Chapter THE TENTH: The Fire Bell at the Towers (2)

One Wednesday, early in December, the boys set out a little before dawn to fish. The air was cold and misty; trickles of condensed moisture ran down their faces and necks, and little pools formed on the rims of their hats. The exercise of rowing warmed them, and the discomfort, always less to their seasoned skins than it would have been to a townsman and a landlubber, was forgotten altogether when the fish rose freely to their bait. They made a good catch after two hours' work, and turned to row back in order to carry the fish home in time for early breakfast.

They had come nearly a mile from shore, and were pulling hard, the wind blowing off the land against them, when all at once, some distance astern, there loomed out of the mist a three-masted vessel of considerable size.

"Look, Sam," said Dick, "isn't that the same craft we saw following the smack that night?"

"'Tis so," replied Sam; "the night Maister John come home-along. I said he landed from the smack, you mind; you said 'a didn't; and I don't care who the man is, but I know I be right."

"Pull away, Sam. We don't want to be seen. It may be the French privateer we've heard about, and we ought to tell Mr. Mildmay or Penwarden."

"True, and there's money if she's catched. Would they gie us a bit o't, think 'ee?"

"I daresay. There! She has vanished into the mist again. Do you know if the cutter is in the harbour, Sam?"

"She warn't yesterday. Maister Mildmay is busy down coast. I'd liever old Joe got the money than he."

They saw no more of the vessel, even from the top of the cliff. Mr. Trevanion was interested in their news, and agreed that it should certainly be imparted to Penwarden or Mr. Polwhele, Mr. Mildmay being absent.

Dick remembered that the old exciseman had probably been up all night. He sympathised with him in his arduous duty of watching all through the long hours of darkness, in fair or foul weather, frost or rain. At dawn of day Penwarden was accustomed to take a "watch below," as he called it, until noon, priding himself on requiring no more than four or five hours' sleep. At noon an old woman from the village came to get his dinner and tidy up, leaving when her work was done, his other meals being prepared by himself. Dick decided not to awaken Penwarden until he had had his sleep out, but to seek Mr. Polwhele, whose house stood on the cliff half-a-mile on the further side of the village. Dick went there by a roundabout way, to avoid meeting the fisher-people and their sour looks. The riding-officer was much surprised at the news he brought.

"'Tis a risky thing on the part of Delarousse, if 'tis indeed he," said Mr. Polwhele; "and why he should come here I can't tell, for Polkerran is not worth powder and shot."

"Maybe to arrange for running a cargo," said Dick.

"I don't think that, for 'tis whispered that the folks here do not deal with him any longer. I can't think 'tis he, but I will run up my signal to warn Mr. Mildmay, if he can see it through the mist. Thank 'ee for the news. Perhaps you will tell Penwarden, and ask him to keep an eye lifting."

Dick promised to do so, and returned home.

Shortly before twelve, the time when Penwarden was usually moving about again, Dick walked up to the cottage to inform him of the strange vessel. He knocked at the door, but there was no answer. Thinking that the old man was lying later than usual after a tiring night's duty, Dick felt loth to rouse him, and resolved to wait a while, walking up and down before the cottage, beating himself for warmth's sake. Now and then he stopped to listen at the door, but there was no sound from within, nor indeed without, except the booming of the surf, the whistle of the wind impinging on the cliff edge, and the screams of gulls which had not yet flown inland to seek their winter sustenance in the neighbourhood of farms. The mist cleared off, and not a sign of the vessel was to be seen on the horizon.

"Old Gammer Oliver is late, too," thought Dick. "Perhaps Joe told her not to come at her usual time."

He took a book from his pocket, and read it, still walking up and down. But he soon tired of this; the hour for the midday meal at the Towers was drawing on; and he would have returned but for his promise to Mr. Polwhele.

"I ought to have hammered hard on the door at once," he said to himself. "Tired as he must be, he would not mind being disturbed in this case."

He shut up his book, slipped it into his pocket, and strode briskly towards the cottage, about thirty paces distant. No smoke was rising from the chimney; nothing was audible but the wind rustling the leaves of a laurel bush, and causing the bare tendrils of last year's creeper to scratch against the wall. The sudden scream of a gull wheeling its flight above the roof made Dick start and look round uneasily. There was nothing living, on four feet or on two, in sight.

He came to the door, and, hesitating no longer, rapped smartly upon it. Neither voice nor movement answered him. Again he knocked, with greater energy, calling the old man by name. The perfect silence when his knuckles ceased their tattoo alarmed him. Joe always locked the door when he left the cottage by day, and locked and bolted it when he retired at night. Still, it was a natural act to turn the handle, and Dick, when he did so, almost laughed, for the door opened, revealing the dark little passage, on one side of which was the bedroom, on the other the kitchen and sitting-room in one. Of course, the old fellow had gone out.

But as Dick stood on the threshold and his eyes became accustomed to the dimness within, this comforting reflection gave way to surprise and apprehension. Half-way down the passage Penwarden's hat lay on the floor. Near it was a bundle of bulrushes which he had brought back from a voyage in his sea-going days; it usually stood against the wall beneath a portrait of Rodney. Beyond, the glass of a case enclosing a stuffed John-Dory was broken to splinters, which glinted from the stone floor. The passage presented a strange contrast to its usual neat and tidy appearance.

"Joe!" Dick called.

