One stride of our magic boots takes us from Polkerran to the creek, five
miles away, where another little drama was being enacted.
Doubledick's information to Mr. Polwhele was that the _Isaac and Jacob_
might be expected to arrive at the creek from Roscoff about five o'clock
in the morning. Some little time before that hour, therefore, the
riding-officer took up his position in a hollow a hundred yards beyond
the stream. In order that no suspicion might be engendered in the
village, he had not brought his usual assistants, but was accompanied by
a posse of excisemen from Newquay, and a half-troop of dragoons from
Plymouth. At the same time Mr. Mildmay's cutter anchored in a sheltered
cove northwards, having sailed in precisely the opposite direction on
the previous night, in order to deceive the smugglers.
Mr. Polwhele had not long posted himself when some thirty strapping
fellows, fishers and farm-hands for the most part, marched down the
sloping ground south of the creek, and congregated at a spot where the
bank was a foot or two above the water, a convenient place for the
debarkation of the lugger's cargo. The murmur of their voices could be
heard by the hidden preventive men across the stream, and Mr. Polwhele
chuckled at the thought of the fine haul he was about to make. The
excisemen with him were old hands, and knew how to keep silence, and the
dragoons, although they hated this revenue work, were too well
disciplined to hazard the failure of the ambuscade. Their horses had
been left tethered half a mile away.
The minutes passed; five o'clock came, and both parties were on the
alert for any sound from seaward. The wind blew from the north-east, so
that it was not at all surprising that the lugger should be late. But
when six o'clock came they began to be restless. It was tiring and
comfortless, waiting in the misty gloom of a raw December morning. The
sky was pitch dark. Neither party could see the other. The murmurs of
the tub-carriers became louder, and the dragoons muttered and grumbled
under their breath.
The night was yielding, the outlines of the country were becoming
distinguishable, and yet the lugger did not come. Mr. Polwhele began to
wonder whether he had been fooled, and inwardly promised Doubledick a
bad quarter of an hour if this long vigil in cold and darkness proved
vain. Jimmy Nancarrow, in charge of the tub-carriers, had misgivings of
a chase and capture on the sea. Now that dawn was breaking, he went to
the top of the cliff and looked out into the mist, but never a sign of
the lugger did he see. As he descended to rejoin his men, something
caught his eye among the bare trees in a hollow on the opposite bank.
He crouched behind a gorse bush, and watched for some minutes; then,
instead of continuing on his direct course downward, he crept away at an
angle, taking advantage of every depression and furze-patch that
afforded cover, and so came to his company again. He told them what he
had seen. Consternation seized them; they became suddenly silent, then
whispered anxiously among themselves.
There could be little doubt that they had been spied by the preventives.
What was to be done? On the one hand they could not depart, leaving
Tonkin unwarned, to fall into the hands of the revenue officers. On the
other hand, they were in no mood or condition to relish a brush with
dragoons, and it was certainly a dragoon's forage-cap that Nancarrow had
descried. The best course seemed to be to wait; perhaps the revenue
officers would grow weary first.
Another hour passed. Then the tub-carriers saw the nose of the revenue
cutter appear round the corner of the cliff. The game was up. No run
could be made: the lugger would not put in while the cutter was in
sight; and Nancarrow and his men in sullen rage left their posts and set
off to trudge homeward.
In a moment Mr. Polwhele was hailed by the lieutenant from the cutter.
"Ahoy there, Mr. Polwhele!" he shouted.
The riding-officer left his place of concealment, and moved to the edge
of the cliff, within speaking distance of Mr. Mildmay.
"Tricked again!" he said, angrily. "My word! Doubledick shall suffer
for this."
At that moment an unusual sound made them both start. It was like the
distant thud of some object falling on the ground.
"A gun! Bless my life, Polwhele, what's this?" cried the lieutenant.
"Goodness knows! A ship in distress, maybe. 'Tis no use waiting here
any longer, so I'll ride back and see."
"I'll come round in the cutter as quickly as I can. She must have run
on the rocks in the mist. The wind wouldn't cast her ashore--I'll come
round in the cutter."
Mr. Polwhele hastened back to his men. They, too, had heard the shot.
