Chapter III: Part 3

At Wynport Mr. Blake put up at the _Dolphin_, leaving Jack on board. Early in the morning Jack met Mr. Goodman, the riding-officer, on his way to the inn. He had been informed, Goodman said, that the smugglers had made a run in the night, and that their cargo had been concealed somewhere about the premises of Gumley, the one-legged mariner on the hill. This news surprised Jack. It had never occurred to him that Gumley could have anything to do with the smugglers. But when he thought of Gumley's seclusion, his mysterious ways, the defenses of his cottage, and his bulldog, he began to wonder whether dust had been thrown in his eyes, and the apparently law-abiding gardener was after all engaged in the illicit trade. He told Lieutenant Blake what he knew of Gumley.

"Depend upon it, that's your man," cried that officer. "You'd better search his place, Mr. Goodman."

"Unluckily, sir, most of my men are off rummaging in another direction and won't be back till to-morrow."

"Well, I'll lend you some of my crew. And as you know the place, Mr. Hardy, I'll send you in charge."

"Very well, sir," said Jack, and he went off immediately to collect the men. Within half an hour he set out with a dozen of them, well armed with pikes and cutlasses. They marched through the fields and over the cliffs to Luscombe, avoiding the highroad. Arriving at Gumley's cottage, Jack rapped smartly on the gate and was answered as before by a furious barking from the dog. Gumley was some time in making his appearance, and Jack, becoming impatient, pulled off his coat, and hoisted himself on to the fence. Seeing who it was, Comely ceased to bark and wagged his tail in friendly recognition. Jack could not help feeling a little mean as he stooped and patted the dog's head, still more when Gumley appeared from the direction of the cottage, with his board in one hand and a fork in the other.

"Morning, sir," he said, with a smile. "I was looking for another visit from you."

"I'm afraid you won't think me very welcome this time, Gumley," said Jack gravely. "'Tis an unpleasant job, but I've got to search your place."

"My place, sir? And what do you expect to find?"

"'Tis reported that the smugglers ran a cargo ashore last night, and that you've got it, or part of it."

"Me! And you believe it, sir?"

"I don't know anything about it. My orders are to search, and I must do it. A dozen men are outside: you'd better open the gate and let them in."

"Very good, sir. But I must lock Comely up first, sir, else he'll leave the marks of his teeth somewhere. You're a friend of his; I introduced you proper myself, but I'll not introduce him to any preventive men that ought to know better than to come a-nosing round my little place. Who said as how 'twas here the smugglers brought their cargo, sir?"

"I don't know. Mr. Goodman heard it from some one."

"One of those villains down in the village, I'll be bound. Well, I might have expected it, sooner nor this. I tell you straight out, sir, never a shilling's worth of smuggled goods have passed my gate. I'm a king's man, leastwise was till I got my stump, and arter that I wouldn't demean myself by going a-smuggling. Howsomever, orders is orders, and search you must. I'll just tie up the dog, sir, and then open the gate, for Gumley bean't the man to shut his doors upon the king's orders."

Gumley's quiet manner made an impression on Jack, and he was half inclined to leave his errand unfulfilled. If the man had protested and blustered Jack would have been at once convinced that he was guilty, but his readiness to submit to the search was hardly that of a guilty man. Then it occurred to him that Gumley might be trying to throw dust in his eyes again. At all events, he could not return to Mr. Blake and confess that he had not carried out orders; so when the dog was secured and the men admitted he directed them to begin the search.

It was but the work of a few minutes to ransack the little cottage. Cupboards were opened, the stone flags of the floor tested, the loft between the rafters and the roof explored, but nothing was found. Gumley watched the operations in silence, puffing at a big pipe in which he was smoking cabbage leaves.

"We'll have to search the garden now, sir," said one of the men.

Gumley took his pipe from his lips.

"The garden!" he said. "Well, mind my artichokes. They bean't ripe, not till the first frost, and it won't do 'em no good to disturb 'em."

He knew that in expeditions of this kind every inch of ground would probably be explored. Smugglers had been known to have cunningly devised hiding-places beneath the soil, under the roots of apple trees, or pear trees, or raspberry bushes. He watched with a grim smile as the men spread out over the garden, falling on all fours to smell out any traces of brandy or tobacco. He said nothing when they dug over a plot of ground from which he had recently taken the last of his late potatoes. But when they approached a flourishing bed of artichokes he heaved a great sigh, and said:

"There goes two-pun-ten in Wynport market, and all in the king's name."

Jack had felt more and more uncomfortable as the search proceeded. When a square yard of the plot had been cleared of its tall green stalks he suddenly shouted:

"Give over, men. This is all a blind. There are no smuggled goods here. Gumley was a king's man like yourselves. I don't believe he has anything hidden; we'll sheer off and report to Mr. Blake that we can't find anything. Some one must have a spite against you, Gumley."

"I could have told you that, sir, but I keeps myself to myself, and 'twas not for me to stand up against the king's orders. Messmates all, I'm sorry you've had your blood warmed for nothing. Bless you, I don't bear you no ill-will; orders is orders, and God save the king!"

He took off his glazed hat as he spoke.