His voice reverberated; there was no other sound. He entered the passage and opened the door of the kitchen. It was empty; nothing was in disorder; a kettle stood on the hob; on the table lay a mug, a knife, and a plate holding a few crumbs of bread, witnesses to the old man's supper. Dick turned about, crossed the passage, and halted for a moment at the bedroom door, seized by the shaking thought that Joe had been taken ill in the night--was perhaps dead. He called, rapped, and, with quivering nerves, entered. The blind was down, so that he could scarcely see; but there was the bed, empty, the bedclothes disturbed. He pulled up the blind. The cold light of the winter sky flooded the room, and he saw things that filled him with alarm. A chair was overturned; fragments of a pipe and a tinder-box lay beside the bed; a thin hair rug was creased into the shape of billows; on one of the white deals was a dark red stain. The appearance of both room and passage pointed to a struggle. The stain was the fresh mark of blood.

What had become of the old man? Dick felt the answer to his unspoken question. Excisemen had many enemies; sometimes they lost their lives, not merely in open fight with the smugglers, but by insidious attack. Mr. Mildmay had told of ambushes, midnight assaults, torture, brutal murders. Such incidents were almost unknown in the west country; the fair fame of Cornishmen had not been sullied as that of the men of Kent and Sussex had been. But what more likely than that the bitter ill-feeling rife in the village, which had lately vented itself against the inmates of the Towers, should now have sought a new victim in Penwarden? If the smugglers were prepared to go such lengths against the Trevanions, towards whom their hereditary loyalty had for generations been akin to the Scottish clansman's devotion to his chief, they would scarcely be disposed to spare a humble old seaman, to whom they attributed the heavy losses they had recently suffered.

These thoughts ran through Dick's mind in a moment. That Penwarden had suffered violent handling he could not doubt. He must at once report the disappearance. He hurried from the room, closing the door, and in the passage met Gammer Oliver, as she was called, the old woman who came daily from the village.

"Oh, Maister Trevanion!" she exclaimed, "you did give me a turn."

"Mr. Penwarden is not here; something has happened to him. You don't know anything about him?"

"Do 'ee say it? Lawk-a-deary, and me so late and all! My darter was took bad this morning, or----"

"Do you know anything about him?" repeated Dick.

"Not a mossel, sir. I hain't seed the gaffer since I gied un his dinner yesterday. Save us all! What a moil and muddle things be in!"

"Yes, I don't know what has happened. Tidy up, and bring the door-key to the Towers. I am going now."

He hastened home, and told the Squire what he had discovered, and what his suspicions were. Mr. Trevanion, often supine and sluggish in matters concerning himself, was energetic enough when he heard of wrong or injustice suffered by others.

"This is scandalous!" he exclaimed. "Do you go at once and find Mr. Polwhele, Dick. I will hurry to the parson. Stay, I'll give Sam a note for Sir Bevil; we must raise a hue and cry after the old man. Where is Mildmay, I wonder?"

"Mr. Polwhele was going to signal to him, sir," said Dick.

"That's right. He must watch the coast. I've heard of the wretches shipping off to France preventive men who make themselves troublesome. 'Tis ten to one they will serve Penwarden so; that vessel you saw may have come for that purpose."

Within a few minutes the three active members of the household had gone their several ways. Dick hastened for the second time to see the riding-officer. As he went he came to a resolution. The smugglers, it was clear, were determined on pursuing their policy of persecution. All who opposed them, or whom they supposed to be their opponents, would have to reckon with their remorseless animosity, which might express itself in open violence or deeds of stealth as necessity demanded. It was to be war, and, as events were shaping themselves, war between the village and the Towers. Well, the war should be fought out. The quarrel had been forced on the Trevanions; they had not willingly departed from their neutrality; but matters had now gone so far that to remain neutral was impossible, and Dick resolved to take once for all the side of the law. He anticipated some difficulty in bringing his father to adopt the same attitude; but at the present moment the Squire was so indignant with the smugglers that, even if he was not ready to throw himself into active opposition to them, he might not forbid Dick to do so. Feeling that at such a crisis all quiet work at his books was impossible, Dick determined to beg Mr. Carlyon to release him, and to devote himself heart and soul to the contest, whether of wits or weapons. The first object must be the rescue of Joe Penwarden.

Mr. Polwhele was still at home.

"This is a new thing, 'pon my life," he said, when Dick had told him his tidings. "Till now the villains have been only on the defensive; to take the offensive means there's a new spirit working in 'em. D'you think, now, that your father is right, and John Trevanion is the man behind?"

"I don't want to say what I think, Mr. Polwhele," replied Dick. "Whether he is or not, we must put a stop to it. I can't do much, but what I can do I will."

"I'm glad to hear it. The curious thing is that John Trevanion has but lately been here. One of the fishers had told him of the strange vessel, and he came for the same purpose as you, to ask me to signal to Mr. Mildmay. He said it was scandalous that the Frenchman should be allowed to cruise at large."

"Do you think she came to ship Penwarden away, sir? That is my father's idea."

"'Tis a notion, now, but not likely, unless John Trevanion came here to throw me off the scent. You saw no small boat pulling to the ship, did you?"

"No, sir."

"Then I think the Squire is wrong. Now, seemingly, Mr. Mildmay has not seen my signal, but he must be somewhere off the coast. As soon as 'tis dark I will show a light with my telescope lantern; that will fetch him; and if you are ready to join hands with us, I will bring him to the Towers and we'll hold a council of war. Will the Squire agree to it?"