"Come, my men, that's a big gun," said the riding-officer. "Smugglers
be hanged! Maybe there's rescue work to do. Soldiers, get your horses;
we'll dash to the village and do our duty. You others, march after us;
there may be work for you, yet."
The men were thankful for the opportunity of movement, and the prospect
of breakfast. The dragoons raced to their steeds, mounted, and were
soon galloping with Mr. Polwhele towards the village. In a few minutes
they overtook the disconsolate tub-carriers.
"Aha, you black-faced rascals!" cried Mr. Polwhele as he galloped by,
adding jocularly: "Stir your stumps and come and fight Boney."
"Not if I knows it," muttered Nancarrow, and forthwith struck inland,
followed by the farm-hands. The fishers, being of sterner stuff, and
taking Mr. Polwhele seriously, hastened their step, thinking of their
wives and children in the village, perhaps at the mercy of the Corsican
Ogre.
Mr. Polwhele and the dragoons had got half-way to Polkerran when they
were met by the Vicar's messenger to Sir Bevil, and reined up.
"Pa'son sent me to fetch Sir Bevil and yeomanry, sir," said the man.
"The French hev landed."
"Good heavens! Is it Boney himself?" cried the riding-officer.
"No, it be Maister Delarousse from Rusco: he've come and catched Maister
John, and hev shet hisself in the inn."
"Delarousse, begad! Well, my men, there's a thousand pounds offered for
the capture of that rascally Frenchman. Ride on, then; we'll have the
villain!"
They galloped on, sparks flying from beneath the horses' hoofs. When
they came to the crest of the high ground overlooking the Towers, they
saw smoke and flame rising from the Dower House, and spurred the faster.
In another minute they spied three figures making their way towards the
Towers. The middle one of the three was a plump, red-faced woman in a
print dress, her bonnet askew, her ribbons flying. On the left she was
supported by a sturdy, thick-set lad, on the right by a slim and comely
maid. Each clasped the woman about the waist, their arms crossing, and
thus assisted her slowly over the ground. The dragoons kissed their
hands gallantly to the maid as they flashed by.
"All safe at the Towers, Sam?" shouted Mr. Polwhele.
But Sam at that moment was too self-conscious and abashed to reply.
Meanwhile the whole population of Polkerran was gathered on the shore of
the harbour, watching the privateer fade away into the distance, and
discussing the extraordinary events of the past hour. Doubledick and
Tonkin were the centre of an excited throng, to whom they had to relate
over again the tale of John Trevanion's iniquities. The Squire and Mr.
Carlyon had withdrawn to the inn-parlour, where they sat conversing over
their pipes and glasses of rum shrub. Some of the children had climbed
the hill to witness the Dower House blazing. Nobody thought of making
an attempt to save the place, which indeed would have been impossible.
"Well," said Petherick, in the midst of the crowd, "'tis the Lord's
doin', and marvellous in our eyes. But now I axe 'ee, Zacky, where be
yer boy Jake?"
"What d'ye mean, constable?" asked the fisher.
"Ah! the neighbours hev been too stirred up in their minds to tell 'ee.
No one hain't seed Jake since Wednesday night, and 'tis the question we
all do axe, whether he be in the land o' the livin' or not."
"Dear name! Do 'ee tell me?" cried Tonkin. "Bean't he with the
carriers?"
"Seemingly not," said one of the women. "I seed yer missis cryin' her
eyes out yesterday, neighbour Zacky."
"Maybe he's took away for a sojer or sailor," suggested Doubledick. "He
wented up-along to pluck mistletoe, so 'tis said, and maybe was pounced
on by some rovin' sergeant on dark lonesome moor."
At this moment a cheer was heard from the direction of the hill, and
then the ringing clatter of horses' hoofs. A boy ran up.
"Riding-officer and sojers be comin' down hill," he cried.
Tonkin darted a glance around. The horsemen were approaching at a
walking pace down the steepest part of the descent. It suddenly flashed
upon him that his lugger had a cargo of contraband on board, which it
behoved him to secure before the riding-officer could lay hands on it.
For the moment his anxiety for Jake was eclipsed.