"Well, Gumley I'm sorry we disturbed you. Look here, take those artichokes up to the Grange when they're ripe and ask my cousin, the squire, to give you fifty shillings for them. Say I said so. Now, men, we'll get back. We owe the smugglers one for this, and we'll pay it back, all in good time."

*CHAPTER VII*

*THE BEST-LAID SCHEMES*

There was a good deal of grumbling among the men as they trudged back to Wynport. No man likes to be made a fool of, and a Jack Tar as little as any.

"This is what comes of doing landlubbers' work instead of fighting the French on sea," growled Turley.

A heavy rainstorm that came on did not improve their tempers, and when, just as they marched into Wynport, they were overtaken by Mr. Goodman, riding at a smart pace from a cross-road, they began to mutter uncomplimentary remarks about the zealous officer.

"Any luck, Mr. Hardy?" he cried, as he passed.

"None," replied Jack shortly.

"Sorry for that. Perhaps your search was not thorough enough: your men aren't used to it."

"Confound his impudence!" growled Turley, as the officer rode on. "One of us is worth three of his landsharks, anyway."

When Jack arrived at the _Dolphin_ Mr. Goodman was just leaving.

"Oh, Hardy!" cried Lieutenant Blake, as he entered, "Mr. Goodman tells me you've found nothing."

"Not a ghost of a thing, sir. Gumley's as honest as a judge, in my opinion. Some one has played a scurvy trick on him and us."

"Well, look at this."

He handed Jack a dirty, crumpled piece of paper, on which he read:

"_Mr. Goodman, sir, a runn will be made at binsey cove tonite.--From a frend._"

"Another trick for certain, sir," said Jack.

"Very likely. Goodman says 'tis a sure sign the run will be made somewhere else, if made at all, and in the opposite direction. He wants the cutter to cruise off Totley Point to-night after dark. His idea is that if we stand away in the afternoon as if for Luscombe, we shall lead the smugglers off the scent; then if we return after nightfall we shall take 'em unawares. He'll have a strong force in hiding at Totley Point; that's where he thinks the run will actually be made, right under his nose. It would be like the villains. Only a year ago, just after he came into this district, he got a similar letter, and the cargo was run miles away."

"Well, sir, if he's been caught that way once, the smugglers will hardly expect him to fall into the trap a second time."

"I'm not so sure about that. I don't fancy our friend Goodman has much of a headpiece. If he is the simpleton I imagine he is, he will think that the smugglers will take your view and expect him to be this time at Binsey Cove. Therefore, he'll go to Totley. The question is, where will the run be made?"

"Perhaps the light we saw last night may have something to do with it. Don't you think, sir, it would be a good plan if I took a boat's crew and watched the shore off Luscombe, leaving you with the rest of the men in the _Fury_ to assist Mr. Goodman in case of need?"

"Not a bad idea, Hardy. We'll drop a boat some distance out at sea at dusk; you can pull in with muffled oars if you come across anything suspicious."

"The first thing, sir, will be to find out about the light we saw."

"Right. Find Babbage and get the crew together. We'll be off at once."

When the _Fury_ reached the position from which the light had been observed it was at once seen that, unless Jack had been wrong in his bearings, the signal had not been made from the village.

"It was more in the direction of Congleton's Hollow, sir," said Jack. "We can't see the Hollow itself, but there's the Folly to the left; you can just see it over the trees: a tower where an old hermit lived alone with his broken heart. That would make an excellent signal station."

"You know it, eh?"

"Yes, sir. But it didn't look as if it was ever used now. The only doorway is barricaded, and my young cousin told me it had been like that ever since he could remember. He said the top was supposed to be dangerous, and the place was boarded up after an accident that happened ever so many years ago. There was no other way in; the youngster--an inquisitive little chap--has tried more than once, and always failed."

"Humph! Is it worth trying again?"

"I'd be mighty glad to see, sir. But I couldn't do it in daylight. I might be seen from the village. Yet I could hardly do much good at night unless some one happened to be there at the time."

"Well, we can't risk discovery. We don't want to scare the signalers away."

"Wouldn't it be best to land some distance down the coast one night, and get to the Folly about daybreak? I'd have the place to myself then."

"Right. We'll bide our time. Meanwhile, there's this anonymous letter to remember. I gave out at Wynport that we're going to run over to Weymouth; perhaps that will put our smuggling friends at Luscombe off the scent."

The _Fury_ kept away all day, returning to a point opposite Luscombe after nightfall. Lieutenant Blake told off Babbage and Turley and eight more of the men to accompany Jack, and, a boat being lowered and provided with muffled oars, the little party set off, while the _Fury_ set a course for Totley Point, where Mr. Goodman had a posse of preventive men on the watch.

It was more than an hour and a half's steady rowing to the shore, and Jack was not at all sure where he would strike the beach. Thinking over the likely places along the shore, he felt certain that the run would probably be attempted at a spot not far east of the path up which he had followed De Fronsac. He wished the smugglers to get there before him, for if the vessel they expected had not yet arrived, they would be keeping a good watch seaward, and his boat would run a great risk of being discovered. But he had found out that Turley was born at Wynport and knew the coast pretty well, having spent several years as a fisherman in the neighborhood, so that he was likely to recognize any landmarks as soon as they came in view.