"I don't know. I'll ask him, and if you'll meet me at six o'clock on the bridge yonder, I will tell you what he says."

When the Squire returned from his visit to the Parsonage, Dick opened his mind to him. At first Mr. Trevanion shrank from definitely committing himself to the cause of the revenue officers, but when Dick pointed out that his position could scarcely be worse than it was, and that the Trevanion influence might still have some weight with the better-disposed among the village folk, he consented to the riding-officer's proposal.

"The vicar is coming over this evening," he said. "We shall at any rate have all the wisdom of the parish."

At half-past six there met in the Squire's room, Mr. Mildmay, the riding-officer, Mr. Carlyon, and Dick. They drew their chairs to the fire; the elder men lit their churchwarden pipes, and, with glasses of steaming toddy at their elbows, proceeded to discuss the situation.

"I have a note from Sir Bevil," said the Squire. "He is sending to Truro for assistance. What shape that may take I don't know."

"The shape of a constable or two, probably," said Mr. Polwhele, "and if they are no better than Petherick, they won't help us much."

"Petherick shall cry the village to-morrow," said the Vicar. "Being a justice as well as parson, I have written out a proclamation, summoning all good and true men to give information that will lead to the discovery of Penwarden, dead or alive."

"I don't believe they'd murder him," said Mr. Mildmay, "or they wouldn't take the trouble to spirit him away. A crack on the head would be a much simpler matter."

"What do you suppose is their object in kidnapping him?" asked the Vicar.

"Either to hold him while they run a specially valuable cargo, or to ship him to France and keep him permanently out of their way. A fool's trick; for he's bound to be replaced, though we'd find it hard to get a better man, old as he is."

"And foolish in another way," added the riding-officer. "They ought to know that a deed of that kind will only stir up the rest of us. I wouldn't give much for their chances of running a cargo yet awhile."

"Nor for shipping him," said Mr. Mildmay. "I'll swear they haven't done it yet. My boats were up and down the coast all last night. One of them spied that rascally privateer putting in towards St. Cuby's Cove in the mist this morning, but she sailed away, and though I gave chase, she got off. To-night we'll have the boats patrolling for miles; I defy 'em to slip through us."

"When did they seize him, d'you suppose?" asked the Squire.

"In the early morning, I think, Father," said Dick, "before it was light. The blood stain was quite fresh. They must have hidden him somewhere; they wouldn't carry him away in the daylight, in case some one saw them."

"That wouldn't trouble them, bless you," said Mr. Mildmay. "All Polkerran and most of the folk around are hand-in-glove with them. They could count on the silence of everybody but a few ranters and psalm-singers, who would either be abed and asleep, or going about their business."

"I don't agree with you, Mildmay," said the Squire. "They would have to pass this house on the way to the village, and they know very well that Dick and young Sam are early birds; they wouldn't risk meeting them. No; 'twas done in the dark, depend on it."

"That might be if they took him to the village, but we don't know that," retorted Mr. Mildmay. "No doubt there are any number of underground cellars and secret passages in the village: 'twas in some such place that fellow Delarousse was hidden while the dragoons were searching the inn, you may be sure. But those are not the only possible hiding-places. What with nooks, caves, and adits in the abandoned mines, we might search for a month of Sundays and not find the poor fellow."

"But they won't hold him long, surely," said Dick. "What a trouble it would be to guard him and feed him!"

"True; they would expect to be able to ship him soon. If they are planning a run, and find we're too watchful for them, I'll be bound they'll let him loose before long, and we'll find him one fine morning back again."

"Dick speaks of guarding and feeding," said Mr. Carlyon. "May not that give us a clue? It seems probable, as Mr. Mildmay suggests, that he is not in the village. If he is elsewhere, somebody must leave the village to carry food to him, and a vigilant watch would detect the fellow."

"Bless my life, parson," said Mr. Polwhele, "you don't know these rascals. They're as wary as otters and as slippery as eels. I'll warrant they'd slip us in broad daylight, and as to the darkness of night, why, a regiment of soldiers wouldn't be large enough to net 'em."

"Well, to be practical," said the Squire. "You, Vicar, as a justice, can give Mr. Polwhele a warrant of search. You may unearth him in the village, and I should begin with the inn; Doubledick's name suits him. With the coast closely watched by Mr. Mildmay's men, the kidnappers cannot ship him. Sir Bevil will raise the hue and cry in the neighbourhood inland, and 'tis such a serious matter that I doubt whether any of the yeomen would connive at it. The name of _habeas corpus_ would scare them out of their wits. I'm inclined to think with Mr. Mildmay that the rascals will let him loose in a day or two when they see what a stir they have made; but of course we must not rely on that, but do our best to ferret him out."

"Very well summed up, Squire," said the Vicar. "We cannot do more to-night; and, as 'tis not late, perhaps you and these gentlemen would favour me with a rubber. Polwhele trumped my trick last time," he added, under his breath.

"With all my heart," cried the Squire. "Dick, bring the cards, and ask Reuben to fry some pilchards. All work and no play, Mr. Mildmay, you know----"

The gentlemen were nothing loth to spend an hour or two in this way. They had supper at eight; the officers then left to attend to their nocturnal duties; and as Mr. Carlyon remained to play piquet with the Squire, Dick went to bed early, resolving to take some independent steps in the morning.

CHAPTER THE THIRTEENTH

Cross-Currents

Polkerran next day was the stage upon which a series of dramatic incidents were enacted, pure comedy to the spectators, but with a possible tragedy behind the scenes.

