"This won’t do," said Jack. "Joe Gumley, I call upon you, in the king’s name, to answer this question at once. Where is Sandy Cove?" "If you puts it like that, sir, as a king’s man—leastways, I was afore I got this plaguy leg—I’m bound to make a clean breast of it. Sandy Cove is the name what the smugglers give to that there little chine just below Mr. Gudgeon’s farm." "Ah! And how came you to know that?" "Well, sir, if truth must be told, in the king’s name, I were a smuggler myself once, afore I became a king’s man." "I see! And the smugglers are down on you, are they, because you won’t join ’em again?" "How can I, sir? Once a king’s man, always a king’s man—to say nothing of the wooden leg. I served his Majesty for many a year, sir, and I bean’t a-going to turn agen him. Not but what ’tis main hard, for smuggling’s an uncommon fine trade—if so be I can make bold to speak free afore a king’s officer." "I won’t peach," said Jack, laughing. "Speak freely? Of course you can. And you’d better tell me all about it now. You look as uneasy as if you were sitting on pins." "So I be, sir, and that’s the truth. No longer ago than last Wednesday, Mr. Goodman he chanced to come upon a string of carts carrying smuggled goods from Luscombe to Wickham Ferrers. He nabbed the whole lot, sir, horses and all. And my old mates got the notion into their noddles that ’twas me as blabbed—me, sir, what knowed no more about it than that there innocent dog. But they believe it; and there ’tis. They swore they’d make me smart for it, and I dursn’t stir out o’ my door for fear I get a good crack on the nob or something just as awk’ard." "I don’t understand why they’re so down on you. You keep yourself to yourself, as you told me. Why should they think ’twas you split on them?" "I make it out this way, sir. I’m a’ old smuggler, and know all the secrets o’ the trade. I’m a’ old king’s man, too. They don’t square. I won’t jine my old mates, and they, being a bit wooden-headed, thinks I’m agen ’em. I bean’t agen ’em, only I bean’t for ’em. I can’t go agen the king, nor I can’t go back on my old mates; but bless your soul, _they_ don’t see what I mean when I says I keep myself to myself." "Well, you can’t run with the hare and hunt with the hounds. But what’s that?" He sprang up from his chair and went toward the shuttered window. Comely went to the door, growling. From without, muffled by the distance, came the tramp of heavy feet along the road, mingled with the hum of voices. "’Tis come, sir," sighed Gumley, leaning back in his chair resignedly. "Here they be at last. I knowed this would be the end of it. They said they’d tar and feather me, and they be come to do it." "Two can play at that game, Gumley. I’d sooner not be recognized now, but I’ll not leave you to deal with ’em single-handed."