of the opposite house. He heard Tonkin speaking to the driver; the carriage rumbled over the cobbles, not returning up the hill, but going through the village in the opposite direction. Immediately afterwards the inn door was reopened, the heavy boots of the fishers clumped along the street, and in a few moments nothing was to be heard except the pattering of the rain.Dick felt a little sore at having to trudge back afoot, without a word of thanks. He was drenched to the skin. Glancing behind as he began to climb the hill, he saw that the light had now disappeared from the inn-room. The whole village was in darkness. More than ever dispirited and mystified, he plodded along. Apparently the carriage had been expected. He could not help connecting it with the horsemen whom the driver had been so anxious to avoid, and, remembering the strange accent of the passenger, it suddenly flashed upon him that the man might be one of Boney's spies, whom he had unwittingly helped to escape pursuers. But on reflection this idea seemed untenable, because a spy was hardly likely to appear at this remote part of the coast, and he could not believe that the smugglers of Polkerran, like those of the south-eastern counties, had any treasonable communications with the French ogre.He was still pondering on the baffling occurrence when the sound of horses trotting again fell on his ear. In a few moments he had to stand aside to avoid being knocked down by the first of half-a-dozen horsemen, whom, dark as it was, he recognised by their headdress to be soldiers. Their uniforms were covered by their riding cloaks. He was seen as he shrank back: a rough voice called "Halt!" and the horsemen reined up."Stand forth, in the King's name, and answer for your life," said the same voice.Dick went towards the foremost horseman."Who are you?" he was asked."My name is Trevanion," he replied."Ah! Same as the gentleman up the hill," cried the soldier. "Now, tell us quick; have you seen a coach, wagon, or other four-wheeled piece of machinery hereabouts?""Yes; a two-horsed carriage drove down to the inn yonder about twenty minutes ago.""What road did she come?""This very road that you're on.""Confusion on it! Then how did we miss the thing? But there, no matter; we'll after it and catch the villain."Without more delay the sergeant and his men clattered off down the hill, relieving Dick of the necessity of giving explanations, which he felt might be somewhat awkward. Being now thoroughly excited, he forgot his fatigue and wetness, and ran after the dragoons to see what happened when they reached the inn. He was but a minute or two behind them. The village was still in complete darkness; the rain had ceased, and the moon showed her rim through a rift in the scudding clouds.The troopers were at the door of the inn, five still on horseback; the sixth had dismounted and was rapping on the door with the hilt of his sword."Hang me, will he never open?" cried the man, when repeated blows drew no response."Must be a rare sleeper, to be sure," said another."I'll bust the lock with a shot from my carbine if he don't open soon," cried the angry sergeant. "This is some jiggery-pokery, sure as I'm alive."He thundered again on the door, calling upon the innkeeper with many imprecations to open in the King's name. At last there was the sound of a casement opening above. Looking up, the troopers saw first a blunderbuss, then an arm, and finally a head in a white nightcap."Who be that a-bangin' and smitin' at an honest man's door, when he be abed and asleep?" demanded Doubledick's voice angrily."'Tis for you to answer questions, not to axe 'em," said the sergeant. "Now, speak like a true man, and hide nothing, or the King will have your miserable head. Did a carriage come down the hill a while ago?""Oh, if ye be King's men I bean't afeard o' ye. A carriage? Why, to be sure 'a did, a half-hour ago, or maybe more.""And where is it now?""There's a question to axe a poor simple soul wi' only two eyes. How be I to know that, captain, on a dark night like this?""Be hanged to you! You know whether it stayed or went on, and you'd best speak up without any shilly-shally.""True. I do know that. The carriage went on, to be sure.""Which way? Speak up.""Well, I can't 'zackly say, but 'twarn't up the hill, so I reckon 'twas through village towards Redruth. Iss, I reckon 'twas that.""And the man inside?""Daze me if ever I knowed of any man inside. Driver had lost his way, seemingly; 'a was like a squashed turmit in the rain: and when he'd took summat to comfort his innards, off-along he drove. Warn't here five minutes, no, nor yet four.""'Tis treason-felony and hangman's job if you're not speaking the truth," said the sergeant. "Confusion take him, we'll have to ride on. Look here, Tom; you stay here with Matthew and keep your eye on the door. The rest of us will ride on after the carriage, and come back to you if we catch our man.""What rascal of a deserter be you a-chasin' by night, captain?" cried Doubledick."No deserter, but a prisoner that escaped from Plymouth. We've been after him all day and all night, and smite me if it don't seem he has given us the slip. Come on, men."The sergeant rode off with three of his men, the other two dismounting and taking up their stand at the door."I reckon I can go back to my warm bed now, eh, sojers?" said Doubledick. "But ye're sappy wet, poor fellers, and tired too, to be sure, hikin' arter a runaway prisoner all day and all night. Bide a minute till I've pulled a few garments on my cold limbs, and I'll come down and give 'ee summat to warm yerselves."The nightcap disappeared, a candle was lighted, and in a few minutes Doubledick came to the door with two steaming beakers of hot brandy and water, which the troopers accepted gratefully.Dick, from the shadow of an alley, had seen and heard all that went on. The soldiers chatted with the innkeeper for a while; then he retired into the inn, shut the door, and put out the light.A minute or two afterwards Dick saw a figure stealing down the steps at the side of the inn, peep round the corner, and then retreat hastily. He supposed it was one of the men whom he had seen at the door previously, but was unable to distinguish his features, owing to the deep shadows thrown on the alley-steps by the moon. To avoid discovery himself, he shrank back against the blind wall. It must now, he thought, be nearly midnight; but, wet though he was, he determined not to leave the spot until he had seen how the matter ended. Having been behind the wall when the carriage drove away, he was not sure whether the passenger had re-entered it or not. The hurried manner in which the man had gone into the inn was not that of one who intended coming forth again. Doubledick had lied when he said that he knew nothing of the occupant of the carriage; yet why should he harbour an escaped prisoner, who was almost certainly a Frenchman? The mystery was deeper than ever.It was perhaps an hour later, and Dick was on the point of going home, when the silence of the night was again broken by the sharp ringing clatter of hoofs. The sergeant and his three men returned, a white mist rising from their horses' backs."We caught the carriage," said the sergeant, as he rode up, "but 'twas empty as a sucked egg. The driver said he'd lost his way on the moor coming from Truro, and was going on home to Redruth. Have you seen anything?""Not a thing," replied one of the troopers at the door."Well, we must search the inn. What a miserable fool I was not to ask that young feller if there was any one in the carriage when he saw it!"Dick hesitated for a moment. Should he tell what he knew? A French prisoner was an enemy of his country; might it not be his duty to help the dragoons to capture him? But reflecting that the man might be nothing worse than a smuggler, in which case to inform against him would only embitter the inimical feeling of the villagers against him, besides being an ungracious act in itself, he decided to say nothing.After a long-continued knocking and the expenditure of much abusive language, Doubledick once more opened the door."Ye'll gie me the rheumatiz and send me to my grave," he said with a whine. "What be ye rampin' men o' war wantin' now?""We're going to search your inn for that there mounseer, my fine feller, and you'd best take it quiet, or you'll find yourself strapped to one of our hosses and carried with all your bones a-rattling afore the Colonel.""Search, if ye must. Name it all, why should I hinder 'ee! Turn the inn topsy-versy, ye'll find nothing but maybe a rat or a cockroach."The sergeant and two of the troopers entered. They searched the tap-room, the inn-parlour, kitchen, cellars, bedrooms, lofts; rummaged cupboards, empty barrels, a clock-case, the copper in the scullery, an overturned water butt in the backyard; all to no purpose."He's not here, that's certain," said the sergeant at last, dashing the perspiration from his brow. "We must have overshot the villain somehow. Plague on it! We shall have to ride back to Truro and try to get on his tracks, or the Colonel will be in a rare passion.""I won't ask 'ee to stay, brave men," said Doubledick, "knowing what terrible rages noble officers do fly into. But a nibleykin o' real old stingo won't do 'ee no harm, and ye can drink confusion to Boney. Hee! hee!"All the soldiers accepted the liquor with alacrity, and the two who had already tasted its quality winked at each other, not acquainting their comrades with their previous pleasurable experience. Smacking their lips and declaring that the innkeeper was a real good-hearted fellow, they remounted and rode up the hill. Doubledick watched them until they were out of sight, a leer of triumph on his face. Dick heard him chuckle as he shut the door and shuffled up the stairs. The light was extinguished, and Dick, vexed with himself for remaining so long and so unprofitably, set off homeward in the track of the dragoons.A few minutes after he had left, a heavily-cloaked figure—the same that Dick had seen a while before—stole down the steps at the side of the inn, and, looking round cautiously, approached the door and rapped six times upon it, pausing a brief while after every second tap. Immediately after the sixth, the casement above opened, and Doubledick, looking out, said in a hoarse whisper:"Be that you, Zacky?""No, 'tis I, John Trevanion. Come down and let me in, Doubledick.""Good sakes, I didn' know 'ee was to home, Maister John. Thought 'ee was still in Lunnon town. A pretty stoor there's been to-night. Bide a minute, sir."He lit his candle, descended, let Trevanion in, and barred the door behind him."I never thought you were such a fool," said Trevanion, angrily eyeing the nightcapped and nightgowned innkeeper. "What on earth possessed you to harbour Delarousse?""Chok' it all, why shouldn't I?" replied Doubledick truculently. "Bean't he a good friend of ourn? Who better?""Confound you, he's a