At an early hour a mob of boys and girls, with a sprinkling of aged folk verging on second childhood, followed at the heels of Petherick, the constable, as he shambled through the streets, stopping at the corners to ring his bell, shout "Oyez! Oyez!" and mumble the formal words of Mr. Carlyon's proclamation. He pretended to read them from the sheet of double foolscap that he held at arm's length before him, but being perfectly illiterate, he in reality recited them by heart, the Vicar having devoted two solid hours since dawn in drumming them into the man's head. His duty thus religiously performed, Petherick repaired to the tap-room of the Five Pilchards, where he discoursed for a time on _habeas corpus, felo de se_, and other magical prescriptions, relieving his dryness so frequently with rum-hot that he was at length overcome with emotion, and mingled his liquor with his tears.

Two hours later, Sir Bevil Portharvan rode down with Mr. John Trevanion, a brother magistrate, and a sheriff's officer from Truro, intending to harangue the populace and impress them with the majesty and terror of the law. But finding that no audience gathered about him except the young and old children aforesaid, a few pallid indoor workmen, and a number of women accompanied by squalling infants in arms--the able-bodied men being, curiously enough, otherwise engaged--he abandoned that part of the programme, and contented himself with solemnly superintending the affixing to the inn-door of a bill, headed with the royal arms, which he had ordered overnight to be printed in Truro.

At noon came Mr. Mildmay, Mr. Polwhele, a posse of excisemen, and a soldier on furlough, who, with the authority of a warrant signed by the Vicar, proceeded to make a thorough search of the houses, beginning with the inn itself. They descended to the cellars, ascended to the lofts; rummaged in clothes presses; turned down beds; rapped at walls for hollow sounds indicating secret passages or receptacles; peeped into horse-troughs, cow-byres, and pigsties; poked in coppers and washtubs; in short, worked themselves into a fine perspiring heat and the village folk into an itching frenzy by the conscientious thoroughness of their inquisition. Some of the men who had been undiscoverable by Sir Bevil were now energetically employed, in advance of the search party, in removing bales, kegs, packets, and canisters, so that when Mr. Mildmay appeared at one end of a street, these interesting objects were collected at the other; and when this end in turn was visited, the barefooted carriers of the articles in question slipped back and replaced them in their former hiding-places.

While Mr. Mildmay and his assistants, after three hours' unremitting toil, stood mopping their brows and venting their honest opinion of the Polkerran folk, John Trevanion rode down the hill. He reined up when he reached the group, and greeted the discomfited representatives of the law.

"How d'ye do, gentlemen?" he cried. "Have you had any success?"

"Confusion seize 'em, Mr. Trevanion!" replied the lieutenant. "We've not seen a sign of the old man, nor discovered a single cask or bundle of contraband. You'd think 'twas the most innocent, duty-paying village in the three kingdoms."

"That's most unfortunate. As to the contraband--well, you know, we all like to get our goods as cheap as we may, I don't disguise it; but old Penwarden is another story. Have you no notion where he is?"

"No more than you, Mr. Trevanion," said the riding-officer, throwing a keen glance on the horseman.

"Then you must be blank indeed," said Trevanion with an easy laugh. "'Tis my belief there's a great deal too much fuss made about old Joe's disappearance. Surely nobody in Polkerran would wish to injure so ancient an institution. 'Tis a prank, depend upon it, and when the prankers have achieved their object--you and I can guess what that is--they'll let him loose as sound as a bell."

Trevanion's debonair frankness disarmed Mr. Mildmay, to whom he was a comparative stranger. It seemed ridiculous that the Squire should harbour such unworthy suspicions of his cousin.

"By the way," continued Trevanion, "I am glad I met you. I am having a few friends in on Saturday night--a bit of a randy; that's our name for it here--and I shall be delighted if you will join us. I haven't seen so much of you as I should like; this mine I'm starting has kept me busy."

"I'm much obliged to you," said Mr. Mildmay, "but I fear----"

"Oh, I know what you would say. But your cutter can spare you for an hour or two. Not for the world would I hinder your duties; to catch that villain Delarousse in particular would be worth a good deal to you; but 'tis dark early; the hour fixed is six; and I won't say a word if you must leave us before we are ripe."

"Well, I will come. Thank you."

"And you too, Mr. Polwhele? The service of your country can spare you for a little while?"

"To be sure. I'll come too, Mr. Trevanion; 'twill be like old times, indeed."

The riding-officer's assent was much more hearty than Mr. Mildmay's, which was perhaps a little surprising in view of the suspicions he had confessed to on the previous day in speaking to Dick.

"That's right," said Trevanion. "I shall be glad to welcome you. The hour is six--did I name it? I hope Penwarden will be found by that time; you'll feel easier, I dare say. Good-bye, then."

When he had ridden away, Mr. Mildmay dismissed the underlings and went off to have a meal with the riding-officer.

"That fellow's too free-and-easy to be the villain the Squire thinks him," said Mr. Mildmay, as they walked southward out of the village.

Mr. Polwhele smiled.

"I'm beginning to think he's the cleverest free-trader the duchy ever bred," he remarked.

"My dear fellow!" expostulated the lieutenant.