"Lunnan Cove an hour after sundown," he whispered to Doubledick, then
slipped away, and ran at headlong speed along the jetty. Four of the
fishermen at the same moment set off with him, but instead of going on
the jetty, they hastened at the double along the beach, following its
curve towards the southern end of the reef.
All this time the lugger had lain within the reef. Pennycomequick, proud
of his achievement, was waiting until, the excitement on shore having
subsided, he could run her in and draw all eyes to himself.
On reaching the end of the jetty, Tonkin, one of the very few fishermen
who could swim, dived into the water and swam towards his vessel.
Pennycomequick flung him a rope. He heaved himself on board, secured
one of the smaller boats which the Frenchmen had set adrift, and made it
fast by the painter to the stern of the lugger. Then he hauled up the
anchor, and hoisted sail, apparently with the intention of running in to
the jetty. All his movements were deliberate.
At this moment Mr. Polwhele reached the inn. A hundred voices shouted
that the Frenchman had got away; then catching sight of the lugger, with
a sudden inspiration he galloped across to the jetty, calling on the
dragoons to follow him.
"Hi, Tonkin!" he shouted, "I want to have a look at your cargo, my man."
But Tonkin, as if he had not heard the riding-officer's voice, suddenly
put up the helm and stood away towards the reef. It was ebb tide: the
rugged line of rocks was exposed; and as the lugger came within a few
feet of it, a number of men could be seen jumping from rock to rock,
sometimes wading in the pools between them, in the direction of the
vessel. They were too far away for their features or their gait to be
distinguished, but any one counting them would have found that they were
not four, but five. Tonkin sprang into the boat, rowed to the reef and
took the men off, then returned to the lugger. All the men clambered on
board, the boat was made fast, and the vessel sailed across the bay, but
in a few minutes suddenly brought up again. Once more Tonkin entered
the small boat, this time accompanied by another man. He landed him on
the reef, rowed back to the lugger, and while this threaded the fairway
between the fallen rock and the cliff, the man returned to the shore and
disappeared.
Mr. Polwhele bit his lips with chagrin, observing a snigger on the faces
of the crowd. Then he rode back to the inn, dismounted, and entered, to
learn the details of the recent events from the Squire, and to give in
his turn particulars of his futile errand at the creek.
A few minutes later Sir Bevil Portharvan rode down at the head of a
troop of yeomanry. He, too, entered the inn, and Doubledick enjoyed a
brief moment of importance when, at Mr. Carlyon's request, he explained
the relations between Delarousse and John Trevanion. Sir Bevil's ruddy
cheeks turned pale with rage and mortification.
"Thank God!" he murmured.
"'Tis indeed a mercy," said the Vicar. "I sympathise with you with all
my heart, Sir Bevil."
"The scoundrel!" cried the baronet. "Trevanion, I beg your pardon. I
have listened to that villain, and had hard thoughts of you. Good
heavens! he was to have married my daughter."
"Poor girl!" said the Squire. "I knew my cousin, Sir Bevil. I should
have warned you, only----"
"Only I was a fool, Trevanion. Your warning would have fallen on deaf
ears; my mind was poisoned against you. Forgive me."
The two men shook hands, and soon afterwards left the inn with Mr.
Carlyon, the riding-officer remaining behind.
"Doubledick," he said, when alone with the inn-keeper, "you had better
get away. I've got Jake Tonkin locked up in my house--caught him spying
on you the other night. I can't keep him much longer, and as soon as he
is free your life won't be worth a snap, if I know his father."
The innkeeper shivered.
"For mercy sake, sir, hold him until to-morrer mornin'! I'll go away
this very night. Hold him, sir, and I'll tell 'ee wheer Zacky do mean
to run the cargo."
"A traitor to the last!" cried Mr. Polwhele. "'Tis my duty to the King
to listen to you. Well?"
"'Tis at Lunnan Cove, sir, an hour after sun-down."
"Ha! That fellow who ran along the reef is making the arrangements, no
doubt. Well, I'll hold the boy till daylight to-morrow, but not an
instant longer. 'Tis illegal, and they may _habeas corpus_ me. So take
my warning. What about your wife?"
