IN A FRESH SCRAPE
The first witness called by Mr. Faulkner was Captain Downes.
"Will you tell us what you know about this affair?" the chairman said.
"After having captured the smuggler, I took six men and went up to see
if I could be of any assistance to Mr. Moorsby, and also to hear whether
he had been as successful with his capture as I had. I found that
everything was over, and that a fire had been lighted. I was talking to
Mr. Moorsby when my attention was excited by loud words between Mr.
Faulkner and Mr. Wyatt, with whom I am acquainted. Mr. Faulkner struck
him in the face, and there was a scuffle, the prisoner lifting the
magistrate, although a much heavier man, completely off his feet. In the
course of the scuffle they approached the fire, and being afraid that
they might fall into it, I ran up with Mr. Moorsby and some of the men,
and pulled them away."
"Did it seem to you, Captain Downes, that the prisoner was carrying Mr.
Faulkner straight to the fire?"
"He was certainly going straight in that direction, but whether
intentionally or not I am unable to say."
"Do you think that if you and your men had not interfered they would
have fallen into the fire?"
"I think they would certainly have done so."
"Do you think that the prisoner intended to throw Mr. Faulkner into the
fire?"
"That I cannot say."
"Have you any questions to ask the witness, Mr. Faulkner?" the chairman
asked.
"You do not think it likely, I suppose, that the prisoner could have
intended himself to tumble into the fire?"
"I should think it very unlikely."
Mr. Faulkner sat down, and Mr. Probert rose.
"You think it very unlikely, Captain Downes, that Mr. Wyatt would
deliberately have walked into the fire, and I quite share your opinion;
but it has not yet been proved that he was deliberately going towards
the fire at all. You say he lifted Mr. Faulkner in his arms. Now it
seems to me that, having done so, he would not be able to see at all
which way he was going, as Mr. Wyatt's eyes would both be on a level
with Mr. Faulkner's chest; moreover, it must be evident that, judging
from his present appearance, he could scarcely have seen anything at
all, after receiving such a blow. Does it not strike you as being still
more likely that, partially blinded as he was, and being unwilling to
strike the magistrate in return, however much the latter had forfeited
all claim to respect, he closed with him, and in the heat of passion
lifted him up and carried him along at random?"
"I think that very likely," the lieutenant replied.
"Had you yourself been struck as the prisoner was struck, Captain
Downes, what course do you think it would have been proper for you to
pursue?"
"I don't know what would have been proper, but I know what I should have
done. Magistrate or no magistrate, I should have knocked my assailant
down, or at any rate I should have tried to."
"As a naval man, Captain Downes, you have had some experience of the
conduct gentlemen generally observe to their prisoners. I presume that
it is not their custom to strike them, even if they did make a somewhat
free use of their tongues?"
"Certainly not," Captain Downes said emphatically.
"Would you go so far as to say that you would consider it to be a
disgraceful and cowardly act?"
"I should so consider it."
There was again a murmur of applause in court, which was instantly
arrested when Mr. Probert held up his hand deprecatingly. "Thank you,
Captain Downes," he went on. "Now we come to the question of the quarrel
that gave rise to this affair. Mr. Faulkner has not thought fit to ask
you any questions about it. Were you standing close enough to hear what
passed?"
"I was standing close by, and both Mr. Faulkner and the prisoner spoke
loudly enough to be heard at such a distance."
"The magistrate first began the conversation?"
"He did."
"He used very strong language, did he not?"
"Very strong."
"Did you think that he was justified in using such strong language?"
"Certainly not; I thought that it was most improper."
"And do you think that a gentleman accosted so improperly is to be
greatly blamed if he uses strong language in return?"
"It would no doubt have been better if he had held his tongue at the
time, and have called him to account afterwards."
"Still the provocation was very strong, Captain Downes, and you could
not altogether blame him."
"I did not blame him at all," the witness said curtly.
"And what did you think when Mr. Faulkner suddenly struck his prisoner
in the face?"
"Am I to answer that question?" the witness asked the bench.
"I do not think that it is an improper question," the chairman replied.
"Very well, sir. Then, if I must say it, I thought it was one of the
most blackguardly and cowardly things I ever saw done."