Frenchman, and a runaway prisoner. The soldiers will get on his track again, and your ridiculous folly will be the ruin of us all. You have no business to run such risks."In his anger Trevanion raised his voice."Risks, do 'ee say? Jown me if you hain't run risks yerself, Maister John, and a deal bigger; hee! hee!""Silence!" shouted Trevanion. "Don't provoke me, or upon my soul and body I'll——"The threat died on his lips, for at this moment a door opened at the further end of the passage in which they stood, and there appeared the short, rotund form of the passenger who had descended from the carriage some hours before. The overcoat and the cocked hat were gone; the Frenchman wore the rough fustian, marked with a broad arrow, in which the authorities arrayed prisoners. His eyes gleamed with the fire of hatred as he looked full at Trevanion, who on his part returned glare for glare, but whose countenance wore a strange expression, which Doubledick, watching him, could not fathom."It is you," said the Frenchman, in his own tongue. "You, Robinson—or Trevanion, is it not so?""You be known to each other, then?" said Doubledick. "Hee! hee! Why don't 'ee shake hands, like friends?""Silence!" cried the Frenchman sternly. "You go," he added, addressing Doubledick in English. "I haf somezink to say to zis monsieur—Trevanion."He took the candle from the astonished inn-keeper's hand, and motioned to Trevanion to enter the parlour. Following him, he shut and bolted the door, leaving Doubledick in the dark passage. The innkeeper promptly knelt down and put his ear to the keyhole, but since he knew almost nothing of French, he understood little of the ensuing dialogue, which was conducted in that tongue."You see I have found you, monsieur—Trevanion," said Delarousse. "You thought, no doubt, that you had escaped me when you landed that dark night. But you should not have come to Polkerran; that was a foolish step for one so clever to take. You would have been caught, but for a sudden alarm from the shore; yet it mattered little that I had to sail away then, for, as you see, I have found you—cheat, thief, scoundrel!"Trevanion did not flinch as the Frenchman hissed these words at him. He thrust his hand into the breast pocket of his cloak."Aha!" laughed Delarousse. "You have a pistol? I have not. You would like to shoot me, but you dare not. I should like to shoot you, but I have no weapon, and, equally, if I had, I dare not. I will not hang for you: so you deal in this country with men that kill others, is it not so? But I tell you, Trevanion—that is a name I do not forget—I tell you that you shall not escape. It is not the time now, but there will come a day when you shall repent of having deceived and robbed the man who trusted you. Once more I tell you what you are: cheat, thief, scoundrel!""Pretty words, monsieur," said Trevanion with a sneer. "You had better take warning. This country is not safe for Frenchmen. You have escaped from prison, by some piece of imbecile folly——""Not so," interposed Delarousse. "It was by the skill of good friends, who are loyal to one that has done business loyally with them. They would have taken me to Roscoff in their lugger, and tried to dissuade me when I said that I should come here. But they helped me. One of them risked his neck to drive me here, and my true friends have guarded me. I came to assure myself that the man who called himself Robinson lives here in this village. I saw you from the carriage when you stood at your door; I learnt your real name, and now, once more I say it, I will wait my time, and you shall pay for your knavery.""I care nothing for your threats. You have been lucky to escape once; you will not escape a second time. Set foot on this shore again and the whole country will rise at you. Expect no mercy from me.""Mercy! From you! Mon Dieu, is it you that talk of mercy?"He broke off, and let out a gust of harsh, sardonic laughter. Then, thrusting himself forward, he cried:"Bah! I spit at you! When all men know you as I know you there will be no talk of mercy. Are you fool as well as villain? Go! Return to your fine house. Flourish on my money. It shall be for a season, and then!——"Trevanion bit his lip. His expression told of a struggle for self-control. He glared at the Frenchman for a few moments; then, with a hollow laugh, he moved towards the door."Do your worst," he said, turning with his hand on the bolt. "I am in England; I defy you; and, by heaven! I promise you ten feet of English rope as a spy 'if you dare to show yourself here again."He drew back the bolt, causing Doubledick to scuttle like a rat along the passage. A mocking laugh followed Trevanion as he strode from the inn.Before there was the least hint of dawn in the sky, a man, unrecognisable in oilskins and sou'-wester, stole from the house next to the inn, where he had been concealed when the dragoons made their search, and walked rapidly to the jetty. Tonkin's lugger, theIsaac and Jacob, lay alongside. Delarousse stepped on board; the vessel cast off; and by the time that the mass of the villagers were awake, the guest, whose presence few had known, was several leagues nearer to the French shore.But the departure of the lugger had not been wholly unobserved. In the little white cottage on the cliff, Joe Penwarden had enjoyed a full night's sleep, as he usually did when the moon was up. The sound of horses on the high road did not reach him, and he was ignorant of the strange happenings in the village. But the moon was in its last quarter; the "darks" would soon return, and with them the activity of the smugglers might be expected to be resumed. The cargoes were sometimes brought from Roscoff in French luggers, sometimes in theIsaac and Jacob, and Penwarden was accustomed to watch the sailings of Tonkin's vessel. On this particular morning he woke early, and after he had kindled a fire, he rested his telescope on the window-sill to take a look round while the kettle was boiling. He soon spied the well-known lugger scudding along under full sail."So you be at it again, Zacky," he murmured with a chuckle, as he shut the telescope. "Well, please God, I'll be ready for 'ee."CHAPTER THE TENTHThe Fire Bell at the TowersNext day the escape of Jean Delarousse, smuggler and privateer, was the talk of the countryside. The dragoons had called at the Towers and roused the Squire from bed, supposing that he was a magistrate and would assist them. Then they rode for several miles across the moor until they came to Sir Bevil Portharvan's house. That gentleman promised to raise the hue and cry next day, and called up his servants to ask if any of them had seen a carriage cross the moor that evening. The groom declared that as he rode back from an errand in Truro he had seen a moving light some distance to the left, concluding that it probably proceeded from a belated carrier's cart on the way to Polkerran. On this the troopers galloped back, and seeing a light in the Dower House they called there and acquainted John Trevanion with their errand. He guessed at once that the fugitive had been in the carriage which had turned into his drive, and inwardly cursed his ill-luck in missing the opportunity of laying by the heels a man whose recapture would have rejoiced him; but having reasons of his own for not disclosing his knowledge of the man, he forbore to mention the earlier incident, and contented himself with wishing the pursuers success. When they had gone he cloaked himself and followed them down the hill, being but a few hundred yards behind Dick, whom he did not see in the darkness and the twists and turns of the road.There was not a man in the village but suspected that the Frenchman had got away on Tonkin's lugger; but not one of them would have said a word to betray him. Delarousse was not an enemy, but a friend with whom they had profitable dealings. When Sir Bevil rode down and questioned Doubledick and others, it was clear to him from their manner that they would give no information; and guessing, when he heard that Tonkin had sailed early that morning, that the Frenchman had gone with him, he was rather relieved than otherwise, for, like all the gentry around, he bought his liquor cheap, and was never depressed when the revenue officers were outwitted.Two days passed. Sam Pollex reported that there was a subdued air of excitement in the village. Mr. Polwhele, the riding-officer, was seen speaking to Penwarden, and the revenue cutter, which had been absent for some time, once more anchored in the little harbour. Mr. Mildmay did not come ashore: he seldom did so during the smuggling season; but one of his men trudged up the hill to Penwarden's cottage, and did not return. These facts made Dick tingle with excitement: but the Squire had forbidden him to go near the smugglers again, so that he was unable to keep watch for the run which he, like everyone else in Polkerran, expected to take place.On the third morning, when Dick was tramping over the cliff with his gun towards a cleft where he had heard that a pair of choughs had nested, he saw Penwarden smoking on the bench beside his cottage door."Morning to 'ee, Maister Dick," he said."Good morning, Joe. You look very spry," replied Dick genially."Well, and I feel spry, to be sure. Haven't 'ee heard?""Heard what?""Why, how we brought up the smugglers wi' a round turn last night.""Did you? Tell me about it, Joe. I wish I had seen it, but Father won't let me out of the house at night now.""Why for, maister?""Because I got home very late the other night, and he's afraid I shall get my head broken, I think, now that the folks are so set against us.""'Tis a very wise commandment of the Squire. Well, I'll tell 'ee. Never was they so flambustered afore. When I seedIsaac and Jacobgoin' off so merry t'other morning, I guessed she wouldn't come back empty, the wind favourin' and all. So what do I do but put on my considerin' cap——""That means a pipe and a bowl of rum, doesn't it?" said Dick with a laugh."I won't say but it do. Thinks I, now where will they try to run their cargo? Tonkin went off in a 'nation hurry, and the reason o't you know as well as I, but we won't speak o' that. There warn't time for him to fix up with the shoremen, leastways with many of 'em, afore he went, so thinks I, Zacky won't try to carry his kegs inland. What then? Why, she'd sink 'em somewheres off the coast, and let 'em lay till he gets a chance o' liftin' 'em. I've knowed a crop o' goods lay for a month afore they could be lifted.""Doesn't it spoil the spirits?" asked Dick."It do, if the tubs lay too long. Then the spirits be stinkibus and fit for nothing. Howsomever, they'll sink 'em, thinks I, and what's to be the place? Well, I mind that ten year or more ago they dropped a big crop just beyond St. Cuby's Cove, and got 'em clean away in two nights, while Mr. Curgenven was playin' cat and mouse miles down the coast. Says I to myself, that's the very place.""But how did you know it ten years ago?""By one or two things I noticed when I went a-rambling at foot of cliffs; trifles I could hardly tell 'ee of. That's the very place, says I, so I has a little talk with Mr. Polwhele, and he made it known to Mr. Mildmay, and betwixt us we hitched up a pretty scheme to circumvent 'em. And I was right, and wrong too, as you'll see."Well, we sent over to Plymouth for a half-troop of dragoons, and put them in Penruddock's empty farmhouse on the moor yonder. They came quiet last night, and not a soul knowed about 'em. You see, 'twas only my calcerlation as Tonkin wouldn't try a run, and 'twas best to be on the safe tack, as you may say. Wi' the dragoons on shore, and Mr. Mildmay at sea, we reckoned we'd spoil their game, whether 'twas sinkin' or runnin'. When 'twas dark, we brought the sojers down to shore, and put 'em among the rocks on each side of where I thought 'twould happen. I had a sort o' suspicion that the smugglers had a hiding-place somewhere along shore thereabouts, though I'd never been able to find it.""What made you suspect that?""Because we grappled for the sunk crop two days arter 'twas sunk, but 'twas gone; yet 'twas more than a week arterwards afore the stuff was carr'd into the country, so it must ha' been hid somewhere. Well, we had waited some hours, and the cutter had sailed away down the coast to put 'em off the scent, when just afore six bells we heard the creakin' o' the lugger's gear, and I knowed I was right. At the same time the fellers come creepin' round the cliff from the village. 