"She must bide here a little until I hev found a home for her. Zacky
won't hurt a woman. 'Tis a terrible thing to leave the place I've dwelt
in for thirty year."
"You've only yourself to blame. I wish you no harm, but take my advice:
live straight for the rest of your days. I shan't see you again."
He left the inn, and rode up the hill to look for the arrival of the
cutter. The Dower House was still blazing, watched by an immense crowd
of villagers, dragoons, yeomanry, and folk from the neighbouring farms,
who had flocked in when they saw the glare. There was at present no
sign of the cutter, and Mr. Polwhele, tired out by his night's vigil,
rode back to his own house, to hoist on his flagstaff a signal to Mr.
Mildmay, and then to have a meal and rest.
Unlocking the door of the room in which Jake Tonkin had been confined,
he was amazed and alarmed to see that it was no longer occupied. One of
the iron bars across the window had been wrenched away after patient
work in loosening the sockets, and the prisoner had dropped sixteen feet
to the ground. Mr. Polwhele called up his housekeeper, whom he had
forbidden to disclose Jake's whereabouts on pain of dismissal.
"You knew nothing of this, Mary?" he asked.
"No, indeed, sir. I neither heard un nor seed un."
"Well, say nothing about it. I want you to take a note for me at once
to Doubledick at the inn. Put on your bonnet."
By the time the woman was ready, Mr. Polwhele had scribbled a brief
note. "J. has escaped: don't wait."
"Be sure and give it to Doubledick himself," he said.
"Iss, I woll, sir," said the woman.
An hour afterwards Mr. Mildmay came up to the house.
"This is the worst slap in the face we have ever had, Polwhele," he
said. "Why on earth didn't you collar Tonkin?"
"Why didn't you?" retorted the riding-officer angrily. "The cutter is
for chasing luggers, not my horse."
"Don't fly out at me. We are both in the same hole. The only pleasant
feature in the whole miserable business is that Trevanion will never
freight another cargo."
"What do you suppose Delarousse will do with him?"
"Skin him, I should think. What a pair of numskulls we have been about
that plausible scoundrel!"
"A good riddance to the Squire, too," said the riding-officer. "But the
property is still his, I suppose."
"Without doubt. The Dower House will be a heap of ashes, but the land
and the mine are still John Trevanion's, for all they were bought with
money villainously come by. However, the miners haven't brought up
enough metal to buy their candles, and as there is no one to pay their
wages, they'll close down again, certainly. By the way, you still have
young Jake, I suppose?"
"No, confound it all! He escaped this morning. I fancy he must have
been among those fellows who got along the reef to the lugger."
"Whew! Doubledick had better make himself scarce, then."
"Yes; I have sent Mary down with a note for him. I had promised him to
keep Jake till to-morrow morning, in return for a piece of information."
"What! a run after all?"
"Yes, Tonkin intends to run at Lunnan Cove to-night. We'll not let him
slip this time."
"By George, no! I shall enjoy my Christmas better if we've dished that
bold fellow. I'll go back to the cutter and turn in for a spell.
You'll arrange with the dragoons?"
"I will. They're not in the sweetest of tempers, I assure you, and no
wonder. But I told them to go and get a sleep at the inn, and made 'em
swear to keep sober. Mrs. Doubledick won't give them too much to drink,
however; I threatened her with pains and penalties if she did."
"Have a thimbleful before you go, Mildmay. We'll drink to success at
Lunnan Cove."
Mr. Polwhele's housekeeper set out with the firm intention of carrying
the note straight to Doubledick. But the sight of the blazing mansion
was too much for her resolution; so magnificent a spectacle had never
been seen at Polkerran before. When she reached the bridge, instead of
turning to the left towards the inn, she went straight along the road,
intending to watch the fire at close quarters for a little while, and
call on Doubledick on the way back. She had put the note into her
pocket.
On arriving near the Dower House, she met several acquaintances among
the crowd, and walked with them round to the north side of the blaze, to
avoid the smoke and sparks blown by the north-east wind. The wind had
been increasing in force since the early morning, and blew the women's
skirts about as they stood with their backs to it.