It was a still night, and very dark. The oars made scarcely any noise as the men pulled steadily in toward the shore. At last Turley declared that he could just see the copse that crowned a chine leading down to the beach, near the path that Jack had followed.

"You're sure, Turley?" asked Jack in a whisper.

"Sartin sure, sir."

"He've got cat's eyes, sir," murmured Babbage.

"We need them to-night," said Jack, peering anxiously into the darkness. "Easy all, men."

He listened for sounds along the shore or from the sea. The breeze was very slight; it had become less as the boat neared the shore; and if it continued to die away there would soon be scarcely enough wind to carry a vessel in.

"We're about half a mile off, I think, Turley?"

"Just so, sir," replied Turley.

Jack was about to give the order to pull in a little closer when the man just in front of him, who was facing seaward like the other rowers, raised one hand from his oar, and pointing to the right said in a whisper:

"Sail on the larboard quarter, sir."

Glancing backward in the direction indicated, Jack could just distinguish in the distance a black shape gliding slowly up. He felt his heart jumping; the vessel had come so suddenly, so stealthily out of the blackness. Could his boat be seen from its deck? It was so low on the water that he hoped it might pass undetected. The men were crouching over their oars; there was dead silence in the boat, the crew scarcely daring to breathe. The dark shape came steadily on; it passed, and faded again into the darkness. Allowing time for it to get nearly in shore, Jack ordered the men to give way, and the boat again quickly moved landward. He knew he was risking discovery, but hoped that the attention of the watchers on shore would be directed on the larger vessel, and altogether overlook the smaller.

The coast hereabouts was rocky, and the approach to the shore had to be made with care. Jack heard low voices ahead; he guessed that the people on shore were giving directions to those on the vessel.

"Channel's narrow, sir," whispered Turley, "but there's a good depth of water at all states of the tide; 'tis nigh high tide now, and that there craft'll be able to run almost on to the beach and save a good deal of fetching and carrying."

"How far are we out now?"

"About a couple of cables' length, to my thinking, sir."

"Easy all, men. Cutlasses ready!"

Jack had already decided that it would be useless to attempt to land at any point on either side and creep on the smugglers, for there would certainly be watchers along the cliff. The attack, if made at all, must be made direct from the sea. He feared that, when the men gave way for a final dash in, the boat might strike a rock; but he could still see dimly the chase ahead, and the tide being high, as Turley had said, he resolved to take his chance of running aground. The boat had followed quickly in the wake of the larger vessel; with a little luck a straight dash might be quite successful, for where the smugglers' craft drew feet, his own scarcely drew inches, and he was so much excited at the prospect of his first encounter with the smugglers, that he was prepared to run no little risk.

Suddenly there was the sound of a sail being run down, of tackle creaking, of low voices. The smugglers worked quickly, he knew; the vessel would scarcely have anchored or otherwise made fast before they began to carry their cargo ashore. The moment was come. He caught his breath for an instant; then, gripping the tiller ropes firmly, he said:

"Now, men, lay out--send her along!"

The sounds of the muffled oars were smothered in the noise from the lugger and the men tramping on shore. So intent were the smugglers on their work that they were unaware of what was upon them. The boat dashed straight for the lugger, which had swung round so that her bow was first met. There was a shock; then a loud shout; and as Jack's men swarmed over on to the lugger's deck, they came face to face with a small knot of men at the foremast, who had evidently hurriedly collected to dispute the passage with the boarders.

Now shout answered shout. Barrels were dropped by the carriers and fell with sharp thuds on the deck or with loud splashes into the water. Cutlass clashed on cutlass. At the first alarm the men on shore came dashing back to rejoin their comrades, springing across the long double plank that formed the gangway, to a bold ledge of rock serving as a kind of natural quay.

"Surrender, in the king's name!" shouted Jack, rushing forward.

He was answered by a vigorous French oath. Next moment the foremost of the smugglers, singling out the young officer coming at the head of his men, aimed a shrewd blow at him with a cutlass. It was so dark that Jack could barely see the movement, but he just managed to swerve out of the way; then, shortening his arm he lunged, and felt with no little satisfaction that the weapon had got home.

At this moment he was almost carried off his feet by the vehemence of his own men, who in a compact body were sweeping all before them. In the rush and tumble Jack felt a heavy blow on his head and staggered, saving his fall by clutching at a halyard and leaning half-stunned against the mast.

To the din of shouting and blows was now added the shrill screech of the bo'sun's whistle. Having cleared the deck aft of the mainmast, Babbage and his men were making a dash for the gangway, upon which the smugglers were crowding back toward the lugger. But Babbage's zeal had outrun his discretion. Before he knew it his party was beset on all sides. French and English cries were mingled in one furious babel. No firearms were used; the sound of shots would carry far in the still night air, and might bring support to the king's men from a distance. But cutlasses and hangers were plied with vigor; the crew of the lugger, reinforced by the men from shore, outnumbered Jack's party by four to one, and these had much ado to defend themselves in their turn from the sturdy assaults of their opponents.