'Twas to be a run arter all. Our plan was to let 'em get warm to work, and not pounce on 'em till we'd seed where their hiding-place was. Mr. Mildmay meant to fetch about and come on 'em from seaward, while the sojers took 'em from landwards."Drown it all, 'twas ruined—ruined, I say; but 'twas not so bad as that neither—'twas almost ruined, by a sappy landlubber of a sojer. The unloadin' was goin' on as merry as you please when this soft stunpoll of a chap let out a sneeze fit to blow yer gaff off. 'Twas all up then; no good waiting for Mr. Mildmay; the smugglers' look-outs heard the tishum and gave the alarm. Mr. Polwhele blew his whistle for the attack, and we pounced out from our lairs, sojers and tidesmen, and dashed upon 'em from two sides at once."Some of 'em dropped their tubs like hot taters, and slipped off in the darkness. But the rest stood their ground like men, and there was a tidy little tumble, pistols cracking, cutlasses flashing——""How could they flash in the dark?" said Dick."You could hear 'em if you couldn't see 'em, and I don't care who the man is, I call that flashin'. There was some pretty wounds dinted on both sides, but as 'ee med think, the sojers' swordplay was a trifle more learned than the free-traders', and arter some time we King's men got the better o't, and they couldn't stand against us no longer. But that sneeze: why couldn't the feller clap it under for five minutes more? We catched nine of the smugglers, and laid them tied hand and foot on the beach. But the rest got away, and drown it all, Tonkin was one of 'em. I knowed un by his size, and a sojer and I and some more had him betwixt us, but he let out with those sledge-hammer fists of his, spun a sojer this way and a tidesman that, and by long and short broke his moorings and swam out to the lugger. If that sneeze hadn't come so soon Mr. Mildmay would have been there with the cutter, and we should ha catched the whole crew. But 'twas not to be. By the time the cutter fetched up, the lugger was well out to sea, and we lost her. But we've got the nine men, who'll have to choose betwixt gaol and the King's service, and I've chalked the broad arrow on twenty-four tubs, which be now half-way to the King's store at St. Ives.""And did you discover the hiding-place?""Chok' it all, we did not. Maybe there's no such thing. But 'twas a proper tit-for-tat for the knock they give me, and I reckon 'twill be some time afore they fly their colours again.""'Tis the biggest haul you've ever made, isn't it?" asked Dick."We've got more tubs afore, but never so many men. I'm a deal more cheerful in my mind than I used to be. We are doing the King's work better in these parts than 'twas done in Mr. Curgenven's time, and I hope them above will remember it."Dick went on. He was pleased for the old man's sake that he was so well succeeding in his duty; but at the same time was full of misgiving as to the hatred his energy would breed among the village folk.When he returned later in the day from a vain quest for the choughs, Sam Pollex told him that the village was seething with rage, and everybody was asking what had become of Doubledick. He was not among the nine men who had been carted to Plymouth; search had been made for his dead body on the shore; it was known that he had been among the tub-carriers, but nobody had seen him since the fight.The mystery was solved at nightfall. The inn-keeper, dressed as a peaceable fisherman, trudged into the village with a fat goose on his back, and declared with a wink that he had been on a short visit to his friend Farmer Nancarrow, five miles distant. His cronies knew that Doubledick had adopted this course as a blind to the revenue officers if they made an inquisitive visit to his inn. However strong their suspicions, they could not proceed against him with any chance of success. They were in the same difficulty in regard to Tonkin, whom none could swear to, his face having been blackened. Nor could it be proved even that it was his lugger which had brought the cargo. When theIsaac and Jacobcame into the harbour next day and was boarded by the revenue officers, it contained nothing but a few hundredweight of fish; and though grappling operations were conducted in St. Cuby's Cove, and for some distance on each side of it, no discovery of sunken tubs was made.It was a fact, often remarked on in after days by the Polkerran folk, that the only spectator on the jetty when Tonkin's lugger put in—exclusive of the revenue officers, a toothless old fisher, Ike Pendry's sweetheart, and a handful of children—was Mr. John Trevanion. He seemed to be in the top of good humour; joked with Mr. Mildmay, gave the old fisher a plug of tobacco, favoured Marty Bream with an admiring glance, and chucked the children under the chin. When the lieutenant's examination was concluded, and Tonkin came ashore, a free man, but under suspicion, Mr. Trevanion had a word for him too, asked to see his catch, and bought some of the finest of the fish. Then with a nod to Mr. Mildmay he strolled with easy gait up the hill.That Tonkin himself, an hour or two later, should carry his fish to the Dower House was natural enough, but it was not perhaps quite so natural that, having delivered them to Susan for transmission to the cook, he should have been asked to step into the house and taken to the master's own room. Nor was it likely, when he was let out at the front door by Mr. Trevanion an hour later, that the conversation which had passed between them in the interim had for its subject nothing but fish. Nobody in Polkerran knew of this visit, or some intelligent person might have suspected that it had a connection with a remarkable change that came about in the villagers' manner of regarding Monsieur Jean Delarousse. Hitherto they had looked upon him as a keen man of business, with whom it was as safe as it was honourable to have dealings of a free-trade nature. But from that day they cherished a sour distrust of him; they resolved to do business with him no longer, and to transfer their custom to another merchant of Roscoff, whose name is of no importance in this history. In this transference they followed the lead of Tonkin, blindly—all but Doubledick, who swam with the current, indeed, so far as outward appearances went; but in the privacy of his own cunning mind, buzzing still with the recollection of what he had heard through the keyhole of his parlour door, indulged in speculations of a very tantalising nature, and wondered what Maister John's little game was.Whether the relation of cause and effect existed between this meeting of Trevanion and Tonkin, and an event that took place a few hours later at the Towers, is a matter on which the reader may presently form his own conclusion.Dick had gone to bed a little earlier than usual, tired out after a long tramp over the moor in search of wild fowl. His room faced the sea, and he had left his window open, as his practice was except in stormy weather. In the dead of night he suddenly found himself awake, and wondered why, for he had not been dreaming, nor was he conscious of having heard a sound. But in a few seconds he was aware of an unusual smell, that appeared to be wafted through the window on the sea breeze. It was the smell of burning wood. He leapt out of bed, ran to the casement, and looked out over a row of outhouses that extended for some yards from the dwelling towards the cliff. One glance was sufficient. The tool-house at the furthermost end was on fire.Quickly pulling on his breeches, he ran to the adjoining room, occupied by Sam, hauled the snoring boy from his bed, shook him vigorously, and cried—"The tool-house is on fire! Run to the turret and pull the bell. Quick! The breeze is off the sea, and we shall have the whole place in a blaze."Then he rushed to Reuben's room on the lower floor, wakened the old man, and told him to fill every bucket he could find with water from the well. Lastly, he ran to his parents, breaking the news gently so as not to terrify his mother. By this time the alarm bell was clanging its quick strokes out into the night.Dick ran out of the house to the well-head near the dismantled stables, where Reuben already had two buckets filled and was still pumping vigorously. He caught up the buckets, hurried to the conflagration, and flung the water on the flames. But it was clear that they had got such a hold upon the shed that to extinguish them with water laboriously pumped from the well would be impossible. The wind was steadily carrying the fire toward the main building, and unless the blaze could be checked within a few minutes, the old place was doomed.To fetch more water would, Dick saw, be a waste of time. What could be done? Between the burning tool-shed and the dwelling-house was a long wooden structure that contained the brew-house and a shed in which Reuben kept vegetables, grain for the pigs, and other materials. Dick remembered that the brew-house, though substantially built, was worm-eaten, and, like the rest of the Towers, had not been repaired within memory. Acting on an idea which had suddenly struck him, he ran at full speed to the scullery, brought thence a rope and, returning, made his way with it through the smoke into the brew-house, and attached it firmly to one of the stout timbers supporting the roof.The Squire had now come upon the scene."We must pull down the brew-house, Father," cried Dick. "'Tis the only chance to prevent the flames from spreading."Together they hauled upon the rope. The timber did not give an inch. They summoned Reuben to assist them, but the oak, worm-eaten though it was, resisted their united efforts."Once more! Pull all together," cried Dick in despair. The post did not move."Ha, Squire!" shouted a voice behind, "I see what you are about. 