"Thank you, Captain Downes. I do not think it necessary to ask you any
further questions."
"Have you any more witnesses to call, Mr. Faulkner?" the chairman asked
coldly.
Mr. Faulkner's face was white with rage. "I have a dozen other
witnesses," he said hoarsely, "but I have no doubt they will all follow
the lead their officer has set them. I shall therefore call no more."
"I do not think, your worships," Mr. Probert said, rising, "that it is
necessary for me to address you. I would only submit to you that there
is not a shadow of evidence to support the charge of an attempt to
murder. As to the abusive language, I cannot say that my client's words
were a retort courteous, but they were only a retort natural, and were
simply the consequence of the extraordinary conduct of Mr. Faulkner,
acting at the time in his capacity of magistrate. As to the charge of
threatening language, it is altogether absurd. My client simply asserted
what is true by common report--that Mr. Faulkner had been threatened,
and that it was possible that those threats might some day or other be
carried into effect. I have only, therefore, to leave the case in the
hands of your worships."
The two magistrates put their heads together for a short time. Then the
chairman said: "The bench is of opinion that the charge of attempted
murder is altogether without foundation, and that of abusive language
and the use of threats should never have been brought, seeing that they
were the result of what we cannot but consider the very ill-judged and
improper conduct of the plaintiff. You are therefore discharged, Mr.
Wyatt; but my colleague and myself cannot but again express a hope that
this and the preceding charge may prove a lesson to you to avoid taking
part, even as a spectator, in such breeches of the law as those which
led to this very regrettable occurrence."
As the magistrate concluded, a roar of applause rose in the court. In
vain the constables shouted for silence. The chairman at once ordered
the room to be cleared, and at the same time motioned to Julian not to
leave the court, as he was preparing to do. When the court was cleared,
he called Julian up to him.
"I think, Mr. Wyatt," he said, "it would be as well for you to remain
here for a time, and then go out by the back way. It would be very
unfortunate if any demonstration took place. Enough harm has been done
already; do not let us make it any worse."
"Certainly not, sir. I am heartily sorry for what has occurred," and
beckoning to Frank, who was still seated at the solicitors' table, he
retired with him to a waiting-room.
"Thank goodness, Julian, you have got out of that scrape."
"Thank goodness, indeed, Frank. I behaved like an awful fool, but I
never dreamt that anything like this would come of it. I have been to
see cargoes run several times. It was very good fun. I never helped in
any way, and had always made up my mind that I would make myself scarce
if the revenue people should turn up, but it all happened so suddenly
that I was a prisoner before I knew what was going on. As to the other
affair, no doubt it would have been better for me to have said nothing,
but of course I knew that he had no right to say what he did, and I had
not the least idea that he would hit me; when he did, I went at him in a
fury, and I don't mind acknowledging that I did intend to chuck him in
the fire--not with any idea of killing him, you know, though I did think
he would be burnt a bit."
"It was lucky you sent for Probert, Julian; I had never thought of it."
"No more did I, Frank. I was perfectly astonished when he got up and
said that he appeared for me, but I supposed that Aunt or you had sent
for him."
"I am sure Aunt didn't, or she would have told me."
"I should not be surprised, Frank, if it were Captain Downes. In the
first place, he was a friend of Father's, and in the next place, because
he is heartily sick of Faulkner's constant interference and the way he
goes on. I expect that if Mr. Moorsby had got up he would have said just
the same things."
"I will leave you here for a few minutes, Julian. I must run round and
tell Aunt; she is in a fearful stew about you."
Frank ran out at the main entrance. A number of fishermen were hanging
about outside. Bill came up to him:
"Isn't Mr. Julian coming out, Master Frank?"
"Not at present. The magistrates don't want any fuss in the streets, no
more does my brother, and he will stay there till every one has cleared
off, so the best thing you can do, Bill, is to persuade the others to go
off home. Julian knows well enough that you are all pleased that he has
got off, but you see if there were a fuss got up about it in the streets
it would do him harm and not good."
"All right, sir, I will get them off. They just wanted to give him a
cheer."
"Well, they did that in Court, Bill, and you know that he appreciates
their good intentions. Well, I must be off."