"I had my suspicions; this invitation has convinced me," replied Mr. Polwhele. "Bless my life, to think you are so simple, Mildmay! Don't you see the game? They've put Penwarden out of the way. What does that mean? A big run, as sure as I'm alive. But we two are obstacles; they blink at kidnapping us, but they do better. They invite us to a randy, and while we are making merry they slip inshore, run their cargo, liberate Penwarden, and laugh at us for a pair of jackasses."

"That's nonsense, Polwhele. The cutter will be out, though I'm not on it. Besides, didn't he say we can leave when we like?"

"Yes, with the belief that when he has us there, warmth, good liquor, and pleasant company will prove more attractive than hunting rascals in the cold."

"Why did you accept, then?"

"First, to look after you, Mildmay. Second, to keep my eyes open. Third, to make Trevanion think I don't suspect him, so that the smugglers may go forward with their plans. He is playing a deep game, I'm sure of it."

"That's detestably unjust, Polwhele," said Mr. Mildmay, with some heat. "Give a dog a bad name, and----I tell you what. We will both leave at nine; not a minute later. That's several hours before any run took place that ever I heard of. Nine it shall be, and call me jackass if the shore's not as quiet all night as the churchyard."

Meanwhile, what had Dick been doing?

At the hour when Mr. Carlyon was driving the terms of his proclamation into Petherick's reluctant skull, Dick rose from bed, and taking the key of Penwarden's cottage, brought to the Towers by Gammer Oliver, went up the cliff to make a more thorough examination of the premises than he had made on the previous day. He wished that he had thought of doing so before, for there had not only been rain in the night which would help to obliterate any traces that the kidnappers might have left on the ground, but the neighbourhood had been visited by inquisitive boys, dairymaids, farm-hands, and idle folk from the village, who tramped round the cottage, gazed at the door, and peered in at the windows, leaving innumerable footprints on the soil.

Dick was puzzled to think how Joe's captors had obtained entrance to the cottage. It was not by the front door, unless Penwarden had carelessly left it open; its timbers were sound and the lock unbroken; not by the chimney, which was too narrow to admit anything larger than a pigeon. They might have gone through the garden and forced the back door; though they would surely have tried to effect an entrance quietly, while the old man lay asleep.

Arriving at the cottage, Dick unlocked the door, entered, and went through the passage to the back door, which opened on a tiny garden. The lock had not been tampered with. Penwarden was very proud of his garden, devoting many hours a day in the summer, when his duties were light, to the cultivation of peonies, fuchsias, nasturtiums, and other flowering plants, together with onions, artichokes, and vegetable marrows. The flowers were on one side of a narrow path, the vegetables on the other. There was a small gate in the rear fence. At this time of year the ground was bare, Penwarden finding nothing to do but a little rake and spade work.

A glance at the path apprised Dick that the captive had been carried out this way. The pebbles were disturbed; parts of the boxwood borders were trampled down, and over the edge there were prints of heavy boots on the brown earth. Dick examined the kitchen window. The explanation was at once clear to him. There were deep scratches on the sill and the woodwork; the conclusion was irresistible; the kidnappers had climbed into the kitchen and gained the bedroom before Penwarden was aware of their presence. That they had carried their victim out by the back door seemed to show that at any rate they had taken him inland, and not down to the shore. How the front door came to be unlocked was a puzzling circumstance, since they had clearly neither entered nor come out that way.

Dick went again to the back, and sought to trace the footsteps beyond the gate; but the grass there was so beaten down by the rain and the feet of the curious idlers, that the most careful investigation must prove fruitless. He returned into the cottage, to make a thorough search of the bedroom. Gammer Oliver had made the bed, straightened the rug, set the chair on its legs, and washed over the stained plank. It seemed probable that his instruction to her to tidy up had robbed him of any chance of making a discovery. But Dick resolved not to err again through over-haste, and, the small window admitting little light, he found a candle, lit it, and began to prowl methodically round the room. For some time his search met with no reward, but all at once, catching a glint of light reflected from some object on the floor in the angle between a grandfather's clock and the fireplace, he stooped, and picked up a large steel button, to which hung by the broken threads a torn scrap of blue cloth.

Dick felt a thrill of excitement. Penwarden had not been carried away unresisting. He knew that already by the signs of struggle formerly observed. The severed button was an additional proof. No doubt it had been wrenched off in the fight--from whose coat? Not from Joe's; his buttons were the regulation brass buttons of the Government service. Many of the fishers had steel buttons on their winter coats, and one button was like another. But it occurred to Dick that the particular garment which had lost this button might not yet have been repaired, and he wondered whether the Vicar's search-warrant would justify Mr. Mildmay in demanding that all the blue coats in the village should be spread out on the beach for examination. The absurdity of the idea struck him at once. Of course the very garment that was wanted would not appear. But he thought of a better way--one that would arouse no suspicion, though it might prove impossible of execution. He would go down into the village and scrutinise the clothes of all the men he met. The owner of the lost button was probably one of the most active of the smugglers, and not an indoor man, so that there was some chance of meeting him in the street, on the beach, or on the jetty.

He set off at once. On the way he met Sir Bevil and other horsemen riding from the Dower House, where John Trevanion had entertained them after the futile ceremony in the village. The fishers, who were not to be seen when Sir Bevil was burning to address them, now stood smoking at the corners, in front of the inn, on the jetty, and elsewhere. They appeared to be very much amused. Some of them scowled at Dick as he passed; others laughed and spat; one asked him with an oath what he was staring at. Dick was seldom in the village now, and the hostility of the folk's attitude might have made his heart sore had he not been hardened to it.