'Tis a good notion. Give me a hold.""Polwhele, 'tis you. We'll be glad of your arm.""Did you ride, sir?" cried Dick eagerly."I did," replied the riding-officer. "Egad! I see your meaning. My horse is hitched to the fence. I'll bring him in a second."He ran off, returning soon with his horse, which pranced and snorted when it came within the smoke and heat. Mr. Polwhele and Dick knotted the rope to the animal's collar, while the Squire covered its eyes with his coat. They turned its head away from the flames, and smote its flanks. It started forward, almost escaping from the grasp of Mr. Polwhele, who held it by the bridle. The post, already weakened by the previous straining, gave at last, and a portion of the roof fell in with a crash. The same operation was performed on a similar post in the opposite corner. This was brought down at the first pull, and all that remained of the brew-house was a heap of laths, beams, tiles, and broken utensils.They proceeded then to smother the ruins with water and earth, paying no heed to the blazing tool-house. After some twenty minutes the flames began to subside; they poured more water, as quickly as it could be drawn, on the glowing ruins, and had the satisfaction of seeing that the demolition of the brew-house had been effective. The fire spread no further; the Towers was saved.Panting and perspiring with their exertions, the four men stood for a while in silence, watching the gradual dwindling of the flames."That bell may stop," cried Mr. Polwhele suddenly. "'Tis well pulled, whoever is doing it, but to little good, it seems. 'Pon my soul, I'm the only man that has come to its call.""Ah! You see how things are with me," said the Squire bitterly. "Not a soul cares whether the Towers burns to the ground, and I and mine in it. I remember, forty years ago, when the place took fire, the bell brought the whole village to our help. Now they'll lie abed and laugh to think I'm homeless.""'Tis a disgrace and a scandal," cried the riding-officer, "and I'll tell them so. The idiots, to suppose you would inform on them! I'll set that right, Squire; I blame myself for not doing it before, but I believed they would come to their senses.""You will waste your breath, Polwhele. Don't attempt it for me. I could tell you one way to dash their enmity, but that's impossible.""What is it?""Send John Trevanion where he came from. 'Tis he that is poisoning folks' minds against us; yes, 'tis he."At this point Dick returned from the house, whither he had been to stop the ringing of the bell. Sam came with him."Now, young Sam," said his father wrathfully, "'twas you that started this blaze, I'll be bound, wi' yer mischief and jiggery. I'll leather 'ee, that I will.""Be choked if I did!" was Sam's indignant cry. "Why do 'ee say it, Feyther? You think because I break a dish now and again that I do all the mischief, but I don't care who the man is, I hain't been nigh tool-house or brew-house this mortal day.""Then who did it? Tell me that.""I can't tell what I don't know, but if I med put a meanin' to it, I'd say 'twas done by the same hands as cut our lines and set our boat adrift, be drowned to 'em.""By heaven, I see it!" cried the Squire, smiting one fist with the other. "'Tis part of the scheme, Polwhele. They will stick at nothing. Penwarden caught young Tonkin cutting Dick's lines, as you know, and I thrashed him. They avenge him by firing my house. I'll clap them in jail; unpopular as I am, the justices can't refuse to punish such a crime.""You've no proof, Squire," said Mr. Polwhele. "You can't arrest the whole village on suspicion. And now I think of it, if it is as you say, there is no need to suppose your cousin is at the bottom of it. You have no proof."The Squire was silent. Mr. Polwhele's view was no doubt that which would be taken by the majority of people. Mr. Trevanion was conscious of the weakness of his position, and regretted that in his impulsiveness and resentment he had spoken so freely. The only facts upon which his conviction of his cousin's venomous treachery depended were the purchase of the mortgages and the subsequent fencing-in of the acquired property, and neither singly nor in combination were these strong enough to justify his accusation before reasonable people."Well, well," said the Squire at last, "I may be wrong. I say no more about it. But this persecution has gone far enough, and 'tis time it was stopped, though how to stop it I know no more than the dead.""I'll see what I can do, Squire. The Towers is saved, and glad I am of it. 'Tis to be hoped the wretches will try their tricks no more."He mounted and rode away, the Squire having warmly thanked him for his assistance. The four inmates of the Towers then returned to their beds."You did well, Dick," said the Squire as they parted. "'Twas a good thought of yours to pull down the posts; without it we might have been burnt out. We'll hold fast to the old place a while longer, my lad."To his wife he related all that had happened, and mentioned what Mr. Polwhele had said about his suspicion of John Trevanion."I've no proof, that's true; but in my heart I know it; time will show whether I'm right or wrong."
[image]"AS THE SEAL PLUNGED INTO THE SEA, SAM BROUGHT HIS HAMMER DOWN."
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"AS THE SEAL PLUNGED INTO THE SEA, SAM BROUGHT HIS HAMMER DOWN."
Meanwhile, the other animals, scared by the noise, had flung themselves into the water, and were swimming towards the mouth of the tunnel.
"Well done, young Sam!" said Dick. "You did that famously."
"So I did, to be sure," replied Sam, "but I couldn' help it. You shot un, Maister Dick; see his blood."
There was a red tinge upon the water.
"How are we to get him up?" said Dick. "He's a monstrous big fellow."
"We'll wait till tide is down and skin him here. Be his body good to eat?"
"That I don't know; we can try. But the skin is the valuable part of him, and having that we may leave the rest."
In two hours the receding tide had left the dead seal on the sand. The boys took out their knives, and, expert in such work, in another half-hour had removed the skin. Their torches were by this time burning low, so they clambered up to the ledge, and carried their implements and booty as quickly as possible through the adit to the foot of the well, and then up to the surface.
Vastly pleased with the success of their expedition they set off towards home. The night was very dark, and a thin rain was falling, which increased as they proceeded, until it became a steady downpour. They were tired; their burdens, light enough when they started from home, now seemed to be pounds heavier; the rain beat full in their faces, finding out every crevice between their clothes and their skin; and the ground was rough, covered here with tussocks of grass that squelched under their tread, there with fragments of mining gear which threatened to trip them up. They trudged on in silence, feeling the loneliness and the inclemency of the weather the more keenly because it ensued upon the high excitement of their adventure.
As they struck into the path leading by Penwarden's cottage, Sam suddenly declared that he saw a flicker of light to their left, some distance across the moor.
"I can't see it," said Dick, scarcely looking in the direction indicated, "and it doesn't matter to us. I'm tired; this skin is heavy; I want to get home."
"'Tis moving," said Sam a moment later. "Maybe 'tis Maister John comin' back from Lunnon."
"He wouldn't come that way. I see it now; 'tis some belated traveller, no doubt."
"But the light bean't on the road; 'tis too far away."
"Never mind about the light," Dick replied, testily. "Come along."
They soon came to one of John Trevanion's new fences, which compelled them to leave the path and seek the high road. In his moody frame of mind Dick resented this bitterly. They now perceived that the light, spread starwise by the rain, was much nearer to them, and presently heard the creaking of wheels and the dull thud of horses' hoofs on the turf. A minute after they had struck the road a closed travelling carriage, drawn by two horses, turned into it from a byway, scarcely more than a bridle path. On the right of the driver there was a single lamp. Catching sight of the two figures on the road, bending forward under their loads, the driver hailed them and pulled up his horses beside them.
"Hi! can 'ee tell me if this be the right road for Polkerran?" he asked.
"Iss, fay, right for'ard," answered Sam.
"And where be the Five Pilchards?"
"Down-along through village. Better mind the hill, if you be a furriner, 'cos 'tis 'nation steep and twisty."
"So be they all, od rake it."
Here another voice interposed, and a head showed itself dimly at the carriage window.
"Vill you—ah! how say it!—vill you embark on ze—ze coach, and, if you please, show ze road?"
"Drat it all, why will 'ee talk?" cried the driver. "Put yer head inside, for gospel sake. Come up beside me, friends, if you'll do a kindness, and say the word when I do come to the hill. I don't want to break hosses' knees nor my own neck."
The boys, glad enough to get a lift, mounted beside the driver, with a tingling curiosity about the passenger inside who spoke in so strange an accent. It was not far to the Towers, and when they came to it Dick asked the driver to stop, and bade Sam get down and carry the sealskin and his share of the other burdens to the house.
"You bean't a fisher?" said the driver to Dick as Sam was descending. There was a note of anxiety in his voice.
"I fish, but I'm not what you would call a fisher."
"I knowed it by your speech. Well, then, I won't trouble 'ee, sir, this mizzly night," said the man, with some eagerness.
"No trouble at all. 'Tis not very far."
"Well, 'twas to be," muttered the coachman. Dick thought it was an odd thing to say. Still more surprised was he when the driver leant over and extinguished the candle-flame with his fingers. "You see," he explained, "the gentleman inside is terrible bad, met with an accident, as 'a med say."
"Bring him to our house, then," said Dick instantly; "my mother will be pleased to do something for him."
"Not for gold and di'monds," replied the man quickly. "No, we go to Five Pilchards; 'tis a good enough inn, I've heerd tell."
Dick said no more. He wondered who the stranger was, and what brought him to Polkerran, where visitors were rare. The carriage rumbled on slowly; every now and then the driver made the horses walk, though the road here was level. It seemed to Dick that his attitude and manner were those of a man intently listening.