With an effort Jack pulled himself together and pressed forward to lend a hand. His men were being remorselessly driven back. Doggedly they fought, yielding only inch by inch; but it was clear that they were outmatched, and at length, by sheer weight of numbers, they were forced over the bulwarks into the sea. Turley, who had all his wits about him, contrived to cut the painter holding the boat to the lugger's side; and, hardly aware how he came there, Jack found himself hanging to the side of the boat, unable to do more than cling on for dear life. Two or three men managed to scramble into the boat; they rowed it ashore. When it beached, Jack and the men ran up across the shingle toward the cliffs. In a few minutes they were joined by others of their party, all dripping wet, and furious with rage at their defeat.

"'Tis all through old Turnip-tops," growled Turley. "The idea of his losing his head that way!"

"Anybody seen him?" asked Jack, whose teeth were chattering; he had not yet recovered from the blow on his head.

"Never a man, sir. But there's the lugger making sail. We've lost the cargo and got nothing for our pains but broken heads and such like."

Jack saw the dim shape of the lugger disappearing seaward. In five minutes every trace of the smugglers had vanished, except a broken keg or two on the shingle, from which gusts of the odor of spirits reached the men gathered in a knot above. By and by Babbage turned up, declaring that if it hadn't been for Turley the attack would have been a great success. Before long the party was complete, none having been killed, though several had had a narrow escape from drowning. They had been saved by the planks of the gangway, which the smugglers, in their haste to escape, had allowed to fall into the water.

Jack wondered why the smugglers had fled when it would have been an easy matter for them to overwhelm the king's men.

"Why, they were afeard, sir," said Babbage. "The noise was enough to bring all Dorset upon 'em, and how did they know but that the riding-officer was nigh, ready to come down on 'em? And so he ought to ha' bin."

"Well, they've let us off easily," said Jack. "We'd better get our boat afloat and hunt for the _Fury_."

"Ay, sir, and won't Mr. Blake be in a fury when he hears the tale! All we've got is cuts, bruises, and a ducking!"

*CHAPTER VIII*

*CONGLETON'S FOLLY*

It was several hours before the boat fell in with the _Fury_. Jack and the men were heartily glad when they saw the cutter's mast-head light. They scrambled on board, and while the men had to stand a good deal of rough chaff from their messmates, Jack's account of his failure was received by Lieutenant Blake with a quizzical smile.

"Ah, my boy, we have to take the rough with the smooth," was all that officer said. "I suppose you don't feel in very good trim for that little expedition you proposed?"

"Indeed, sir, I'm ready for anything. I must change my things and have the best supper the cook can give me; then you can put me on shore when you please. I've got a bone to pick with those rascals."

Consequently, about half an hour before dawn, Jack was landed at a spot about two miles east of Congleton's Folly. Lieutenant Blake arranged that the boat should be in waiting for him three or four hours later some two miles farther east, at a little cove which was fairly well sheltered from observation.

"Keep your weather eye open," were the lieutenant's parting words.

Jack climbed the cliff and arrived at the Hollow just as dawn was breaking. It was a misty morning; the shrubs and grass were thickly besprinkled with frost; and he was glad he had taken the precaution to wear a greatcoat of frieze, which kept him warm in spite of the nipping air.

He came to the Folly, and took a more careful look at it than he had done when he visited the spot with Arthur. It was a brick tower, about sixty feet high, built somewhat like a lighthouse, but four-sided, not rounded. The base was about twenty feet square; the tower tapered to within a few feet of the top, where it broadened out so that it looked not unlike a mushroom on a particularly long stalk.

On the side facing the sea was the doorway giving access, as Arthur had told him, to a spiral staircase leading to the single chamber above. This overhanging part was supported by stout oaken beams resting on the brickwork of the central tower. On the inland side, in the floor of this room, there was a trap-door opening inward; it was through this that the late Congleton had been accustomed to hoist his provisions. The summit of the room was crowned by a parapet, crenelated like the walls of a fort.

The door, as Jack had already seen, was strongly barricaded. On the inner face of the tower, less exposed than the others to the sea winds, ivy had grown more than half-way up, and from this a number of sparrows flew rustling out when Jack appeared.

He walked round and round examining the tower from every point of view. What a strange man Congleton must have been to choose this lonely spot in which to pass so many years of a solitary existence! Jack closely inspected the doorway. The wood was worm-eaten, the heads of the iron nails thick with rust, and the barricading had been so thoroughly done that it would take a long time to free the entrance. It was quite clear that no one had gone either in or out for many years. Yet, if the tower had indeed been used for signaling, as he suspected, there must be a way in. Where was it?

He might have thought he was mistaken but for the marks of many feet around the base of the turret. The grass had recently been trampled down, especially on the inland side. Could there be another entrance, concealed by the ivy? He pulled the strong tendrils aside, and more birds came twittering out; but there was no sign of a second door. Somewhat perplexed, Jack raised his eyes and scanned the brickwork above, which the ivy had not yet reached. There was the wooden trap-door, let in the floor of the turret chamber, and a foot or two of rusty chain hanging down.