"Mind yer bonnet, my dear," said one of them to the housekeeper. "Ye
wouldn't like to see it blowed into the bonfire, that I'm sure of."
"Bonnet-strings be poor useless things in a wind like this," said
another. "I'll tie my handkercher over my head, and I reckon ye'd
better do the same, my dear."
"Iss, I think," said the housekeeper, drawing her handkerchief from her
pocket.
With it came a fluttering scrap of paper. She clutched at it, but a
gust of wind caught it, and swept it along into the midst of the glowing
building.
"Drat it all!" she cried with vexation.
"'Tis to be hoped 'twas not vallyble, my dear," said one of her friends.
"If 'tis a love-letter," said another, "and ye can't hold the man to his
promise, 'twill be a gashly misfortune, to be sure, though maybe he's a
poor slack-twisted feller as ye'll be glad to be rid of."
"No, 'tis not that," said the housekeeper.
"Well, ye needn't werrit, if 'tis a bill for yer maister's goods. Bills
come over again, 'nation take 'em."
But the housekeeper gave nothing to the probings of neighbourly
curiosity. Afraid to meet her master lest he should question her, she
remained for several hours in the village, taking care not to return
home until she learnt from a small boy that Mr. Polwhele had been seen
riding inland towards Redruth among the dragoons.
Doubledick was on tenter-hooks all that day. His customers noticed how
pale he was, and commiserated him on being "took bad" the day before
Christmas. He jumped at the entrance of every new-comer. A great part
of the day he spent in the seclusion of his cellar, gathering together a
few valuables, which he placed along with his hoarded money in two stout
bags. As evening drew on he became more and more restless and
irritable, and gave short answers to his customers, wishing with all his
heart that he could close his door. He dared not leave the village in
daylight, for so many people were about, discussing the incidents of the
morning, that he could hardly have escaped without being seen by some
one. Never in all his smuggling ventures did he long for darkness as he
longed for it to-day.
About six o'clock a lad ran into the inn with the news that a flare had
been seen towards Lunnan Cove. It was the time when Tonkin had arranged
to make the run, and Doubledick took the flare as a signal from the
riding-officer to Mr. Mildmay on the cutter. The customers poured out
of the inn, in anticipation of more excitement before they retired to
rest.
Meanwhile there had been interesting doings at the Towers. When the
Squire, with Tonkin's party, pursued the Frenchmen down the hill, Sam
Pollex slipped away and ran with all his might to the Dower House, where
the alarm bell was clanging, while smoke poured from the lower windows.
He dashed into the house, found the cook in hysterics in the kitchen,
and receiving no answer from her when he demanded where Maidy Susan was,
hunted through all the floors until at last he discovered her in an
attic, tugging frantically at the bell-rope.
"Oh, maidy," he said, "come wi' me, or you'll be smothered in the
burnin' fiery furnace. Yer maister be took; come, maidy, please."
He removed the rope from the girl's hands, put his arm about her, and
led her quickly down the stairs.
"Where be Cook?" she cried, gasping, half suffocated by the rolling
smoke.
"In kitchen, hollerin' and screamin'," replied Sam.
"Oh! poor thing, we can't leave her. Come, Sam, quick."
They ran into the kitchen, and while Susan tried to calm the frenzied
woman, Sam took down her bonnet from its peg, and set it, hind part
before, on her head. Then they lifted her, and led her out into the
open air.
"Wherever shall we go?" said Susan. "I declare, I've left all my things
behind; I must go back for them."
"Never in life!" said Sam. "I can't hold this great big female up
wi'out 'ee. You must come home-along wi' me. Mistress will take 'ee
in: she do hev a kind heart."
Thus it happened that when Dick reached home in company with the Vicar,
Sam met him at the door with a face like the rising sun, and whispered:
"She've come, Maister Dick!"
"Who has come?" asked Dick.
"Maidy Susan, to be sure. Mistress hev right-down took to her, I do
believe. Cook be here, too, and Feyther do look tarrible low in the
sperits, 'cos she told un he'd no more idee than a chiel o' three how to
stir up a figgy pudden."
When Dick joined his parents, he found them discussing the future of the
two women with Mr. Carlyon.