They came to the spot where a short drive led from the road to the Dower House, which could just be discerned, a black mass in the rain. "That villain has not returned, then," thought Dick, seeing no light in the house.
At this moment there came upon their ears the clattering sound of several horses from the foot of the hill which they had nearly reached. The driver jerked his horses to a standstill, looked from side to side, and seeing the carriage-drive, to which there was no gate, wheeled the horses round and drove in, not on the hard road, but on the bordering grass.
"This is a private road," said Dick, wondering.
"'Twas my thought. These be ticklish times for travellers, and 'tis best not to meet strange riders in the dark. I'll bide till they be past, and then go on again."
He drew up under the trees about forty yards along the drive, within a few yards of the house. Dick heard him breathing heavily. The clattering of hoofs drew nearer: the driver seemed to hold his breath; then, when the horsemen had passed the end of the drive at a fast trot, he heaved a sigh of relief. He waited until the sounds had died away in the distance, and wheeled the horses round. There was not room on the grass for the carriage to turn completely, and the wheels made a crunching sound on the pebbly road. The side of the carriage was still turned to the house when the door opened, and John Trevanion appeared on the threshold, holding a candle above his head, and peering into the dark.
CHAPTER THE NINTH
Doubledick's Midnight Guests
"Who's that?" cried Trevanion.
Dick, being on the offside, was concealed by the driver's burly form, but he shrank back against the front of the carriage. He did not wish to meet his cousin's eyes at that moment, and began to wonder why he was on the box in the rain when he might have ridden inside.
"Axin' yer pardon, sir," replied the coachman, "I be afeard I've took the wrong road. 'Tis 'nation dark, and my lamp has gone out."
"What was that clattering of horses I heard?"
"Ah, I can't tell 'ee that. I didn't see no one. Maybe 'twas riding-officer. I axe yer pardon for disturbin' ye, sir, this terrible bad night and all, and I'll drive on to village."
"You're a stranger, aren't you? Have you got anybody in your carriage?"
"Never a soul, sir. The truth is, I've lost my way, and shan't be sorry to get out o' this pesty rain."
"'Tis heavier now. Well, good-night. You'll find a warm room in the inn at the foot of the hill, if the innkeeper hasn't raked out the fire and gone to bed. Good-night."
He retreated with his guttering candle into the house and shut the door, the coachman driving back to the high road. Dick was mystified. Why had the man denied having a passenger? Why had he extinguished his light and turned out of the road on hearing horsemen? The driver said nothing, except to grumble under his breath at the weather, and Dick refrained from questioning him, thinking that some light might be thrown on the mystery when they reached the inn.
The carriage had just wheeled into the road when Dick felt a touch on his right arm. He looked round: the passenger was leaning forward out of the window.
"How is ze name of zat man—him zat hold ze light?" asked the stranger eagerly.
Dick hesitated; then, seeing no reason for not answering, said: "That is Mr. John Trevanion."
"Tre—vat say you, if you please?"
"Trevanion."
"Trevanion!" repeated the questioner, giving a strange intonation to the name. "Ah! Shank you."
He withdrew his head into the carriage. Dick heard the driver mutter:
"Why can't he clap a stopper on his tongue, the stunpoll!"
He drove slowly down the steep winding hill.
"There's the inn," said Dick presently. "Doubledick isn't abed, late as it is."
A light shone through the red blind of the inn parlour. The door was open, and Doubledick stood in the doorway, illuminated by the light behind. In spite of the heavy rain several men, among whom Dick distinguished the elder Tonkin, were grouped about the door. They had heard the wheels of the oncoming carriage, and there were signs of excitement among them. As the vehicle drew up, Tonkin stepped forward, thrust his head in, uttered a smothered exclamation, then opened the door hastily. The eyes of all the men were fixed on the figure that emerged, so that Dick on the box was not noticed. A short, broad man, clad in a long overcoat, his cocked hat pulled low over his brow, descended from the carriage and went quickly into the inn, the men following him. The door was shut. Feeling that he was in a somewhat false position, Dick seized the opportunity to slip down from his seat and withdraw round the angle of the wall, where a flight of steps ascended between it and the wall of the opposite house. He heard Tonkin speaking to the driver; the carriage rumbled over the cobbles, not returning up the hill, but going through the village in the opposite direction. Immediately afterwards the inn door was reopened, the heavy boots of the fishers clumped along the street, and in a few moments nothing was to be heard except the pattering of the rain.
Dick felt a little sore at having to trudge back afoot, without a word of thanks. He was drenched to the skin. Glancing behind as he began to climb the hill, he saw that the light had now disappeared from the inn-room. The whole village was in darkness. More than ever dispirited and mystified, he plodded along. Apparently the carriage had been expected. He could not help connecting it with the horsemen whom the driver had been so anxious to avoid, and, remembering the strange accent of the passenger, it suddenly flashed upon him that the man might be one of Boney's spies, whom he had unwittingly helped to escape pursuers. But on reflection this idea seemed untenable, because a spy was hardly likely to appear at this remote part of the coast, and he could not believe that the smugglers of Polkerran, like those of the south-eastern counties, had any treasonable communications with the French ogre.
He was still pondering on the baffling occurrence when the sound of horses trotting again fell on his ear. In a few moments he had to stand aside to avoid being knocked down by the first of half-a-dozen horsemen, whom, dark as it was, he recognised by their headdress to be soldiers. Their uniforms were covered by their riding cloaks. He was seen as he shrank back: a rough voice called "Halt!" and the horsemen reined up.
"Stand forth, in the King's name, and answer for your life," said the same voice.
Dick went towards the foremost horseman.
"Who are you?" he was asked.
"My name is Trevanion," he replied.
"Ah! Same as the gentleman up the hill," cried the soldier. "Now, tell us quick; have you seen a coach, wagon, or other four-wheeled piece of machinery hereabouts?"
"Yes; a two-horsed carriage drove down to the inn yonder about twenty minutes ago."
"What road did she come?"
"This very road that you're on."
"Confusion on it! Then how did we miss the thing? But there, no matter; we'll after it and catch the villain."
Without more delay the sergeant and his men clattered off down the hill, relieving Dick of the necessity of giving explanations, which he felt might be somewhat awkward. Being now thoroughly excited, he forgot his fatigue and wetness, and ran after the dragoons to see what happened when they reached the inn. He was but a minute or two behind them. The village was still in complete darkness; the rain had ceased, and the moon showed her rim through a rift in the scudding clouds.
The troopers were at the door of the inn, five still on horseback; the sixth had dismounted and was rapping on the door with the hilt of his sword.
"Hang me, will he never open?" cried the man, when repeated blows drew no response.
"Must be a rare sleeper, to be sure," said another.
"I'll bust the lock with a shot from my carbine if he don't open soon," cried the angry sergeant. "This is some jiggery-pokery, sure as I'm alive."
He thundered again on the door, calling upon the innkeeper with many imprecations to open in the King's name. At last there was the sound of a casement opening above. Looking up, the troopers saw first a blunderbuss, then an arm, and finally a head in a white nightcap.
"Who be that a-bangin' and smitin' at an honest man's door, when he be abed and asleep?" demanded Doubledick's voice angrily.
"'Tis for you to answer questions, not to axe 'em," said the sergeant. "Now, speak like a true man, and hide nothing, or the King will have your miserable head. Did a carriage come down the hill a while ago?"
"Oh, if ye be King's men I bean't afeard o' ye. A carriage? Why, to be sure 'a did, a half-hour ago, or maybe more."
"And where is it now?"
"There's a question to axe a poor simple soul wi' only two eyes. How be I to know that, captain, on a dark night like this?"
"Be hanged to you! You know whether it stayed or went on, and you'd best speak up without any shilly-shally."
"True. I do know that. The carriage went on, to be sure."
"Which way? Speak up."
"Well, I can't 'zackly say, but 'twarn't up the hill, so I reckon 'twas through village towards Redruth. Iss, I reckon 'twas that."
"And the man inside?"
"Daze me if ever I knowed of any man inside. Driver had lost his way, seemingly; 'a was like a squashed turmit in the rain: and when he'd took summat to comfort his innards, off-along he drove. Warn't here five minutes, no, nor yet four."
"'Tis treason-felony and hangman's job if you're not speaking the truth," said the sergeant. "Confusion take him, we'll have to ride on. Look here, Tom; you stay here with Matthew and keep your eye on the door. The rest of us will ride on after the carriage, and come back to you if we catch our man."
"What rascal of a deserter be you a-chasin' by night, captain?" cried Doubledick.
"No deserter, but a prisoner that escaped from Plymouth. We've been after him all day and all night, and smite me if it don't seem he has given us the slip. Come on, men."
The sergeant rode off with three of his men, the other two dismounting and taking up their stand at the door.
"I reckon I can go back to my warm bed now, eh, sojers?" said Doubledick. "But ye're sappy wet, poor fellers, and tired too, to be sure, hikin' arter a runaway prisoner all day and all night. Bide a minute till I've pulled a few garments on my cold limbs, and I'll come down and give 'ee summat to warm yerselves."
The nightcap disappeared, a candle was lighted, and in a few minutes Doubledick came to the door with two steaming beakers of hot brandy and water, which the troopers accepted gratefully.
Dick, from the shadow of an alley, had seen and heard all that went on. The soldiers chatted with the innkeeper for a while; then he retired into the inn, shut the door, and put out the light.