He walked along as unconcernedly as he could, standing for a few moments to watch some fishers mending nets on the beach, and lingering until their movements brought the front of their coats into view. Some coats were brown, some blue; some had steel buttons, others bone. Not one was lacking. Presently he came to the jetty, where Isaac Tonkin, sitting on an upturned tub, was superintending some repairs to the seine-net in his lugger. He wore a blue coat, but his arms were folded, one hand holding his pipe to his mouth. He threw one glance at Dick, but made no movement, and thenceforth ignored him.

Dick strolled up and down. Excitement utterly possessed him; to his fancy Tonkin was deliberately concealing two out of his four buttons. The two visible were of steel. What could he do to make the man unclasp? But it was not necessary to practise any wile. The simplest causes effected what he desired.

"Feyther," called Jake Tonkin from the lugger, "fling us a quid o' yer bacca."

"'Tis bad for young stummicks," said the father. "Howsomever, here 'ee be."

His right arm fell as he sought his pocket: the front of his coat was revealed; one button was missing.

It is probable that Dick, but for his long waiting and his excitement, would not have yielded to impulse. But as Tonkin threw the tobacco into the lugger, Dick stepped up to him, and, holding out the incriminating button, said:

"This is yours, I believe."

Tonkin stared at him for an instant, blew a cloud from his lips, and held out his hand for the button as if to examine it. In anticipatory triumph Dick handed it to him.

"Did I hear 'ee say as this button do belong to me?" asked the man in a curiously quiet voice.

"Yes, I did say so."

"Well, drown me if I want it," and with a flick between his forefinger and thumb he sent it skimming through the air. It fell into the sea a dozen yards away.

Dick's cheeks flamed with rage at his stupidity in allowing himself to be outwitted. He had had in his possession the sole piece of evidence against the kidnappers, and now it was lost on the sandy bottom of the harbour. Shaken out of his self-control, he said hotly:

"'Twas you that kidnapped Penwarden. Don't think you will escape. There'll be an end to this villainy."

"Go and inform, then, you cussed young slip of a rotted old tree. 'Tis not the first time, neither, you dirty young whelp."

A burst of laughter from the lugger brought Dick to his sober senses. Disdaining to contradict the aspersion, he turned abruptly on his heel, tingling with fury at his own indiscretion. Jibes and jeers pursued him as he walked towards the homeward road; these stung him less than the knowledge that by his own folly he had thrown away a chance of helping Penwarden.

Gloomy thoughts kept him company as he toiled up the hill. Nor was he cheered by the air of malignant triumph manifest on Doubledick's fat face, when, half-way up the hill, he met the inn-keeper waddling down. In imagination he heard the gleeful chuckles with which Doubledick would learn of his discomfiture. After the heroic resolution he had lately come to, it was a sorry thing to have been worsted in the first encounter.

Walking more rapidly on the level road past the Dower House, at a cursory glance to the left he saw a short, thickset form scramble over the fence that bounded the premises, and hasten furtively in the direction of the Towers. The sight struck him with surprise and wrath at once, for the slinking figure was undoubtedly that of Sam Pollex. Being himself partially concealed by the hedge, he thought it probable that Sam had not seen him, so, hurrying along, he turned as soon as possible into the grounds of the Towers, and came face to face with Sam as the boy arrived at a little wicket-gate.

"What do you mean by it?" he demanded angrily, holding the gate so that Sam could not pass through.

Sam blushed and dropped his eyes, looking flustered and perturbed.

"Were you not bidden never to go there again?" Dick continued. "Didn't I say I'd break your head for you if you disobeyed?"

"Iss, you did so," said Sam ruefully. "Ah, well, you'm better do it and get it over."

"What were you doing there?" said Dick, still holding the gate.

Sam looked sidelong, shuffled his feet, then, as with a great effort, replied:

"I didn' go to sell eggs, nor nawthin' o' that sort. If you must haul it out of a poor feller, I rambled there to----"

"Well?"

"To see maidy Susan; now I've said it."

"Then you're a silly ass. She's years older than you. What does a maid of twenty want with a boy of sixteen?"

"Twenty she is, and sixteen be I, but I've a deal more wisdom in my noddle than she, arter all. She's a simple soul about pilchurs, and night-lines, and buildin' boats, and all sorts o' famous things I've knowed since I wer table-high, and she do have a tarrible thirst for high knowledge. She've a clever little head-piece, too, for when I wer tellin' to she how pretty 'tis to see a otter divin' for fish, who should come up-along but Doubledick----"

"Did he see you?" interrupted Dick.

"I wer just agoin' to tell 'ee. No, 'a didn't see me, 'cos I slipped behind Maidy, she being well growed, and says I, 'That feller is my 'nation enemy,' says I, and afore I knowed wheer I wer, she whisked me into a little small cupboard place wi' coats and boots hangin' on the wall, and commanded me, in a feelin' whisper, to bide theer till she toled me out. Drown me if I didn' hear Doubledick go shailin' past wi' Maister John, and then there comed a rumblin' through the wall, and I knowed they two was a-talkin'."

"Did you hear what they said?" asked Dick eagerly.

"Iss, I did. I hadn' nawthin' better to do, so I put my ear to the wall. Iss, I heerd a thing or two."

"Well, what did you hear? Anything about Penwarden?"

Sam had gradually pushed open the gate, and was now walking beside Dick.

