He was right, then! This was Sandy Cove, and here the run was to be made. He felt impatient for the work to begin. The sky was very dark, there was no moon—smugglers avoided moonlit nights—but the air was so clear that he hoped to see well enough for his purpose. Ah! there were dark figures moving quietly about the beach below. The men had taken off their boots, it appeared, and there—yes! It was the black shape of a vessel slowly approaching the shore. The sails were run down with scarce a sound; the lugger hove to within a few yards of the cove; then, on a gangway invisible to Jack, the smugglers went to and fro, those coming shoreward bent under heavy burdens. Jack watched eagerly. The carriers brought their loads up the chine, and disappeared along the same path that he himself had followed a few hours before. It seemed but a few minutes; then he heard a voice say "That’s the last;" the lugger stood out to sea, and Sandy Cove was as quiet as though nothing had happened. Slipping out of his hiding-place, Jack very cautiously followed the last man, who carried no load and seemed to be in some authority over the rest. Jack could never venture near enough to see his features, nor even to get a complete view of his form. He tracked him to Congleton’s Hollow, and there was compelled to pause and dodge some of the carriers who, having finished their work, were making their way homeward across the fields. Waiting a little while until all seemed safe, he crept across the Hollow to the summer-house where he had found the iron steps. It was from this that the carriers had come. Clearly the smuggled goods had been deposited there. He searched as thoroughly as he could in the darkness, but could find no trace of them. "’Tis a job for daylight," he said to himself. "Now for my tramp back." He was dead tired when he reached the cottage where he had left his gig. The cottager awoke at his knock, put the horse in, and drove him at once to Middleton, where he slept heavily for three or four hours before Mr. Goodman arrived in the morning. "Well, Mr. Hardy, I hope you spotted the rascals as we arranged." "I saw the run," replied Jack, with an inward chuckle at the riding-officer’s "we," "and a precious cold night it was. They’ve hidden the stuff somewhere in old Congleton’s summer-house." "Have they indeed? I’ll seize it at once." "No, no, Mr. Goodman, don’t be in a hurry. You might send a few of your men to Luscombe, telling them nothing, of course. If they’re seen about there for a day or two it will prevent the smugglers from removing their stuff until it is too late. And if you don’t mind, send a messenger to Waddon for me, and tell Babbage to remain where he is till further orders." "I will, Mr. Hardy. By George! I hope Admiral Horniman will be pleased with the way we are carrying out his plans." Jack smiled as the riding-officer took his leave,—Mr. Goodman knew only half the plan; Admiral Horniman none of it.