"That must have been part of old Congleton's machinery for hoisting his stores," thought Jack. "I wonder if the trap-door is fastened."

It was quite clear that it opened inward, for there was no sign of a bolt outside. When the room was last used a bolt inside might have been slipped. If not, the trap-door could be opened from below. But how could it be reached? Only by a ladder, apparently. Was there a ladder hidden somewhere among the trees? He saw no other means of gaining the summit, for while the ivy was strong enough to bear his weight for a good many feet up, the brickwork above was smooth, in spite of the weathering it had undergone, and offered no grip for hands or feet.

"I must look for that ladder," he thought. But after spending at least half an hour in searching the surrounding thicket he almost gave up the problem in despair. There was no sign of a ladder, and he had searched so carefully that one of the requisite length could not have escaped his eyes, however well hidden. What could he do? He did not like the idea of being beaten; especially as he had already failed once in his contest with the smugglers. Just then there seemed nothing for it but to go back to the boat, and perhaps bring a number of handy men from the cutter to break open the doorway. But before doing that he would have one more look.

He returned to the tower. The mist was clearing somewhat. Once more he scanned each face of the tower in turn. And now he noticed, on the inland side, what had escaped him before. On the brickwork between the ivy and the chamber there were a number of small apertures dotted about, forming a kind of pattern--a spiral. The holes could not have come by accident, for they appeared to be at equal distances apart. He counted ten on the bare portion of the brickwork, and, looking intently, believed he caught sight of one more where the screen of ivy thinned off.

His curiosity was now thoroughly awakened. What was the meaning of these holes? Were there more, concealed beneath the ivy? He pulled the strands of the plant aside, and with eye and hand examined the wall. There were no more holes, but what was this? He grasped an iron staple firmly imbedded in the brickwork; and three feet above, surely that was another!

"Oho, my hearties!" he thought; "have I got you at last?"

Setting his foot on the lower staple he hoisted himself up, pulled aside the ivy above his head, and found, as by this time he expected, still another staple. Without more ado he began to climb, nimbly, eagerly, until he had to stop, for he had come almost to the top of the ivy, and there were no more staples! What was to be done now?

True, there were no more staples, but three feet above the last was the lowest of the holes that had attracted his attention. He was able to examine it. A circular hole, seemingly drilled with some care; he put his finger in, but could not touch the end of it. And it appeared to be bored at a downward angle with the face of the wall. He felt that he must find out how long it was, though for the moment he did not see what good the information would be to him. Descending quickly, he found a long twig, and climbing up again, he inserted it into the hole. About a foot of the twig went into the wall.

"The hole is made to receive a movable step, or I'm a Dutchman," he said to himself. "It's long enough, and it's bored downward to prevent the step from slipping out. A mighty clever notion! The holes must have cost a deal of work, for the fellow who bored them must have been pretty awkwardly placed. I wonder if they were made by old Congleton, or after his time. Now what I want to know is, where are those steps?"

Once more he descended. The steps, wherever they were, were probably made of iron, and there must be about a dozen of them. Where were they? Were they carried backwards and forwards between the tower and the house of the person who used them? That seemed hardly likely. It was much more probable that they were hidden somewhere near at hand.

Jack hunted about the neighboring thickets. He might easily have overlooked small objects when searching for the ladder. But after what seemed a long time he still found no trace of them. Determined not to give up his quest, he was wondering how best he could make steps for himself when he caught sight of the summer-house, about two hundred yards away, where he had found the wounded lace-peddler.

"That's the place to rummage!" he thought.

He hastened to the summer-house. There were two rooms. Part of the roof had fallen in over one of them, and, encouraged by the marks of muddy boots about the doorway, Jack decided to search there first. The room was bare; he turned over the debris on the floor; nothing rewarded his efforts. But there was the chimney, a wide square recess in the wall; he would try that.

He almost shouted for joy when, far back in the opening, he came upon the object of his quest--a pile of rusty iron implements that seemed exactly suited for the purpose. They were stout rods about a foot long, with a loop at the end that might serve either as a hand-grip or a step. And the loop was at just such an angle with the rod as would correspond with the apertures in the walls.

There were a dozen in all. Gathering them, no light weight, into his arms, he returned to the tower, and with two of the rods climbed up by the staples and tried one in the first hole. It fitted exactly. He fixed the second, then descended for the others. Being a sailor he knew how to avoid unnecessary expenditure of time; he slung the rest of the fittings over his shoulder with his handkerchief, and carried them up with him once for all.

By their aid he mounted to the top of the tower, and found himself just below the trap-door. But it was not quite within reach. There was the hanging chain, however, coming through a hole in the floor; would that stand a tug? He made the attempt, intending to hoist himself up with one hand, and push with the other against the trap-door. But he found that when he exerted a little force the chain moved; it seemed hardly safe to trust to it. He was about to let it go when he noticed that the trap-door seemed to have risen slightly. Again he pulled at the chain, using more force. It gave to his tug, and as it descended he saw the trap-door open slowly upward. The chain at length stuck; the door was wide open, and a rough rope-ladder was hanging some ten feet below the hole.

