When Snell came down-stairs the following morning he made for the door without delay, but, quick as he was, Aunt Martha observed that he carried the marks of his encounter with Hawkins; one eye was partly discolored, and his cheek was swollen. Later in the morning Don fixed the new lock in place and then hurried off to find Jud and tell him what had happened. The day was warm for a day in late February; indeed the winter, which had begun with severe weather, had proved to be mild after all. The two boys directed their steps toward Walmer’s wharf at the foot of Beech Street, where they sat down in the sunlight with their backs against one of the deserted warehouses. “We’ll be safe here,” said Don; “no one is likely to overhear what I’ve got to tell you, Jud.” Jud leaned forward eagerly, and neither boy observed a third person, who had followed them at some distance and who now took a position just within hearing round the corner of the silent warehouse. “Go on and tell it,” said Jud. “You’ve got me all curious.” “Well, in our cellar----” began Don, and the hidden figure near the corner of the building slunk a step nearer. “In our cellar there’s quantities and quantities of linen and cloth and some powder----” And Don told of the purchase that his uncle had made before the blockade. When he had finished that part of his story Jud whistled softly. “My, but that’s risky business, keeping it there,” he said. “Just suppose----” Don put his hand on his friend’s arm. “Not so loud,” he whispered. “And, Jud, I know you won’t breathe a word of it to anyone--not even to your mother.” “Of course not.” Don glanced round cautiously. The old wharf apparently was quite deserted except for themselves. The sun was shining brightly on the water; the wind, blowing across the rough planks, was rattling the loose shingles on a small fisherman’s shack beside the big warehouse. “Now for some reason,” Don continued, “Snell, the Redcoat, broke into our cellar yesterday, and that’s why I’m telling you this; I’m afraid he knows what’s down there, and I want you to help me if you can.” Jud’s eyes snapped as he listened to his comrade’s story of how Snell had broken the lock on the cellar door. As a matter of fact Snell had not known of what was in the cellar; it was curiosity more than anything else that had prompted him to break the lock. But it would not be long before he knew just what was hidden away beneath the little house in Pudding Lane, for before Don had finished his story the figure that had been listening so intently at the corner of the warehouse drew back and walked quickly in the direction of Beech Street. He had not gone far, however, before he turned on his heel and strode carelessly toward the wharf. A few minutes later the boys spied Tom Bullard walking toward them; his hands were in his pockets, and he seemed wrapped in thought. “Oh!” he exclaimed as if catching sight of them for the first time. “Didn’t expect to find anybody here.”