A minute or two afterwards Dick saw a figure stealing down the steps at the side of the inn, peep round the corner, and then retreat hastily. He supposed it was one of the men whom he had seen at the door previously, but was unable to distinguish his features, owing to the deep shadows thrown on the alley-steps by the moon. To avoid discovery himself, he shrank back against the blind wall. It must now, he thought, be nearly midnight; but, wet though he was, he determined not to leave the spot until he had seen how the matter ended. Having been behind the wall when the carriage drove away, he was not sure whether the passenger had re-entered it or not. The hurried manner in which the man had gone into the inn was not that of one who intended coming forth again. Doubledick had lied when he said that he knew nothing of the occupant of the carriage; yet why should he harbour an escaped prisoner, who was almost certainly a Frenchman? The mystery was deeper than ever.
It was perhaps an hour later, and Dick was on the point of going home, when the silence of the night was again broken by the sharp ringing clatter of hoofs. The sergeant and his three men returned, a white mist rising from their horses' backs.
"We caught the carriage," said the sergeant, as he rode up, "but 'twas empty as a sucked egg. The driver said he'd lost his way on the moor coming from Truro, and was going on home to Redruth. Have you seen anything?"
"Not a thing," replied one of the troopers at the door.
"Well, we must search the inn. What a miserable fool I was not to ask that young feller if there was any one in the carriage when he saw it!"
Dick hesitated for a moment. Should he tell what he knew? A French prisoner was an enemy of his country; might it not be his duty to help the dragoons to capture him? But reflecting that the man might be nothing worse than a smuggler, in which case to inform against him would only embitter the inimical feeling of the villagers against him, besides being an ungracious act in itself, he decided to say nothing.
After a long-continued knocking and the expenditure of much abusive language, Doubledick once more opened the door.
"Ye'll gie me the rheumatiz and send me to my grave," he said with a whine. "What be ye rampin' men o' war wantin' now?"
"We're going to search your inn for that there mounseer, my fine feller, and you'd best take it quiet, or you'll find yourself strapped to one of our hosses and carried with all your bones a-rattling afore the Colonel."
"Search, if ye must. Name it all, why should I hinder 'ee! Turn the inn topsy-versy, ye'll find nothing but maybe a rat or a cockroach."
The sergeant and two of the troopers entered. They searched the tap-room, the inn-parlour, kitchen, cellars, bedrooms, lofts; rummaged cupboards, empty barrels, a clock-case, the copper in the scullery, an overturned water butt in the backyard; all to no purpose.
"He's not here, that's certain," said the sergeant at last, dashing the perspiration from his brow. "We must have overshot the villain somehow. Plague on it! We shall have to ride back to Truro and try to get on his tracks, or the Colonel will be in a rare passion."
"I won't ask 'ee to stay, brave men," said Doubledick, "knowing what terrible rages noble officers do fly into. But a nibleykin o' real old stingo won't do 'ee no harm, and ye can drink confusion to Boney. Hee! hee!"
All the soldiers accepted the liquor with alacrity, and the two who had already tasted its quality winked at each other, not acquainting their comrades with their previous pleasurable experience. Smacking their lips and declaring that the innkeeper was a real good-hearted fellow, they remounted and rode up the hill. Doubledick watched them until they were out of sight, a leer of triumph on his face. Dick heard him chuckle as he shut the door and shuffled up the stairs. The light was extinguished, and Dick, vexed with himself for remaining so long and so unprofitably, set off homeward in the track of the dragoons.
A few minutes after he had left, a heavily-cloaked figure—the same that Dick had seen a while before—stole down the steps at the side of the inn, and, looking round cautiously, approached the door and rapped six times upon it, pausing a brief while after every second tap. Immediately after the sixth, the casement above opened, and Doubledick, looking out, said in a hoarse whisper:
"Be that you, Zacky?"
"No, 'tis I, John Trevanion. Come down and let me in, Doubledick."
"Good sakes, I didn' know 'ee was to home, Maister John. Thought 'ee was still in Lunnon town. A pretty stoor there's been to-night. Bide a minute, sir."
He lit his candle, descended, let Trevanion in, and barred the door behind him.
"I never thought you were such a fool," said Trevanion, angrily eyeing the nightcapped and nightgowned innkeeper. "What on earth possessed you to harbour Delarousse?"
"Chok' it all, why shouldn't I?" replied Doubledick truculently. "Bean't he a good friend of ourn? Who better?"
"Confound you, he's a Frenchman, and a runaway prisoner. The soldiers will get on his track again, and your ridiculous folly will be the ruin of us all. You have no business to run such risks."
In his anger Trevanion raised his voice.
"Risks, do 'ee say? Jown me if you hain't run risks yerself, Maister John, and a deal bigger; hee! hee!"
"Silence!" shouted Trevanion. "Don't provoke me, or upon my soul and body I'll——"
The threat died on his lips, for at this moment a door opened at the further end of the passage in which they stood, and there appeared the short, rotund form of the passenger who had descended from the carriage some hours before. The overcoat and the cocked hat were gone; the Frenchman wore the rough fustian, marked with a broad arrow, in which the authorities arrayed prisoners. His eyes gleamed with the fire of hatred as he looked full at Trevanion, who on his part returned glare for glare, but whose countenance wore a strange expression, which Doubledick, watching him, could not fathom.
"It is you," said the Frenchman, in his own tongue. "You, Robinson—or Trevanion, is it not so?"
"You be known to each other, then?" said Doubledick. "Hee! hee! Why don't 'ee shake hands, like friends?"
"Silence!" cried the Frenchman sternly. "You go," he added, addressing Doubledick in English. "I haf somezink to say to zis monsieur—Trevanion."
He took the candle from the astonished inn-keeper's hand, and motioned to Trevanion to enter the parlour. Following him, he shut and bolted the door, leaving Doubledick in the dark passage. The innkeeper promptly knelt down and put his ear to the keyhole, but since he knew almost nothing of French, he understood little of the ensuing dialogue, which was conducted in that tongue.
"You see I have found you, monsieur—Trevanion," said Delarousse. "You thought, no doubt, that you had escaped me when you landed that dark night. But you should not have come to Polkerran; that was a foolish step for one so clever to take. You would have been caught, but for a sudden alarm from the shore; yet it mattered little that I had to sail away then, for, as you see, I have found you—cheat, thief, scoundrel!"
Trevanion did not flinch as the Frenchman hissed these words at him. He thrust his hand into the breast pocket of his cloak.
"Aha!" laughed Delarousse. "You have a pistol? I have not. You would like to shoot me, but you dare not. I should like to shoot you, but I have no weapon, and, equally, if I had, I dare not. I will not hang for you: so you deal in this country with men that kill others, is it not so? But I tell you, Trevanion—that is a name I do not forget—I tell you that you shall not escape. It is not the time now, but there will come a day when you shall repent of having deceived and robbed the man who trusted you. Once more I tell you what you are: cheat, thief, scoundrel!"
"Pretty words, monsieur," said Trevanion with a sneer. "You had better take warning. This country is not safe for Frenchmen. You have escaped from prison, by some piece of imbecile folly——"
"Not so," interposed Delarousse. "It was by the skill of good friends, who are loyal to one that has done business loyally with them. They would have taken me to Roscoff in their lugger, and tried to dissuade me when I said that I should come here. But they helped me. One of them risked his neck to drive me here, and my true friends have guarded me. I came to assure myself that the man who called himself Robinson lives here in this village. I saw you from the carriage when you stood at your door; I learnt your real name, and now, once more I say it, I will wait my time, and you shall pay for your knavery."
"I care nothing for your threats. You have been lucky to escape once; you will not escape a second time. Set foot on this shore again and the whole country will rise at you. Expect no mercy from me."
"Mercy! From you! Mon Dieu, is it you that talk of mercy?"
He broke off, and let out a gust of harsh, sardonic laughter. Then, thrusting himself forward, he cried:
"Bah! I spit at you! When all men know you as I know you there will be no talk of mercy. Are you fool as well as villain? Go! Return to your fine house. Flourish on my money. It shall be for a season, and then!——"
Trevanion bit his lip. His expression told of a struggle for self-control. He glared at the Frenchman for a few moments; then, with a hollow laugh, he moved towards the door.
"Do your worst," he said, turning with his hand on the bolt. "I am in England; I defy you; and, by heaven! I promise you ten feet of English rope as a spy 'if you dare to show yourself here again."
He drew back the bolt, causing Doubledick to scuttle like a rat along the passage. A mocking laugh followed Trevanion as he strode from the inn.
Before there was the least hint of dawn in the sky, a man, unrecognisable in oilskins and sou'-wester, stole from the house next to the inn, where he had been concealed when the dragoons made their search, and walked rapidly to the jetty. Tonkin's lugger, theIsaac and Jacob, lay alongside. Delarousse stepped on board; the vessel cast off; and by the time that the mass of the villagers were awake, the guest, whose presence few had known, was several leagues nearer to the French shore.
But the departure of the lugger had not been wholly unobserved. In the little white cottage on the cliff, Joe Penwarden had enjoyed a full night's sleep, as he usually did when the moon was up. The sound of horses on the high road did not reach him, and he was ignorant of the strange happenings in the village. But the moon was in its last quarter; the "darks" would soon return, and with them the activity of the smugglers might be expected to be resumed. The cargoes were sometimes brought from Roscoff in French luggers, sometimes in theIsaac and Jacob, and Penwarden was accustomed to watch the sailings of Tonkin's vessel. On this particular morning he woke early, and after he had kindled a fire, he rested his telescope on the window-sill to take a look round while the kettle was boiling. He soon spied the well-known lugger scudding along under full sail.