"Not a word. I wer so flambustered in bein' poked in that hencoop of a place, and thinkin' what they'd do to me if so be they catched me, that 'twas all mixed up, and I couldn' tell A from B."

"But think: you must have heard something clearly. You didn't lose all your wits, did you?"

"Well, I did hear Maister John say wind was steady, and 'a hoped 't 'ud hold fair for business."

"Yes: what then?"

"Don't 'ee bustle me; then maybe I'll mind o' more. Iss, I mind Doubledick said, 'Hee! hee!' says he; 'if it do hold for another forty-eight hours,' says he;--and be-jowned if I could hear any more o' that piece of reckonin', my poor heart was a-strummin' so."

"Confound your poor heart!" cried Dick. "Do pull yourself together. It may mean salvation to Joe."

Sam scratched his head.

"If you'd only been theer instead o' me!" he muttered. "Ah! 'Twas carriers. Iss: Maister John axed if 'twas settled about carriers. 'A round score,' says Doubledick, if 't wasn't two; 'good fellers all; no wamblin', slack-twisted cripple-toes for this job,' says he."

"What job?"

"That I can't say. But Zacky Tonkin was in it; iss; gie me a minute for rec'lection; iss. Doubledick says, 'Zacky be sour as a green apple.' 'Ha! ha!' laughs Maister John, ''a don't like playin' second fiddle,' says he, which is a passel o' nonsense, 'cos Zacky never played on fiddle, fust, second, nor last either, all his born days, that I do know. ''Tis for 'ee to keep un quiet!' says Maister John. 'He hev his uses, but hain't got a mossel of brains. You've got enough for two, Doubledick,' says he."

Dick was becoming impatient. The conversation as reported was not very enlightening, and surely Doubledick had not visited the Dower House to discuss such trivialities. But Dick had learnt his lesson; he would not err again by being over-hasty; so he schooled himself to endure the slow trickle of information as it oozed from Sam's reluctant memory.

"Didn't they name Penwarden at all?" he asked.

"Never heerd un. The only other names I heerd wer Tom Pennycomequick and Jimmy Nancarrow."

"Ah! what about them?"

Sam reflected.

"Tom Pennycomequick and Jimmy Nancarrow," he repeated, as if the repetition would recall the connection. "Iss; I mind o't. Says Maister John, 'Who be on guard to-day?'"

"'On guard!' Not 'on the watch'?"

"That's what 'a meant, seemingly, but 'a said 'on guard.' 'Tom Pennycomequick and Jimmy Nancarrow,' says Doubledick. There was summat about 'bogeys,' if I could only mind. Iss, fay; I've got un. 'Two,' says Maister John, 'what for?' 'Hee! hee!' goes Doubledick; ''cos they was afeard to go alone,' says he. 'Afeard o' their own bogeys,' says Maister John, and then they both laughed so hearty that daze me if I didn't bust out too, and had to clap the tail of a coat in my jaws so they shouldn' hear. 'T'ud ha' been gashly if they found me, and drawed out o' me how maidy Susan had put me theer, and--well, you bean't a-hearkenin', so I'll say no more."

In truth, Dick's ears were closed; his mind was rapidly piecing together the fragmentary items of information Sam had given him. They had now reached the Towers; Dick went straight to his bedroom, and sat with his elbow on the window-sill, looking out over the grey sullen sea, and striving to bind together these separate strands. The outcome of his meditation was as follows:

Something important was to happen within forty-eight hours, and it depended on the weather. It was now midday on Friday; what was to be done would be done before midday on Sunday. There had been mention of carriers--that implied a smuggling run. Penwarden's name had not been mentioned, but two men had been said to be on guard. Over whom or what? Not over smuggled goods, for the run had not yet taken place. Not over the revenue officers, for the phrase would then have been "on the watch" or something similar. The word "guard" would naturally be used in connection with a prisoner; that prisoner must be Penwarden: where was he? The men on guard were afraid; no doubt the place chosen for his imprisonment was a lonely spot, not in the village, but somewhere remote from the scene of the impending operations, unless, indeed, it was intended to ship him to France in the lugger that brought the cargo. In that case he would probably be in some secure nook near the shore.

Perplexed, Dick wondered whether he had at last discovered a clue. It was at least worth while to follow it up. The men whose names had been mentioned were well known to him. Pennycomequick was a cobbler, Nancarrow a farmer, whose holding was situated about three miles away on the moor. To make direct inquiries might awaken suspicion: how could he discover where they were? An idea struck him. No doubt their guard would be relieved. Trevanion had been surprised to learn that two were on duty; the task, then, was usually undertaken by one. Was it possible to find out if any one left the village secretly during the day?

Suddenly a simple stratagem occurred to him. He took up an old, worn pair of boots, ran downstairs, and called Sam.

"Take these down to Pennycomequick's, and tell him to sole them, and to put a good iron tip on the heels. If he is not there, ask when he will be back. Be sure not to forget that, and be as quick as you can."

"Iss, I woll," said Sam, "for I do have a hankerin' arter dinner."

He hurried away, and returned when Dick was half through his midday meal. Dick heard the boy clumping into the house, but did not go to him at once, being disinclined to enter into explanations with his parents at this stage. He left the table as soon as he could, and found Sam busy with dumpling and gravy in the kitchen.

"Well, Sam?" he said.

"Mistress commands me not to speak wi' my mouth full," mumbled the boy. "Now I can tell 'ee," he went on after a few moments. "Pennycomequick bean't to home. He be gone to Trura to buy leather."