"We can't afford to keep them, you know, Vicar," said Mrs. Trevanion.
"The girl seems a pleasant, handy young thing, and I should like her
about the house much better than young Sam; but----"
"Exactly," said the Vicar. "Well now, 'tis Christmas Eve. Shall we
forget all our troubles, and get our souls in tune for to-morrow? One
thing makes for peace, and that is the disappearance of John Trevanion,
to whom I trace all the unneighbourly feeling between the village and
you."
Thus the matter was left. After the Vicar had drunk a dish of tea, he
walked back in Dick's company to the Parsonage, his horse having not yet
been returned to him.
When Mr. Polwhele and the dragoons were seen riding in the direction of
Redruth, they were really proceeding to a sheltered spot on the coast
whence they could watch for the flare which was to signal the approach
of the _Isaac and Jacob_ to Lunnan Cove. Mr. Mildmay's cutter was
lurking behind a headland not far away. As soon as the blue light was
seen, the riding-officer galloped to the spot, and saw, a little
distance out at sea, a dark shape, which from its size he knew to be the
lugger. Igniting another blue light, he was surprised to find that the
vessel was making no effort to escape, nor was there the bustle on board
that might have been expected. There were no tub-carriers in sight; no
doubt, thought he, they had scattered on seeing the flare. He reined up
on the beach, and waited for the cutter to appear.
In a few minutes he heard Mr. Mildmay hail the lugger, and by the aid of
another light he saw the cutter run alongside, and a rummaging crew
spring aboard the _Isaac and Jacob_, without opposition. Lamps were lit
on deck, and the figures of the lieutenant's men could be seen
descending into the hold. Immediately afterwards there was a burst of
rough laughter, mingled with a volley of curses; the sailors emerged
from the hatchway one by one, and Mr. Mildmay's quarter-deck voice was
heard abusing something or somebody. Then he and his men returned to
the cutter, which headed for the shore, while the lugger set her sails
and stood out towards the harbour.
"Fooled again, Polwhele!" cried the lieutenant, when he came within
hailing distance. "The hold is empty, and Jake Tonkin, young Pendry,
Pennycomequick, and half a dozen more are grinning their heads off."
"Confusion seize 'em!" exclaimed Mr. Polwhele. "I see it! That rascal
has betrayed us, in the hope of redeeming himself with Tonkin. Well, we
deserve it for joining in with such a scoundrel. Depend upon it, they've
made their run somewhere else, and are laughing in their sleeves."
The crestfallen officer dismissed the dragoons, who were chuckling at
his discomfiture, and rode home.
When Jake Tonkin escaped from Mr. Polwhele's house, he took the shortest
cut over the cliffs to the harbour, and reached the shore just as the
four men were running to gain the lugger by way of the reef. He joined
them, and on meeting his father told him in a few words about
Doubledick's treachery. Tonkin immediately sent a man back to
countermand the order to await him at Lunnan Cove, and to arrange
secretly with the tub-carriers to assemble at the spot previously
chosen, the creek five miles to the north. He had then run out to sea,
and, taking advantage of the mist, made a circuit that brought him
astern of the cutter, which was then returning to the harbour. He sunk
his cargo near the mouth of the creek, stepped with one man into the
small boat he had taken in tow, and sent the rest out to sea again in
the lugger, instructing them to make for Lunnan Cove at the appointed
time.
Consequently, at the moment when the officers were condoling with each
other, Tonkin and his man were rowing into the creek, towards a large
body of tub-carriers gathered on the shore. The boat moved very slowly,
and a light thrown on the scene would have revealed, attached to its
stern, a rope on which the first of a line of tubs was bobbing up and
down. When it came within a few yards of the waiting men, half a dozen
of them waded out and drew it high on the beach. The rope was then
hauled in, scarcely a word being spoken, and in less than ten minutes
thirty men, each carrying two tubs slung across his shoulders, were
trudging to their appointed destinations.
Tonkin was alone. As soon as the men had disappeared, he removed a plug
from the bottom of the boat, and pushed it towards the middle of the
stream, where it sank in eight feet of water. Then he set off with long
strides towards the village. His business was accomplished: now he
could deal with Doubledick.