Mrs. Troutbeck was still on the watch. However, she did not come to the
door. Frank opened it, and ran into the parlour. His Aunt had dropped
into a chair, with her handkerchief to her eyes.
"So he has not come back with you, Frank. It is dreadful. What are they
going to do with him?"
"They are not going to do anything, Aunt. He has been acquitted. Only
he did not come home with me because there are a lot of sailors waiting
outside to cheer him, and the magistrates did not want a row over him,
nor did Julian either. I have just run home to tell you that it is all
right, and now I am going back for him. I expect by the time I get there
they will all have gone, and we may be home in a quarter of an hour, so
I think, Aunt, the best thing you can do is to get tea ready, for I
don't expect he has had much to eat there, or any appetite to eat it."
It was good advice, for Mrs. Troutbeck was on the point of going into
hysterics from joy and relief. However, the thought of the necessity for
getting a good meal to welcome Julian on his arrival turned her thoughts
into another channel, and, wiping her eyes hastily, she rose and gave
directions, while Frank started again for the court-house. The fishermen
had left, but there were still a number of boys about the place. The
private entrance was, however, free from observers, and the brothers
started at once, keeping to the back streets until they neared the
house.
"My dear Julian," Mrs. Troutbeck exclaimed as she threw her arms round
his neck, "what a relief it is to have you back again. It has been
terrible for you."
"It hasn't been very pleasant, Aunt," he replied cheerfully, "but it is
all right now, and certainly I ought not to grumble. I have had better
luck than I deserved. I was a fool to go there, but I did not think that
there was any real chance of the revenue people coming down upon us. It
was thought they had been thrown off the scent altogether."
"What a dreadful face you have got, Julian!"
"Oh, that is nothing, Aunt; it will go off in a few days, and until it
has I must either stay indoors or keep out of the town altogether."
"I am afraid tea won't be ready for a few minutes, Julian. You see I
have had such a very short notice."
"I can hold on comfortably, Aunt; besides, I have got to have a change
and a wash. That is of more importance than tea just at present."
After the meal was over, Frank gave the details of the examination, the
narrative being very frequently stopped by exclamations and questions on
the part of Mrs. Troutbeck.
"I have never heard of such a wicked thing. The idea of that man
charging you with attempting to murder him! Julian, he ought to be
punished for it."
"I fancy he has been punished, Aunt. I don't see how he is to keep his
commission as a justice after what was said in court. Still, it is a bad
thing for me. I was discharged, but it will always be against me. If I
ever get into any sort of trouble again, people will say: 'Ah, yes; he
was charged with attempting murder when he was a young fellow, and
although he was lucky enough to get off then, there must have been
something in it. He is evidently a man of ungovernable temper.'"
"But, my dear Julian, everyone knows that you have a very sweet temper."
"I was not in a sweet temper then at any rate, Aunt."
"Of course not, Julian. I should not have been so myself if anyone had
hit me such a terrible blow as that in the face."
Her nephews both laughed, for they had never seen her ruffled out of her
usual serenity.
"Well, Aunt, don't let us talk any more about it," Julian said. "I would
give a good deal if it hadn't happened. As it is, one must make the best
of it, and I hope that it will be forgotten in time. I wish now that I
had gone into the army, but it is too late for that. I shall think over
what I had best take to. I should certainly like to get away from here
until it has blown over altogether."
On the following morning Frank met Captain Downes, and learned that he
was right in his conjecture, and that it was he who had retained Mr.
Probert's services in Julian's behalf before the magistrates.
For the next few days Julian kept in the house, except that after
nightfall he went out for a long walk. The report of the proceedings in
the court had caused a great sensation in Weymouth, and the feeling was
so strong against Mr. Faulkner that he was hooted in the streets when he
rode into the town. The general expectation was that he would resign his
position on the bench; and when at the end of a week he did not do so, a
private meeting of the other magistrates was held, and it was whispered
in the town that a report of the proceedings at the court had been sent
to the Home Secretary, with an expression of opinion that Mr. Faulkner's
brother magistrates felt that they could not sit again with him on the
bench after what had taken place.