"So you be at it again, Zacky," he murmured with a chuckle, as he shut the telescope. "Well, please God, I'll be ready for 'ee."
CHAPTER THE TENTH
The Fire Bell at the Towers
Next day the escape of Jean Delarousse, smuggler and privateer, was the talk of the countryside. The dragoons had called at the Towers and roused the Squire from bed, supposing that he was a magistrate and would assist them. Then they rode for several miles across the moor until they came to Sir Bevil Portharvan's house. That gentleman promised to raise the hue and cry next day, and called up his servants to ask if any of them had seen a carriage cross the moor that evening. The groom declared that as he rode back from an errand in Truro he had seen a moving light some distance to the left, concluding that it probably proceeded from a belated carrier's cart on the way to Polkerran. On this the troopers galloped back, and seeing a light in the Dower House they called there and acquainted John Trevanion with their errand. He guessed at once that the fugitive had been in the carriage which had turned into his drive, and inwardly cursed his ill-luck in missing the opportunity of laying by the heels a man whose recapture would have rejoiced him; but having reasons of his own for not disclosing his knowledge of the man, he forbore to mention the earlier incident, and contented himself with wishing the pursuers success. When they had gone he cloaked himself and followed them down the hill, being but a few hundred yards behind Dick, whom he did not see in the darkness and the twists and turns of the road.
There was not a man in the village but suspected that the Frenchman had got away on Tonkin's lugger; but not one of them would have said a word to betray him. Delarousse was not an enemy, but a friend with whom they had profitable dealings. When Sir Bevil rode down and questioned Doubledick and others, it was clear to him from their manner that they would give no information; and guessing, when he heard that Tonkin had sailed early that morning, that the Frenchman had gone with him, he was rather relieved than otherwise, for, like all the gentry around, he bought his liquor cheap, and was never depressed when the revenue officers were outwitted.
Two days passed. Sam Pollex reported that there was a subdued air of excitement in the village. Mr. Polwhele, the riding-officer, was seen speaking to Penwarden, and the revenue cutter, which had been absent for some time, once more anchored in the little harbour. Mr. Mildmay did not come ashore: he seldom did so during the smuggling season; but one of his men trudged up the hill to Penwarden's cottage, and did not return. These facts made Dick tingle with excitement: but the Squire had forbidden him to go near the smugglers again, so that he was unable to keep watch for the run which he, like everyone else in Polkerran, expected to take place.
On the third morning, when Dick was tramping over the cliff with his gun towards a cleft where he had heard that a pair of choughs had nested, he saw Penwarden smoking on the bench beside his cottage door.
"Morning to 'ee, Maister Dick," he said.
"Good morning, Joe. You look very spry," replied Dick genially.
"Well, and I feel spry, to be sure. Haven't 'ee heard?"
"Heard what?"
"Why, how we brought up the smugglers wi' a round turn last night."
"Did you? Tell me about it, Joe. I wish I had seen it, but Father won't let me out of the house at night now."
"Why for, maister?"
"Because I got home very late the other night, and he's afraid I shall get my head broken, I think, now that the folks are so set against us."
"'Tis a very wise commandment of the Squire. Well, I'll tell 'ee. Never was they so flambustered afore. When I seedIsaac and Jacobgoin' off so merry t'other morning, I guessed she wouldn't come back empty, the wind favourin' and all. So what do I do but put on my considerin' cap——"
"That means a pipe and a bowl of rum, doesn't it?" said Dick with a laugh.
"I won't say but it do. Thinks I, now where will they try to run their cargo? Tonkin went off in a 'nation hurry, and the reason o't you know as well as I, but we won't speak o' that. There warn't time for him to fix up with the shoremen, leastways with many of 'em, afore he went, so thinks I, Zacky won't try to carry his kegs inland. What then? Why, she'd sink 'em somewheres off the coast, and let 'em lay till he gets a chance o' liftin' 'em. I've knowed a crop o' goods lay for a month afore they could be lifted."
"Doesn't it spoil the spirits?" asked Dick.
"It do, if the tubs lay too long. Then the spirits be stinkibus and fit for nothing. Howsomever, they'll sink 'em, thinks I, and what's to be the place? Well, I mind that ten year or more ago they dropped a big crop just beyond St. Cuby's Cove, and got 'em clean away in two nights, while Mr. Curgenven was playin' cat and mouse miles down the coast. Says I to myself, that's the very place."
"But how did you know it ten years ago?"
"By one or two things I noticed when I went a-rambling at foot of cliffs; trifles I could hardly tell 'ee of. That's the very place, says I, so I has a little talk with Mr. Polwhele, and he made it known to Mr. Mildmay, and betwixt us we hitched up a pretty scheme to circumvent 'em. And I was right, and wrong too, as you'll see.
"Well, we sent over to Plymouth for a half-troop of dragoons, and put them in Penruddock's empty farmhouse on the moor yonder. They came quiet last night, and not a soul knowed about 'em. You see, 'twas only my calcerlation as Tonkin wouldn't try a run, and 'twas best to be on the safe tack, as you may say. Wi' the dragoons on shore, and Mr. Mildmay at sea, we reckoned we'd spoil their game, whether 'twas sinkin' or runnin'. When 'twas dark, we brought the sojers down to shore, and put 'em among the rocks on each side of where I thought 'twould happen. I had a sort o' suspicion that the smugglers had a hiding-place somewhere along shore thereabouts, though I'd never been able to find it."
"What made you suspect that?"
"Because we grappled for the sunk crop two days arter 'twas sunk, but 'twas gone; yet 'twas more than a week arterwards afore the stuff was carr'd into the country, so it must ha' been hid somewhere. Well, we had waited some hours, and the cutter had sailed away down the coast to put 'em off the scent, when just afore six bells we heard the creakin' o' the lugger's gear, and I knowed I was right. At the same time the fellers come creepin' round the cliff from the village. 'Twas to be a run arter all. Our plan was to let 'em get warm to work, and not pounce on 'em till we'd seed where their hiding-place was. Mr. Mildmay meant to fetch about and come on 'em from seaward, while the sojers took 'em from landwards.
"Drown it all, 'twas ruined—ruined, I say; but 'twas not so bad as that neither—'twas almost ruined, by a sappy landlubber of a sojer. The unloadin' was goin' on as merry as you please when this soft stunpoll of a chap let out a sneeze fit to blow yer gaff off. 'Twas all up then; no good waiting for Mr. Mildmay; the smugglers' look-outs heard the tishum and gave the alarm. Mr. Polwhele blew his whistle for the attack, and we pounced out from our lairs, sojers and tidesmen, and dashed upon 'em from two sides at once.
"Some of 'em dropped their tubs like hot taters, and slipped off in the darkness. But the rest stood their ground like men, and there was a tidy little tumble, pistols cracking, cutlasses flashing——"
"How could they flash in the dark?" said Dick.
"You could hear 'em if you couldn't see 'em, and I don't care who the man is, I call that flashin'. There was some pretty wounds dinted on both sides, but as 'ee med think, the sojers' swordplay was a trifle more learned than the free-traders', and arter some time we King's men got the better o't, and they couldn't stand against us no longer. But that sneeze: why couldn't the feller clap it under for five minutes more? We catched nine of the smugglers, and laid them tied hand and foot on the beach. But the rest got away, and drown it all, Tonkin was one of 'em. I knowed un by his size, and a sojer and I and some more had him betwixt us, but he let out with those sledge-hammer fists of his, spun a sojer this way and a tidesman that, and by long and short broke his moorings and swam out to the lugger. If that sneeze hadn't come so soon Mr. Mildmay would have been there with the cutter, and we should ha catched the whole crew. But 'twas not to be. By the time the cutter fetched up, the lugger was well out to sea, and we lost her. But we've got the nine men, who'll have to choose betwixt gaol and the King's service, and I've chalked the broad arrow on twenty-four tubs, which be now half-way to the King's store at St. Ives."
"And did you discover the hiding-place?"
"Chok' it all, we did not. Maybe there's no such thing. But 'twas a proper tit-for-tat for the knock they give me, and I reckon 'twill be some time afore they fly their colours again."
"'Tis the biggest haul you've ever made, isn't it?" asked Dick.
"We've got more tubs afore, but never so many men. I'm a deal more cheerful in my mind than I used to be. We are doing the King's work better in these parts than 'twas done in Mr. Curgenven's time, and I hope them above will remember it."
Dick went on. He was pleased for the old man's sake that he was so well succeeding in his duty; but at the same time was full of misgiving as to the hatred his energy would breed among the village folk.
When he returned later in the day from a vain quest for the choughs, Sam Pollex told him that the village was seething with rage, and everybody was asking what had become of Doubledick. He was not among the nine men who had been carted to Plymouth; search had been made for his dead body on the shore; it was known that he had been among the tub-carriers, but nobody had seen him since the fight.
The mystery was solved at nightfall. The inn-keeper, dressed as a peaceable fisherman, trudged into the village with a fat goose on his back, and declared with a wink that he had been on a short visit to his friend Farmer Nancarrow, five miles distant. His cronies knew that Doubledick had adopted this course as a blind to the revenue officers if they made an inquisitive visit to his inn. However strong their suspicions, they could not proceed against him with any chance of success. They were in the same difficulty in regard to Tonkin, whom none could swear to, his face having been blackened. Nor could it be proved even that it was his lugger which had brought the cargo. When theIsaac and Jacobcame into the harbour next day and was boarded by the revenue officers, it contained nothing but a few hundredweight of fish; and though grappling operations were conducted in St. Cuby's Cove, and for some distance on each side of it, no discovery of sunken tubs was made.