"When will he be back?"

"'Them above alone knows,' says the woman when I axed her. 'He said four, but what Pennycomequick says, and what he do, be as far apart as from here to nowhere.' If that be all you want to know, Maister Dick, I'll continny work on this noble pudden."

Dick was satisfied. He returned to his room, and, about three o'clock, mounted to the roof of one of the towers from which the house took its name. With him he carried an excellent spy-glass which remained to the Squire from his seafaring days. From this lofty eyrie a view could be obtained for miles around. If the cobbler and the farmer were on guard together, it was likely that they would be relieved together, and they could hardly return, the one to the village, the other to his farm on the moor, without coming at some part of their journey within range of vision. Dick felt a momentary damping of the spirits when it occurred to him that Penwarden's place of concealment might be some nook below the cliffs. In that case the sentries would be changed by boat from the harbour, and he would see nothing of them. But even in that case the farmer must ascend the hill and cross the moor, and though he might be concealed at some portions of his road by trees and bushes, he must at length cross open country. Behind the parapet Dick could watch unseen, and he settled himself to wait in patience.

CHAPTER THE FOURTEENTH

Doubledick on Duty

It was a chill, dreary afternoon. The sky weighed upon earth and sea like a canopy of lead. The wind moaned and sighed about the roof; the trees seemed to shiver in their nakedness. From over the cliff came the hollow murmur of the breakers. Northward Penwarden's cottage stood lonely and forlorn; eastward stretched the dark gloomy waste of moorland; southward the village huddled in its cleft as if for warmth, a few thin streamers of smoke flying inland on the wind. Nearer the Dower House a score of men were engaged in erecting sheds and machinery for Trevanion's miners, and the sound of their voices came in mournful cadence to Dick's ears.

For some time there was scarcely a movement on the face of the country. Presently a carrier's cart rumbled down the road, stopping at the Dower House. Through his spy-glass Dick saw Susan's bright face smiling as she spoke to the carrier, who conveyed into the house boxes, baskets, and packets of various shapes and sizes. Dick remembered that on the morrow Trevanion was entertaining a party of friends to celebrate the reopening of the mines. He was miserably conscious of the contrast between his cousin's lot and his own. Why, he asked himself, had Fate dealt so hardly with the Trevanions of the Towers? The cart moved on, no doubt to the Five Pilchards, where the carrier would refresh himself before starting on his return journey to Truro. The workmen shouldered their tools and tramped after it, and when they had disappeared the land was left in its former immobility.

At length, as the gloom was deepening with the dusk, Dick descried, some distance to his left, two figures moving slowly along, one towards him on the high road, the other away from him, crossing a ploughed field towards a footpath that led from the road, some distance behind, across the moor. The sky was so lowering that Dick could not at first, even through his glass, identify the men. The receding figure dwindled, and was by-and-by lost to sight; the advancing one increased, and became recognisable by its crookedness as that of Pennycomequick, the cobbler. But he bore no bundle of leather. He passed the Towers in the direction of the village, and soon he too had vanished.

Dick could not doubt that the other man was the farmer, Jimmy Nancarrow. The path into which he had struck led to his farm. Where had they come from? Not far along the high road, otherwise the farmer would have left it when he reached the path, and have gone the easiest and shortest way home; unless, indeed, he had remained with the cobbler for company's sake. Dick smiled at this thought. Pennycomequick was the most crabbed and crossgrained man in the village; whereas Nancarrow was a hearty, jovial fellow, not the kind of man to walk an extra half-mile and tramp over a ploughed field for the pleasure of the cobbler's society. It seemed more probable that the men had come to the road together from some adjacent spot, and that the farmer had left it at once.

Cold and hungry after his hour of watching, Dick was about to descend into the house when he caught sight of Tonkin's lugger beating up from northward against the south-west wind, and evidently making for the harbour. He gazed at her through his glass. Tonkin and three other men were aboard her. A large fishing-net was heaped on the deck. It was a strange coincidence that these movements on sea and land should have been contemporaneous. Dick went down the stairs to the living-room, then vacant, lay down in front of the fire, and ruminated on what he had seen, until the warmth sent him to sleep.

When he awoke, his father was in the room. Dick considered whether he should speak about the clues which he believed he had discovered, and decided that, since nothing was as yet certain, he would keep silence until he had carried his investigation further. To search for the tracks of the two men, or to follow them up if found, would be impossible that evening; but this was to be his task as soon as there was clear daylight on the morrow.

"Mr. Mildmay is going to the randy at the Dower House to-morrow, I hear," said the Squire.

"Is he, sir?" replied Dick, surprised.

"Yes; I heard it from Mr. Polwhele, who is going too."

"Mr. Mildmay is almost a stranger, and 'tis rather a dull life for him between whiles; but Mr. Polwhele knew John Trevanion years ago, did he not, sir?"

"Oh! he is going as watch-dog. He suspects that the invitation may be a trick to get them out of the way while the smugglers run a cargo, and got Mr. Mildmay to promise to leave promptly at nine. He accompanies him to see that he is not detained."

"Nothing has been heard of old Joe, Father?"

"Nothing at all. I incline to think that we shall soon see him again. With Mr. Polwhele on the alert, and Mr. Mildmay also, let us hope, there can be neither run nor shipment, and the rascals will tire of keeping guard on the old man."

Again Dick was on the point of disclosing what he knew, but was restrained by the same feeling that suspicion must become certainty before any steps were taken.