Ten days after the affair Julian started early one morning for a day's
rabbit-shooting at the house of a friend who lived some six miles up the
valley. Some snow fell in the course of the afternoon and put a stop to
shooting, and he started to walk home. When he was within a few hundred
yards of Mr. Faulkner's place he heard a horse coming along behind him.
The snow that had fallen had deadened the sound of the hoofs on the
road, and, looking round, he saw Mr. Faulkner riding fast, at a distance
of but fifty yards away. Had he caught sight of him sooner Julian would
have left the road and entered the wood to avoid him, but it was too
late now, and he hoped that at any rate the man would pass on without
speaking. The horseman had apparently not recognized Julian until he
came abreast of him, when, with a sudden exclamation, he reined in his
horse.
[Illustration: "MARK MY WORDS, YOU YOUNG SCOUNDREL, I WILL BE EVEN WITH
YOU YET."]
"So it is you, Julian Wyatt?" he said, in a tone of suppressed fury.
"It is I, Mr. Faulkner," Julian replied quietly; "and as I don't want
to have anything to say to you, I think that you had better go on your
way without interfering with me."
"Mark my words, you young scoundrel, I will be even with you yet."
"The debt is not all on your side, Mr. Faulkner. I, too, have got a debt
to pay; and perhaps some day we may square matters up, when you have not
got a score of coast-guardsmen at your back. However, I am content to
leave matters as they are so long as you do the same. As to your owing a
debt to me, it is yourself you have to thank for the trouble you have
got into; it was no doing of mine. However, I warn you that you had
better abstain from insulting me again. I did not strike you back when
you hit me last time, but if you call me scoundrel again you shall see
that I can hit as hard as you can, and I will teach you to keep a civil
tongue in your head."
"You mark my words," Mr. Faulkner repeated. "I will have you watched,
and I will hunt you down, and if I am not mistaken I will put a rope
round your neck one of these days." So saying, he struck spurs into his
horse and galloped on.
Julian stood looking after him until he saw him turn in at his gate. The
drive to the house led, as he knew, diagonally through the wood, and as
he walked forward he heard the horse's galloping hoofs grow louder and
louder. Suddenly there was the report of a gun some seventy or eighty
yards away. It was mingled with that of a sudden cry, and Julian heard
the horse galloping on even faster than before. With an exclamation of
"Good heavens! something has happened!" he broke through the hedge and
ran in the direction of the sound. As he approached it he thought that
he caught sight of a man running through the trees, but he kept straight
on until he came upon the drive. Twenty yards away Mr. Faulkner lay
stretched on the ground. He went up to him, and stooped over him. His
eyes were closed, and as he lay on his back Julian saw blood oozing
through a bullet-hole in his coat high up on the left side of the chest.
Feeling sure that Mr. Faulkner was dead he started up, and without a
moment's hesitation ran into the wood again, in the direction where he
had thought that he had seen a figure. A minute later he came upon some
footprints on a bare spot between the trees, where the snow had fallen
lightly. Noting the direction they took, he followed at once. He saw no
more signs of footprints, but followed the direction as nearly as he
could until he came to the farthest side of the wood; then he leaped out
into the field beyond, and followed the edge of the wood until he again
reached the road. He then turned and went back again, and fifty yards
from the point where he had first run out he came upon the footprints
again.
"He was going to take to the hills, he muttered," as he set off along
the track. He ran at a trot, and as he went, loaded both barrels of his
gun. "Very likely the villain will show fight," he said to himself; "I
must take him by surprise if I can."
After a quarter of a mile's run he reached the foot of the hill, and
near its crest, three-quarters of a mile away, caught sight of the
figure of a man. A moment later he had passed over the crest. Julian
started at full speed up the hill. There was no need to follow the
footprints now; indeed the strong wind that was blowing had swept the
snow into the hollows, and the face of the hill was bare. When he
reached the top of the hill he had decreased his distance considerably.
He saw to his surprise that the man was bearing to the right, a course
that would ere long bring him to the edge of the cliff. The run up the
hill had left him breathless, and for some time the man, who was also
running, fully maintained his lead. Then Julian began to gain upon him.