Jack found that if he eased the pressure on the chain the trap-door tended to fall back. It was a simple matter to prevent this, for, just at his hand, there was a staple to which the chain could be hooked; it was evidently intended for that purpose. To swing himself on to the ladder was the simplest of feats, and in half a minute he had climbed through the open trap and stood in the turret.

"A fine old musty smell, that's what first struck me," he said afterward. "The dust of ages; cobwebs galore. Only one window, looking seaward, and that shut fast. 'Twas stifling to a fellow used to the fresh air. There was a ramshackle old bedstead in one corner; a four-poster, with a canopy and crimson hangings; at least, they had been crimson; the dust was so thick on 'em that I couldn't see what the color was till I'd rubbed a bit of it off. That was where the old eccentric breathed his last, I suppose; and no one thought it worth carting away. In the middle of the room was a deal table and a chair with a broken back; not another stick of furniture.

"But in the corner near the window I saw something that told a tale--a pile of kegs, almost reaching to the low roof. 'Empty or full?' thought I. I lifted one; it was full. I knew they weren't old Congleton's property, or they'd have disappeared with the rest of his furniture. How did I know he had any? Why, because I noticed nails on the wall, where pictures had hung, and a clean patch on one of the walls--cleaner than the rest, that is--where a bureau or something of the sort had stood. Besides, no man who'd have a mahogany bedstead and hangings that once were splendid would have been likely to be satisfied with a deal table and a common rickety chair. They were the kind of things you'd expect in a plowman's or a fisherman's kitchen.

"At any rate, I saw that somebody had used the room since Congleton departed this life, for there were some crumbs on the table, and a chipped tumbler that smelt uncommonly like the kegs. Ghosts don't eat bread and cheese and drink spirits! And there was a coil of rope under the table, and by the window a cheap sort of curtain that just fitted. I held it up to see; right in the middle of it was a round hole. And when I came to look at the bed I saw that the mattress had a big dent in it, and no dust on it. Somebody had had a nap there since old Congleton died.

"Of course I saw all this in a very few seconds. Then I went on the prowl. I pulled out the bedstead; by George! didn't it creak! I thought the old thing would fall to pieces. Behind it was a cupboard, and in the cupboard a large bull's-eye lantern, and a long cylinder of cardboard about eighteen inches long. 'What's that for?' I thought. It didn't strike me at the moment, but I took the things out and put them on the table. The lamp leaked a little; I found I'd got some spots of oil on my breeches.

"When I put them on the table I noticed something I'd missed before. In the middle was a sort of pattern in red chalk--a circle with a tail to it; and at the edge of the table two parallel strokes. They'd been done some time, for the marks in the middle were almost hidden by oil stains. Those stains puzzled me for a bit. I could have understood wine stains better. But at last I tumbled to it. That was the place where the lamp was put for the signaling. I set it down on the circular mark; it just fitted. But I could not make out at first what the two straight strokes at the edge were for. Then I caught sight of the roll of cardboard and another idea struck me. I lifted it and stuck it on the bull's-eye; it fitted like a glove; and when I turned the lantern so that the handle was over the tail of the circle I found that the cylinder just reached to the two marks.

"But that only puzzled me more than ever, for the lantern and cylinder were now pointing straight at old Congleton's bed. Would you believe it?--I didn't at first think of turning the table round! Of course it wasn't a fixture, and when I did think of it I saw through the whole scheme. Turned round, the lantern pointed through the window. The cylinder was a clever notion. It would prevent the light from the bull's-eye spreading, so that while it would be seen a good distance out at sea, it wouldn't attract notice in the neighborhood, except that a faint glow might be seen from below. But the Folly wasn't in sight from the village, and there'd be precious few of the ordinary country folk who'd care to be near the spot after dark. They'd be in mortal fear of seeing old Congleton's ghost.

"I was still a little puzzled. What need was there to mark the place of the lantern so exactly. Anywhere near the window the light would be seen clearly enough out at sea. But now that I had moved the table I noticed four red marks on the floor. 'Here's another discovery,' I thought; 'there's a mark for each leg of the table.' I slewed it around again, so that the legs stood on the marks. Then it flashed on me; if the table was always in the same place, and the lantern always exactly on the marks, the light would always hit the same point out at sea. 'A very pretty scheme!' says I to myself. 'Good master smugglers have all their wits about 'em.'

"It was clear as daylight now that the Folly was a signal-station, and sometimes, as the kegs showed, a storehouse as well. Of course they used old Congleton's machinery for hoisting the kegs. That coil of rope, now! I pulled it over, and there, just underneath, was a pulley--an iron bar fitted with a small grooved wheel, and resting at each end on a wooden block; little grooves had been chiseled out to keep the bar steady. And when I came to look at 'em I saw, as I might have expected, that they'd been oiled not long before.

"By this time I'd found out all I wished to know. The only thing left to be discovered was, who used the Folly? I made up my mind to get Lieutenant Blake to let me bring some men to the place one night when we saw the light, and catch the men in the act. But before I went away I thought I'd go down the staircase and see if there was anything there. I couldn't find a door, yet the staircase must lead direct into the room; there was no other. I had another look at the cupboard, and found after some trouble that half the back of it was movable--it was a sliding panel. I pulled it aside; it moved quite easily; and I stepped through--carefully, I can tell you, for it was pitch dark.