A few minutes after the flare had been announced in the inn, Doubledick,
left alone for a moment, let himself down into the cellar. Not even his
wife knew of his design. He slipped on a pair of goloshes, took up two
heavy and cumbersome sacks, slung them over his shoulders, and hurried
through the secret passage, which opened half-way up the narrow-stepped
lane. The night was very dark; there was a blind wall on each side of
the lane; and no one saw the laden man as he crept stealthily up the
steps. Soon he came to a similar passage at right angles to the other,
leading down to the bank of the stream. He turned into this, went more
quickly to the bottom, and then trudged along among the rushes in the
direction of the bridge.
Coming to that point, he did not ascend by the steps that led to the
road, but passed under the arches and continued his way along the
stream. When he had walked about a quarter of a mile, he paused for a
minute or two to take breath, then laboriously climbed up the steep bank
with the assistance of bushes and saplings, and came panting to the top.
He was now within a few yards of the path that led past the Parsonage
across the moor, and joined the Truro road after a winding course of
nearly a mile. At this hour of the evening he had no doubt that the
Vicar would be in his study, and his small household engaged in
preparations for the morrow.
Doubledick had gone only a short distance, however, along the path, when
he caught sight of a figure coming in the other direction. Instantly he
stepped on to the grass on the left, and picked his way as carefully as
he could in the darkness over the rough ground and among the furze
bushes. He dared not turn his head. The merest glimpse of a pedestrian
was enough to set him quaking; nor had he the courage now to make his
way back to the path. Having met one person he might meet another. In
his state of panic-fear he saw in every dark bush a man lying in wait
for him, and the thought of tramping for miles over this desolate moor
filled him with terror. There was another way to Truro, by the
high-road running past the Towers to the cross-road from Newquay. In a
few minutes, therefore, he turned again to the left, and struck across
the uneven ground towards a point about midway between the Dower House
and the Towers. Dark as the night was, he would at least see the road
and fare more easily upon it. Passers were rare at this hour, and he
hoped, if he should chance to meet any one, to catch sight of him in
time to slip aside on to the dark moorland.
As he came to the road, he threw a glance to the left, where the ruins
of the Dower House were smouldering, sparks now and then flying
southward on the wind. The sight awoke no reflections, regrets,
remorse, in his soul. He was obsessed by anxiety for his own safety.
Dick, having accompanied Mr. Carlyon to the Parsonage, remained there
for an hour or two, talking over the strange events of the day, and then
started homeward along the path that would bring him to the bridge. He
noticed a man, bowed beneath a load, turn aside on to the moor, and
chuckled at the thought that perhaps the smugglers had made their run
after all, and this was one of the tub-carriers conveying his precious
load to an expectant farmer. Well, it was no business of his. He went
on until he came to the road, turned to the right, sniffing as the wind
brought pungent smoke to his nostrils, and when he came opposite to the
Dower House, which the spectators had now deserted, halted for a few
moments to contemplate the empty shell, momentarily lit up as a gust
stirred the embers. It was little more than three months since John
Trevanion entered into possession. How swiftly retribution had
overtaken him for the ill that he had done! In the short space of an
hour his prosperity had vanished like the smoke from his burning house,
and he was gone to pay the penalty, Dick could not doubt, for the fraud
and trickery of years.
Turning away from the smoking ruins, Dick pursued his homeward way. A
few minutes later he was surprised to see, stepping into the road from
the unfenced moorland, the same figure as he had seen twenty minutes
before going in the contrary direction. The man had come from the
village; why then had he chosen so roundabout a route? His curiosity
thoroughly aroused, Dick hurried on after the lumbering figure,
expecting to overtake it before it reached the Towers. He was struck by
the strange fact that while his own footsteps rang on the hard surface
of the road, he heard nothing of the movements of the man in front,
though the wind was blowing towards him. Fast as he walked, the
distance between them did not appear to lessen. He was convinced now
that the man was a smuggler, hurrying to avoid observation. He
slackened his pace; it was not worth while chasing the man, even to
discover his identity. To-morrow was Christmas; he was going to sell
his burden, so that he might have the wherewithal to make merry on the
festive day.