The man had again changed his course, and was now going parallel with
the line of cliffs. Three miles from the point where he had reached the
top Julian was within a quarter of a mile of him. He would have caught
him before this, had he not been obliged at times to make detours so as
to avoid passing high ground, where the man, if he looked back, would
have perceived him. By this time he was almost sure that the fugitive
was a poacher, who had been recently released from a term of two years
in prison for poaching in Mr. Faulkner's preserves. At last he saw him
turn sharp to the right again. "Where on earth is he going?" Julian said
to himself. "The cliffs are not many hundred yards away."
Hitherto he had supposed that the man was keeping away from the cliff to
avoid meeting any of the coast-guards who would be on duty there, but
this change of direction puzzled him completely. Keeping his eye on the
poacher, he saw him enter a small clump of bushes, from which he did not
emerge. Julian at once slackened his pace down to a walk. It was likely
enough that the man had noticed that he was being pursued, and had
determined to rid himself of the pursuer. It was not a pleasant idea,
that the fellow might now be kneeling among the bushes with his gun at
his shoulder.
"It could hardly be that either," he said to himself, "for if he
intended to shoot me he would have turned the other way; for the sound
of his gun would be probably heard by some of the coast-guard, and they
could not fail to see him running away. At any rate," he muttered, "I am
not going to turn back after such a chase as I have had."
Standing still and looking at the spot, he saw that the clump of bushes
grew in a slight hollow, and that by turning to the right he would be
able to approach within twenty or thirty yards of it without exposing
himself to view. This he did, and in a short time lost sight of the
bushes. Moving with great caution, he made his way towards them, and
when he approached the slope into the hollow, lay down and crawled
along, keeping his gun in front of him. As he neared the spot he lay
down on his stomach in the short turf and wound himself along until he
could see down into the bushes. With his gun at his shoulder, and his
finger on the trigger, he gazed down into the hollow. To his surprise he
could see no signs of the fugitive. The leafless boughs afforded but
slight shelter, and after gazing fixedly at them for two or three
minutes, he became convinced that the man was no longer there. As soon
as he came to this conclusion he stood up and looked over the
surrounding country. It was bleak and bare, and entirely destitute of
hedges or any other shelter.
It was but for five or six minutes at the utmost that he had lost sight
of the bushes, and in that time the man could not have got far. "Where
on earth has he hidden himself?" Julian muttered.
He went down to the clump of bushes, still holding his gun in readiness
for instant use. The patch was but some thirty feet long by half as
wide. He walked backwards and forwards among the low bushes, but the
fugitive was certainly not there. Going to the end of the patch he could
see plainly enough the track where the man had entered, for although
there was little snow on the top of the ground it lay among the tufts of
grass. He walked round the clump, but there were no signs of any
footsteps leaving it. "This is the rummest thing I ever saw," he
muttered; "the fellow can't have flown away; yet, he certainly has not
walked off."
Thinking it over, an idea suddenly occurred to him. When sailing along
the coast with Bill, the latter had one day pointed out to him a hole in
the cliff some twenty feet above high-water mark. "Do you see that hole,
Mr. Julian?"
"Yes, I see it plain enough. What of it?"
"Well, sir, if I owned all the goods that have been taken into that hole
on dark still nights I should be a rich man."
"Do you mean to say that they run cargoes there, Bill?"
"Not kegs--they are too heavy and too awkward to get away--but laces,
and silks, and such like. Many a lugger when she comes from abroad lands
all them sorts of things here, and then sails away and takes her chance
of running the rest of the cargo somewhere else."
"But how can anyone get up there? I see nothing like a path."
"There ain't no path, sir. The revenue men would have found it out long
ago if there had been. The boat comes along, as I said, of a dark night,
when there is no swell on, and the chaps inside show a tiny light to
guide them to the spot. When the boat comes, they lower a rope down and
haul the bales up; and then the boat goes back to the lugger, and she
ups sail, and no one is the wiser."
"But what do they do with the stuff? I don't mean, where do they stow
it, but how do they get it away?"
"There is a passage somewhere," Bill replied. "I don't know where it
goes out. I reckon there ain't half a dozen men in Weymouth who do know.