"I got on to the staircase, and went down gingerly, a step at a time. It was wooden, and the stairs were pretty rotten; they creaked as I moved, and I clung on to a rope that made a sort of hand-rail, afraid of pitching head first to the bottom. It smelled very close, and I took some time to go down, for the stairs were narrow, and as it was a winding staircase they scarcely gave foothold except at the wall end. At last I got to the bottom, and then I saw a glint or two of light coming through chinks in the doorway.

"I had only just got there when I fancied I heard a rustling outside. 'Mercy me!' I thought; 'this isn't signaling time; but I hope no one is coming for the kegs.' I scrambled up the staircase a good deal quicker than I picked my way down, and crawled through the hole in the cupboard. Then I nearly jumped out of my skin, for I saw a man sitting on the rickety chair. It was Monsieur de Fronsac."

*CHAPTER IX*

*CLOSE QUARTERS*

"Ah, Monsieur Jack!" said De Fronsac, with his agreeable smile; "I see you!" Jack laughed. It was only the Frenchman after all! His fear that it might be a smuggler was groundless.

"Yes; I'm too black for a ghost; 'tis a confoundedly dirty place, Monsieur. But how do you come here?"

"It is ver' simple, ver' simple indeed. I came out in de early morning, to promenade myself, and to compose a new sonnet on de Monstair. Behold! Vat do I see? De trap-door of dis tower is open; and, vat is dis?--assuredly I see steps mounting up to de very sommit. I am romantic, as you know, Monsieur; I love de bizarre. Can I venture myself? Dat old Congleton--vat a strange, an eccentric! I vould like to see de place vere he lived so solitaire. I climb; I have a little fear; but I make de ascension; I arrive. Ho! Dis, den, is de place. Vat a magnificent spot for to compose poesy! How beautiful de spectacle over de blue, blue sea! Magnificent! Glorious! Old Congleton had a genius, hein? But you, Monsieur Jack, how came you here?"

"The same way as you, Monsieur."

"Ah! remarkable! You do not compose poesy in de early morning! You, I t'ink--and your good cousin t'inks--you sail on de blue, blue sea. De steps, too; surely dey are new. Never have I observed dem before. It is remarkable! Old Congleton--did he ascend de tower in dat manner? Or perhaps de steps are your vork; you invent dem, Monsieur Jack?"

"No," said Jack shortly. He had never liked De Fronsac's smile.

"Den of whom? Who invent dem? Dey demand much care and skill; yes, and industry. And for vat good to spend so much time? It vould be easier to valk up de stairs--if de door is open, of course dat is understood. But truly it is more romantic--it has more of de fun, as you English say, to mount on de outside, on little steps, from hand to foot, vun may say. Yes, and if in my youth I had not lived much among de sailors of my little village, assuredly I should not have had de courage to make an attempt so perilous. Ve sailors, indeed, have de firm leg, de fixed eye."

De Fronsac's eye was certainly fixed--on Jack, who had an uncomfortable feeling that the Frenchman was not only trying to find out from his manner what he had discovered, but was talking to gain time. He was resolving to cut the interview short, when De Fronsac, turning round suddenly, appeared to catch sight for the first time of the kegs.

"Ah! Voila! Ve have it! Dose barrels Monsieur Jack--you see dem? Dey are put dere vizout doubt by dese smogglairs. Ah! de rascals! Certainly ve must tell your good cousin, Monsieur Bastable. He vill know de means to take. He vill come, and take an inventaire. Certainly dat is vat ve must do. You come viz me; ve both tell him; ve go at vunce."

"Very well," said Jack. "We'll go down. Will you go first?"

"I t'ink better you."

"But I opened the trap-door. You won't know how to shut it. You go first and I'll see that it is properly closed."

"Ver' vell. It is a good idea."

De Fronsac accordingly stepped on to the rope-ladder, and descended with a rapidity that seemed to show he had indeed had no little experience amongst seamen. Jack followed, closed the trap-door, and, as he went down, threw the iron steps one by one to the ground, where the Frenchman stood awaiting him.

"Now vat shall ve do viz dem?" asked De Fronsac, when Jack stood beside him. "It vas you dat discovered dem, Monsieur Jack. It is to you to decide vat ve do. It is right. You vill get great honor viz Monsieur Bastable, and de Lor' Lieutenant, I t'ink you call de great man of de county."

Jack did not wish to return the steps to their original hiding-place. It would be better, he thought, to hide them among the bushes. Accordingly with De Fronsac's assistance he carried them into the thicket, and concealed them under a heap of dead leaves.

"Now ve go to de Grange?" said the Frenchman.

"Yes. We shall be rather early; Mr. Bastable will not be up yet."

He intended to keep De Fronsac in sight until he had an opportunity of sending a messenger to the boat for a number of men to remove the kegs. He did not feel sure that the Frenchman's visit to the tower was so accidental as he declared; and a bird in the hand was worth two in the bush.