The man had just passed the gate leading to the Towers. In less than a
minute Dick would turn into the drive and lose sight of him. But
suddenly there was a dull thud behind, and a glare momentarily lit up
the sky. A portion of the masonry of the Dower House had fallen into
the smouldering mass below, and stirred a fitful flame. Immediately
afterwards he heard a hoarse cry in front, then a sound of scrambling,
of snapping twigs, of heavy footsteps in the field on the other side of
the hedge in the direction of St. Cuby's Well. Dick knew that there was
a gap a few yards beyond the gate; he raced on, forced his way through,
and sprinted after the retreating footsteps. Coming on to higher
ground, he was able to see, in the dim diffused light thrown by the
flickering flames behind, two figures, separated by a short interval,
rushing towards the well. One minute they were visible; the next, where
the ground dipped, they disappeared into pitchy darkness.
Dick saw that the second figure was steadily gaining on the first.
Leaving the zigzag course that had been traced by the smugglers, and was
now followed by the fugitive, the pursuer ran in a more direct line for
the well. The former, perceiving with the instinct of a hunted animal
that he was being headed off, and could not reach the haven of the
ruined chapel, towards which he was hurrying, without encountering the
other, suddenly swerved to the left in the direction of the cliff. He
was followed instantly by the second man, who now seemed to leap after
him like a wild animal after its prey. In a few moments, just as they
came to the brink of the cliff, the two men closed. Running towards
them at headlong speed, Dick heard a furious cry, a scream of terror,
and saw one of the men lifted from his feet above the head of the other.
But before the captor could summon his strength for the effort of
hurling the captive over the edge of the cliff, Dick flung himself
forward, caught the victim's feet, and tugged him violently back. A
savage oath broke from the other man's lips. He staggered backward, and
attempting to recover his footing, let his burden drop with a dull thud
and a jingling crash to the ground.
"Tonkin!" cried Dick, "what are you doing?"
"Out of my way!" shouted the man, throwing himself upon the prostrate
figure, from which there came a piteous squeal for mercy.
Dick tried to drag the smuggler from his victim, but he might as readily
have moved an oak.
"Tonkin, I say!" he cried in agitation, "for God's sake get up. Would
you commit murder, like the murderer at the well? Think! Calm
yourself! 'Tis Christmas Eve."
A terrible scream rent the air. Dick caught Tonkin by the collar and
exerted all his strength to pull him from the fallen body. Finding this
useless, he flung himself on the ground beside him, and tried to loosen
his grip on the man's throat. He was in despair, when he heard a shout
near at hand, and the next moment Penwarden rushed to the spot, carrying
a lantern.
"'Tis you, Zacky Tonkin!" he cried. "Get on your feet, or I don't care
who the man is, I'll arrest 'ee in the King's name."
The light of the lantern fell on the distorted face beneath him, and for
the first time Dick saw that the victim was Doubledick.
"Think of yer wife and boy," said Penwarden. "Shall they lose 'ee for
such as he?"
Tonkin's first frenzy of rage had spent itself. He slowly rose to his
feet, leaving the innkeeper gasping, half-throttled.
There was silence for a space. Dick and Penwarden were held spellbound
by the expression upon Tonkin's strong, rugged face. He stood like a
statue, gazing down upon the huddled figure of Doubledick. Then he
turned.
"You see that man!" he said, in a voice surcharged with emotion. "He
was my friend. I trusted him. He and I hev worked together this many
year, fair and foul, winter and summer. And now I know him for what he
is, a spy, an informer, that takes money for betrayin' his true mates.
Ay, and when things came to nought, he said 'twas my own son that split
on us. Look 'ee see! He carr's his wages wi' un, afeard o' the face of
an honest man. Worm that he is, let him crawl his way to everlastin'
bonfire; but no price o' blood shall he take along, nor no one else
shall touch it for evermore."
He stooped, wrenched the bags from the rope, which snapped in his mighty
hands like thread, and, lifting each high above his head, hurled it far
out into the sea. Then, turning on his heel, he strode away, and was
swallowed up in the black night.