I should say, except the men whose business it is to take the goods
inland and forward them to London, there is only one chap who is in the
secret; and he is not in Weymouth now--he is in jail. That is Joe
Markham. He is in for poaching. But for a good many years he sailed in
one of those French luggers. Then, as I have heard, he was keeper of the
cave for a bit; but he had to give it up--he was too well known to the
coast-guard, and they kept too sharp an eye on him for him to venture to
go out. He had had enough of the sea, and no doubt he had got some money
laid by; anyhow, he took a cottage by the river, and took to poaching,
more for devilment, I should say, than because he wanted the money. I
expect he was well paid by the smugglers, for he used to get up half the
stories to put them off the scent, and never missed being present when a
run was made."
This conversation came back to Julian's memory, as he stood by the clump
of bushes wondering what had become of the man that he had pursued, and
it flashed upon him that the spot where he was standing could not be far
from the smugglers' cavern, and that the entrance to this might very
well be among these bushes. The man knew where that entrance was, and
nothing was more likely than that he should make for it as a place of
concealment until an opportunity occurred to get on board a lugger and
cross the channel. It was a very likely place; men could come and go at
night without risk of being seen or heard by any of the coast-guardsmen
on the cliff, and would not be likely to encounter anyone within two or
three miles of it. Years might pass without anyone happening to enter
the bushes.
Laying down his gun, Julian began to search in earnest. It was half an
hour before, feeling about in the coarse grass, he came upon a handle.
He pulled at it, gently at first, then as it did not yield, he exerted
his strength, and it gave way, and a section of the rough herbage rose,
while three feet away it sank in the same proportion. Raising it higher,
he saw that the trap-door--for such it was--was two feet wide by about
five feet long and eighteen inches deep; it was, in fact, a deep tray
pivoted on the centre and filled with earth, on which grass grew as
freely as in the ground adjoining.
The greater portion of the trap was overhung by bushes, which grew so
thickly around the part which sank that the probability was small indeed
that anyone would tread upon it. Julian saw, too, that under the handle
was a bolt that, when fastened, would hold the trap firmly down. No
doubt the man in his haste had forgotten to fasten it before he
descended. Looking down, Julian saw a circular hole like a well,
evidently artificially made in the chalk; a ladder was fastened against
one side.
[Illustration: JULIAN FINDS HIMSELF A PRISONER AMONG THE SMUGGLERS.]
Julian hesitated. Should he return to Weymouth, inform the authorities
that he had traced the murderer of Mr. Faulkner to a place of
concealment, and bring them there to arrest him, or should he go down
and encounter him single-handed? Although of a fearless disposition, he
would have decided on the more prudent course had it not been that to
have done so, would have let the authorities into the knowledge of the
smugglers' cave. Although he had determined to have nothing more to do
with them, this he felt would be an act of treachery, for it was only
because he had been believed by Bill to be absolutely trustworthy, that
the latter had told him of the existence of this cavern and of the
secret exit, and without that information he would never have searched
for and discovered the trap-door. Then, too, the thought that the credit
he would gain by the capture of the murderer single-handed would go far
to efface the memory of the disgrace that had befallen him, helped to
decide him.
He fetched his gun and slung it over his shoulder, got upon the ladder,
and pulled the trap-door down behind him. As he did so he found that it
moved easily, and that he could push it up again without any difficulty,
and feeling the bolt, discovered that it had been partially shot, but
not sufficiently to catch fairly, although containing so far a hold of
the frame, that it had torn a groove in the somewhat rotten wood with
the force that he had used to raise it. He went down the ladder very
cautiously, until, after descending for some thirty steps, his foot
encountered solid ground. After a moment's consideration he knelt down
and proceeded on his hands and knees. Almost immediately he felt the
ground slope away in front of him. He got on to his feet again. Holding
out his arms he found that the passage was about four feet wide, and he
began to descend with extreme care, feeling his way along both walls. He
had gone, he thought, about fifty yards when the passage made a sharp
turn, still descending, and at a considerable distance ahead the light
streamed in through a rugged hole. He walked more confidently now, and
soon the light was sufficient to enable him to see the path he was
following.
