The words rang clear above all the din; and ever and anon came a short yelping bark—the unmistakable war-cry of a bulldog. Jack felt a wonderful lightness of heart as the sounds came to him out of the dark. Then the press in front of him melted as by magic, and through the gap so quickly made stumped Gumley, wielding his cutlass like a flail, and shouting with the regularity of a minute-gun: "Have at ’em, Comely! Have at ’em, my lad!" Two men remained on the gangway, refusing to be intimidated by the tumult in their rear; nay more, adjuring the fugitives to stand fast. One was Monsieur de Fronsac, the other Kit Lamiger, the chief Luscombe smuggler, father of the lad whom Jack had fought. The uproar, the flight, the appearance of Gumley and the dog, all happened in such rapid succession and amid such a clamor that to Jack the events seemed to take place in one crowded moment. As the last of the panic-stricken smugglers jumped sidewise from the gangway on to the rocks, De Fronsac, hearing Gumley’s voice behind him, took a rapid step forward in a last desperate endeavor to dispose of Jack. But the middy marked his purpose. There was no time for deliberation. The Frenchman, wielding his cutlass as well with his left hand as with his right, made a fierce cut at Jack. The next moment he threw up his arms without a sound and fell backward across the gangway into the space between the lugger and the rocks. Jack’s blade had pierced him through. Meanwhile Kit Lamiger had found himself seized below in the vise-like grip of Comely’s jaws. Struggling to free himself, he fell into the arms of Gumley, who, with a cry of "In the king’s name, shipmate!" swung him round, threw him on to the shingle, and bade the bulldog watch him. The fight was over. "Ahoy, Gumley! Come aboard!" shouted Jack. Gumley stumped across the gangway, and this was drawn on to the lugger’s deck. Jack intended to work the vessels out for a little distance until there was no chance of being attacked except by boats, for he knew that he was still outnumbered. But just as he was preparing to cast off there came a loud hail from the beach, and immediately afterward Mr. Goodman rushed up at the head of a force of preventive men. "Just in time, Mr. Hardy!" panted he. "A little late, Mr. Goodman," replied Jack. "I expected you some time ago. The fight is over." "Dash my buttons!" cried the mortified officer. "’Tis my confounded ill-luck. I should have been here, but I got another note a few hours ago that I had to attend to." "Anonymous, Mr. Goodman?" "Yes, anonymous as usual, hang it all! I came up when I heard the firing. I see you’ve got the lugger, sir. Our scheme worked out to the letter." "To the anonymous note, eh, Mr. Goodman? Well, we’ve good news for the admiral to-morrow. And as you’ve a good number of your men here, I’ll go ashore and step up to the Grange. I want to see my cousin. Turley, where’s Babbage?"