It was a fact, often remarked on in after days by the Polkerran folk, that the only spectator on the jetty when Tonkin's lugger put in—exclusive of the revenue officers, a toothless old fisher, Ike Pendry's sweetheart, and a handful of children—was Mr. John Trevanion. He seemed to be in the top of good humour; joked with Mr. Mildmay, gave the old fisher a plug of tobacco, favoured Marty Bream with an admiring glance, and chucked the children under the chin. When the lieutenant's examination was concluded, and Tonkin came ashore, a free man, but under suspicion, Mr. Trevanion had a word for him too, asked to see his catch, and bought some of the finest of the fish. Then with a nod to Mr. Mildmay he strolled with easy gait up the hill.
That Tonkin himself, an hour or two later, should carry his fish to the Dower House was natural enough, but it was not perhaps quite so natural that, having delivered them to Susan for transmission to the cook, he should have been asked to step into the house and taken to the master's own room. Nor was it likely, when he was let out at the front door by Mr. Trevanion an hour later, that the conversation which had passed between them in the interim had for its subject nothing but fish. Nobody in Polkerran knew of this visit, or some intelligent person might have suspected that it had a connection with a remarkable change that came about in the villagers' manner of regarding Monsieur Jean Delarousse. Hitherto they had looked upon him as a keen man of business, with whom it was as safe as it was honourable to have dealings of a free-trade nature. But from that day they cherished a sour distrust of him; they resolved to do business with him no longer, and to transfer their custom to another merchant of Roscoff, whose name is of no importance in this history. In this transference they followed the lead of Tonkin, blindly—all but Doubledick, who swam with the current, indeed, so far as outward appearances went; but in the privacy of his own cunning mind, buzzing still with the recollection of what he had heard through the keyhole of his parlour door, indulged in speculations of a very tantalising nature, and wondered what Maister John's little game was.
Whether the relation of cause and effect existed between this meeting of Trevanion and Tonkin, and an event that took place a few hours later at the Towers, is a matter on which the reader may presently form his own conclusion.
Dick had gone to bed a little earlier than usual, tired out after a long tramp over the moor in search of wild fowl. His room faced the sea, and he had left his window open, as his practice was except in stormy weather. In the dead of night he suddenly found himself awake, and wondered why, for he had not been dreaming, nor was he conscious of having heard a sound. But in a few seconds he was aware of an unusual smell, that appeared to be wafted through the window on the sea breeze. It was the smell of burning wood. He leapt out of bed, ran to the casement, and looked out over a row of outhouses that extended for some yards from the dwelling towards the cliff. One glance was sufficient. The tool-house at the furthermost end was on fire.
Quickly pulling on his breeches, he ran to the adjoining room, occupied by Sam, hauled the snoring boy from his bed, shook him vigorously, and cried—
"The tool-house is on fire! Run to the turret and pull the bell. Quick! The breeze is off the sea, and we shall have the whole place in a blaze."
Then he rushed to Reuben's room on the lower floor, wakened the old man, and told him to fill every bucket he could find with water from the well. Lastly, he ran to his parents, breaking the news gently so as not to terrify his mother. By this time the alarm bell was clanging its quick strokes out into the night.
Dick ran out of the house to the well-head near the dismantled stables, where Reuben already had two buckets filled and was still pumping vigorously. He caught up the buckets, hurried to the conflagration, and flung the water on the flames. But it was clear that they had got such a hold upon the shed that to extinguish them with water laboriously pumped from the well would be impossible. The wind was steadily carrying the fire toward the main building, and unless the blaze could be checked within a few minutes, the old place was doomed.
To fetch more water would, Dick saw, be a waste of time. What could be done? Between the burning tool-shed and the dwelling-house was a long wooden structure that contained the brew-house and a shed in which Reuben kept vegetables, grain for the pigs, and other materials. Dick remembered that the brew-house, though substantially built, was worm-eaten, and, like the rest of the Towers, had not been repaired within memory. Acting on an idea which had suddenly struck him, he ran at full speed to the scullery, brought thence a rope and, returning, made his way with it through the smoke into the brew-house, and attached it firmly to one of the stout timbers supporting the roof.
The Squire had now come upon the scene.
"We must pull down the brew-house, Father," cried Dick. "'Tis the only chance to prevent the flames from spreading."
Together they hauled upon the rope. The timber did not give an inch. They summoned Reuben to assist them, but the oak, worm-eaten though it was, resisted their united efforts.
"Once more! Pull all together," cried Dick in despair. The post did not move.
"Ha, Squire!" shouted a voice behind, "I see what you are about. 'Tis a good notion. Give me a hold."
"Polwhele, 'tis you. We'll be glad of your arm."
"Did you ride, sir?" cried Dick eagerly.
"I did," replied the riding-officer. "Egad! I see your meaning. My horse is hitched to the fence. I'll bring him in a second."
He ran off, returning soon with his horse, which pranced and snorted when it came within the smoke and heat. Mr. Polwhele and Dick knotted the rope to the animal's collar, while the Squire covered its eyes with his coat. They turned its head away from the flames, and smote its flanks. It started forward, almost escaping from the grasp of Mr. Polwhele, who held it by the bridle. The post, already weakened by the previous straining, gave at last, and a portion of the roof fell in with a crash. The same operation was performed on a similar post in the opposite corner. This was brought down at the first pull, and all that remained of the brew-house was a heap of laths, beams, tiles, and broken utensils.
They proceeded then to smother the ruins with water and earth, paying no heed to the blazing tool-house. After some twenty minutes the flames began to subside; they poured more water, as quickly as it could be drawn, on the glowing ruins, and had the satisfaction of seeing that the demolition of the brew-house had been effective. The fire spread no further; the Towers was saved.
Panting and perspiring with their exertions, the four men stood for a while in silence, watching the gradual dwindling of the flames.
"That bell may stop," cried Mr. Polwhele suddenly. "'Tis well pulled, whoever is doing it, but to little good, it seems. 'Pon my soul, I'm the only man that has come to its call."
"Ah! You see how things are with me," said the Squire bitterly. "Not a soul cares whether the Towers burns to the ground, and I and mine in it. I remember, forty years ago, when the place took fire, the bell brought the whole village to our help. Now they'll lie abed and laugh to think I'm homeless."
"'Tis a disgrace and a scandal," cried the riding-officer, "and I'll tell them so. The idiots, to suppose you would inform on them! I'll set that right, Squire; I blame myself for not doing it before, but I believed they would come to their senses."
"You will waste your breath, Polwhele. Don't attempt it for me. I could tell you one way to dash their enmity, but that's impossible."
"What is it?"
"Send John Trevanion where he came from. 'Tis he that is poisoning folks' minds against us; yes, 'tis he."
At this point Dick returned from the house, whither he had been to stop the ringing of the bell. Sam came with him.
"Now, young Sam," said his father wrathfully, "'twas you that started this blaze, I'll be bound, wi' yer mischief and jiggery. I'll leather 'ee, that I will."
"Be choked if I did!" was Sam's indignant cry. "Why do 'ee say it, Feyther? You think because I break a dish now and again that I do all the mischief, but I don't care who the man is, I hain't been nigh tool-house or brew-house this mortal day."
"Then who did it? Tell me that."
"I can't tell what I don't know, but if I med put a meanin' to it, I'd say 'twas done by the same hands as cut our lines and set our boat adrift, be drowned to 'em."
"By heaven, I see it!" cried the Squire, smiting one fist with the other. "'Tis part of the scheme, Polwhele. They will stick at nothing. Penwarden caught young Tonkin cutting Dick's lines, as you know, and I thrashed him. They avenge him by firing my house. I'll clap them in jail; unpopular as I am, the justices can't refuse to punish such a crime."
"You've no proof, Squire," said Mr. Polwhele. "You can't arrest the whole village on suspicion. And now I think of it, if it is as you say, there is no need to suppose your cousin is at the bottom of it. You have no proof."
The Squire was silent. Mr. Polwhele's view was no doubt that which would be taken by the majority of people. Mr. Trevanion was conscious of the weakness of his position, and regretted that in his impulsiveness and resentment he had spoken so freely. The only facts upon which his conviction of his cousin's venomous treachery depended were the purchase of the mortgages and the subsequent fencing-in of the acquired property, and neither singly nor in combination were these strong enough to justify his accusation before reasonable people.
"Well, well," said the Squire at last, "I may be wrong. I say no more about it. But this persecution has gone far enough, and 'tis time it was stopped, though how to stop it I know no more than the dead."
"I'll see what I can do, Squire. The Towers is saved, and glad I am of it. 'Tis to be hoped the wretches will try their tricks no more."
He mounted and rode away, the Squire having warmly thanked him for his assistance. The four inmates of the Towers then returned to their beds.
"You did well, Dick," said the Squire as they parted. "'Twas a good thought of yours to pull down the posts; without it we might have been burnt out. We'll hold fast to the old place a while longer, my lad."
To his wife he related all that had happened, and mentioned what Mr. Polwhele had said about his suspicion of John Trevanion.
"I've no proof, that's true; but in my heart I know it; time will show whether I'm right or wrong."