They made their way through the undergrowth. With the frost the trees had now lost nearly all their leaves, which thickly covered the grass. Jack led the way, the Frenchman following a yard or two behind, maintaining a running fire of small talk, to which Jack replied with an occasional monosyllable. On the edge of the Hollow they entered a dense copse; there was a sudden rustle, and half a dozen rough-clad men with blackened faces sprang from behind the trees. Jack's hand flew to his breast-pocket where he kept his pistol, but before he could draw it, De Fronsac caught his arm, crying:

"Save me, Monsieur Jack, save me!"

In spite of his apparent alarm, his grasp was so firm that Jack was quite unable to draw his weapon.

"Let me go!" he cried angrily, trying to shake himself free. But De Fronsac clung to him still more desperately, repeating his cry "Save me!" In another moment the men were upon him. Then at last the Frenchman let go his hold, and Jack found himself in the grip of two stalwart fishers. He struggled violently, but in vain, and in a few seconds more he was lying on the ground securely gagged and bound.

Then his eyes were bandaged, he was blindfolded, lifted, and carried rapidly for some distance. When he was set down and the bandage removed from his eyes, he saw that he was in an underground chamber, dimly lit through a barred grating in the roof. He tried to speak, but his words were choked by the gag.

"Now you listen to me," said one of the men, whose voice he thought he recognized. "'Taint no good shouting or struggling. We've got ye firm, Mr. Hardy, king's officer though ye be. So long as you give us no trouble you'll take no harm. I'm gwine to ease that there gag; but if you shout, I'll clap it on again and keep it there. That's plain. Not that it be any good shouting, for there's never a soul hereabout but the men who'll guard ye."

Jack was not so foolish as to spend his strength and his breath uselessly. He saw that he was helpless, and mentally vowed to be even with De Fronsac at the first opportunity. Suspicious before, he now felt certain that the Frenchman had deliberately trapped him, though he was amazed to find that the poetical tutor was a smuggler.

He remained throughout the day in the under-ground room, guarded all the time by one man, who sat by the grating and refused to be drawn into any talk. He was given some bread and cheese, and spirits and water to drink; and he spent the long hours in wondering what was to become of him, and in relishing beforehand the punishment he meant to administer to De Fronsac some day. To think of escape was vain; the men had evidently brought him down by a ladder, which they had drawn up when they left, closing and bolting the trap-door.

Who were they? Jack wondered. What was their real connection with De Fronsac? What would they do with him? What would Babbage and the men at the boat do when he did not return? What steps would Lieutenant Blake take when he found, as he must soon do, that his midshipman was missing? There was no doubt that the smugglers would promptly remove the kegs and the signaling apparatus from the Folly, and they would have plenty of time to get clear away before the boat's crew became suspicious.

Late in the afternoon, as Jack guessed by the dimness of the light through the grating, he heard voices above. A heavy object was dropped on the floor; the trap-door was lifted, a ladder let down, and three men descended into the room.

"You be coming along of us," said the man who had before addressed him.

"Look here, whoever you are--" Jack began; but he said no more, for the gag was roughly thrust into his mouth, he was once more blindfolded, and taken up the ladder. Then he was lifted from the floor and lowered into what he judged to be a large empty water-butt.

"Double up your knees, Mr. Hardy," said the man. "You be going a little journey."

There was no help for it. Jack feeling, as he afterward said, like a trussed turkey, sat crouching in the butt. The top was hammered on. Then the butt was lifted, carried a few steps, and hoisted on to a cart, which rumbled away. Jack was more angry than alarmed; the men evidently intended him no harm, or they would have knocked him on the head before this; but a water-butt, even though holes have been bored in its sides to let in air, is not the most comfortable of vehicles, and Jack was beginning to feel cramped and bruised and half-stifled when the cart stopped. The butt was lowered, not too gently; Jack was pretty well shaken up. But his former experience was pleasant compared with his sensations when the butt was rolled round and round on its lower edge, as he had seen draymen rolling barrels of beer. His head fairly swam by the time the teetotum movement ceased.

Then he heard voices again, and the creaking of tackle.

"I'm at the shore," he thought. "Surely they're not going to set me afloat!" The idea of going adrift in a water-butt made him feel seasick, till he remembered that it was impossible; the butt would fill with water, and if they wished to drown him they would not have taken so much trouble.

"Why, 'Zekiel," he heard a man say, "was your tub leaking?"

"A trifle, but we've bunged it up; 'tis all shipshape and seaworthy now."

"'Tis mortal heavy, blamed if 'tisn't."

"Course it is; 'tis well-nigh full."

Two or three low chuckles followed this sentence. Then the butt was rolled up what seemed to be a gradual incline, and dropped a foot or two with a bump that set Jack's bones clashing.

"I'm on a boat," he thought, "this is a voyage of adventure. Wish to goodness I could knock the top off this cage of mine and get a little air."

As if in answer to his wish, a few minutes later, when he felt by the motion that the boat was putting out to sea, the lid was knocked off, the gag removed, and he drew a long breath of relief.

"I say, you men," he said, in a husky voice that sounded like that of a stranger, "undo my eyes and hands, and let me out."