_Read rascal in the motions of his back,
And scoundrel in the supple-sliding knee._
TENNYSON.
When Ratface left the “Mariner’s Rest” that evening, he walked
skirting the hedgerow, his thoughts busy with a new plan. For some
time he had been suspicious of Daniel Maidment, but now, reading the
evil of his own character into that of another, he suspected him of
an intention to betray the smugglers to the excisemen.
He had read the letter from the sweetheart, and seen the pencilled
address on the slip of paper in Daniel’s pocket. It conveyed no
meaning to him that this bit of paper was torn across, and all but
in two. Like most of us he judged others by his own knowledge of
himself; and so he decided to anticipate Daniel, and turn King’s
evidence himself. He saw many signs around him of an increase
of vigilance on the part of the authorities. Crumblejohn’s
muddle-headedness and Thurot’s dare-devilry in conjunction, made him
decide now was the time for him to leave the smuggling gang.
There would be a good reward, so he argued, and he’d risked his
neck often enough with them, and now if somebody was to get the
money, that somebody must be he. So he went straight away to the
address given, a walk of some twelve miles through the night, and
slept through the early hours of the morning, in a cart-shed in the
farmsteading.
About nine o’clock next day he was ringing the door-bell of the
supervisor of Customs for the counties of Sussex and Kent.
Before the coastguards were organised, the inland branch of
preventive service was carried on by the riding officers, one of whom
we have seen speaking to Daniel Maidment, as he dug in his garden
that day.
At this time, a stretch of some two hundred miles of coast-line would
be given in charge of fifty riding officers, and utterly inadequate
until reinforced by soldiers, this force proved to be. For by
lighting false signals, nothing was easier than to draw the riding
officers off on some wild-goose chase, while the smugglers beached
their cargo undisturbed.
It was not long before Ratface was shown into a room where the riding
officer was seated, writing.
“Your business?”
“My business is to tell you what you and your men have been wanting
some time to know, sir. And if you makes it worth my while, I’ll give
you information what’ll help you to clap your hands upon as pretty a
shipload of ankers and half-ankers, as you’ve ever heard on.”
“Where do you come from?”
“Stowe i’ the Knowe.”
“Do you come from Daniel Maidment?”
“Ah, I thought I should hear that name now. No; Dan’l ain’t a
pertickler friend of mine.”
“What is your information?”
“My information is accordin’ to the information money.”
“And that again, as you must know, depends on the value of goods
seized, and not on this alone. A full seizure reward cannot be earned
without a good proportion of smugglers being captured. Twenty pounds
for every smuggler taken, and full seizure money if the boat, as
well as goods, be ours. Where is this intended run to be made?”
“On the night of the 18th, as soon after dusk as possible, at the
Grey Rock, off Knapper’s Head.”
“And who are the chief smugglers concerned?”
“Obadiah Crumblejohn of the ‘Mariner’s Rest,’ Thurot, known as
Lambkin, freighter and owner of the smuggling galley _Lapwing_, to
row sixteen oars. Cargo, brandy and silks.”
The revenue officer made full notes, then he looked at Ratface as he
stood blinking those restless eyes of his, scraping a lean cheek with
his maimed hand.
The officer rang the bell, and the door was opened by a servant, who
showed Ratface out.
“There is something in our appearance being an index to what we are,”
thought the officer, as his eyes followed Ratface. “Certainly, the
other day, I went to the wrong house.”
Then he turned to the notes that he had taken, and his glance
lingered on the entry of Thurot’s name.