On arriving at the aperture, he saw that, as he expected, he was looking
over the sea. On one side of the hole there was a shelf cut in the
chalk. This was stained as if by oil, and he guessed at once that it was
a look-out and a spot for signalling a craft in the offing. The path
here turned again and ran parallel with the face of the cliff. There was
no occasion to exercise care in walking now, as here and there the light
streamed in through openings a few inches long. He now unslung his gun,
stooped and took off his boots, and then proceeded noiselessly. The
descent was considerable, and in some places steps had been cut. At last
he arrived at a door. It was roughly but very solidly made, and would
doubtless sustain an attack for some time before it yielded, and so
would give time to the occupants, in case the trap-door was discovered,
to make their escape by the lower entrance on to the beach. There was a
latch to it. Lifting this quietly, he found the door yielded, and,
holding his gun in his right hand ready to cover the fugitive the moment
he entered, Julian threw the door wide open and sprang forward.
He had not calculated on a further descent, but the floor of the cave
was five feet below him, and he fell heavily upon it, the gun going off
as it struck the floor. Instantaneous as the fall had been, his eyes had
taken in the scene. Several lanterns faintly lit up the cave; while in
the centre a table, at which several figures were sitting, was
illuminated by three or four candles. He was partly stunned by the
heaviness of his fall, but vaguely heard shouts of surprise and alarm,
and was, a minute later, roughly seized and dragged along. Then he felt
that he was being tightly bound. For some minutes he was left to
himself, but he could see three men with guns in their hands standing
near the door by which he had entered, listening attentively. Presently
he heard steps coming down the passage and two other men came through
the door, shut and bolted it carefully, and then came down the steps
into the cabin.
They spoke to their comrades as they came in, and the news was evidently
satisfactory, for the men leaned their guns against the wall and came to
the table. There was some talk for a few minutes, and then Julian was
raised and placed in a sitting position on the head of a cask by the
table. One of the men then addressed him in French. Julian, who by this
time had recovered from the effects of his fall, shook his head. The
other then spoke to the poacher, who had seated himself opposite Julian,
and the latter then said:
"You are the young fellow who was tried in court three weeks ago, are
you not?"
"Yes, I am."
"I thought so; I was there. It was the very day I got to Weymouth. Well,
what the deuce are you doing here? You are the chap who has followed me
all the way up the hill?"
Julian nodded.
"What did you follow me for?"
"Because I was in the road when you shot Faulkner. I heard the gun, and
ran in and found him dead. I caught sight of you in the wood, and went
in chase of you."
"What did you intend to do, you young fool?"
"I intended to capture you," Julian said fearlessly.
"What for? I have done you a good service as well as myself. You had no
reason to bear him any good-will, and some of the men who were there
told me that though Downes got you off, it was true that you were going
to throw Faulkner into the fire."
"So I was; but he had just struck me and I was in a furious passion; but
that was a different thing altogether to shooting a man in cold blood."
"He got me two years' imprisonment," the man said, "which to my mind was
a good reason for shooting him when I got the chance; and another thing
was he would never leave us alone, but was always on our heels. There
are two or three men in prison now that he got sent there, and eight
more are waiting their trial. He made war on us, and I have turned the
tables on him.
"I heard that you had been at several of the runs, and of course you are
in with some of our fellows. How did you get to know about the entrance
to this place?"
"I only knew that there was a cave here, that it was used by the
smugglers, and that it had an entrance somewhere. The man who told me
knew well that I was to be trusted, but it was only because you
disappeared among those bushes, and that there were no footprints to
show that you had left them, that it appeared to me that the passage
might be there, and so I looked about until I found the handle to the
trap-door."
"Why didn't you go and call the coast-guard? There was a station not a
quarter of a mile away."
"Because I could not have done that without betraying the secret of the
cavern. I found the entrance myself, but I should never have done so, if
I had not been told about the cave and the secret passage, and I felt
that it would be an act of treachery to betray it."
"And you were really fool enough to think that if you captured me
single-handed I should walk with you like a lamb to the gallows?"
"I didn't intend to give you a chance of making a fight. I intended to
rush straight in and covered you with my gun."
"Well, you have plenty of pluck, young fellow, if you haven't much
wisdom; but if you think that after getting in here, I shall let you go
out again to bring the constables down on me you are mistaken
altogether."