"Ah," said one of the runners. "These young rogues is that artful, they never do nothing anywhere." "You'll live to be hanged, I know," said the other runner. "What were you doing with the smugglers?" asked the officer suddenly, staring hard at my face, to watch for any change of expression. But I was ready for him. A boy is often better able to keep his countenance than a grown man. With masters, and aunts, and game-keepers all down upon him, he lives a hunted life. He gets lots of practice in keeping his countenance. A grown man often gets very little. "What smugglers, sir?" I asked as boldly as I could. "The men you sailed with from Etaples," said the officer. "Sailed with?" I asked, feeling that I was done for. "Didn't the horses splash about, when you cut the cable?" said the officer, with a smile. This time I thought I had better not answer. I looked as puzzled as I could, and looked from one face to the other, as though for enlightenment. "Now, Jim," said one of the runners. "It's no good. Tell us all about the smugglers, and we'll let you go." "We know you're the boy we want," said the captain. "Make a clean breast of it, and perhaps you will get off with transportation." "Now don't look so innocent," said the other runner. "Tell us what we want to know, or we'll make you." Now somewhere I had read that the police bullied suspected persons in this way. If you make a guilty person believe that you know him to be guilty, you can also get him to confess if you startle him sufficiently. It occurred to me that this was what these men were doing, especially as they had not been sure of me when I came into the room. I had some twenty or thirty seconds in which to think of an answer, for the three men spoke one after the other, without giving me a chance to speak. I shook my head, putting on a puzzled look. "I beg your pardon, sir," I said, speaking rather roughly, in the accent which Bill had used. "I think there's some mistake." "Oh, I think not," said the officer. "Suppose I tell you how many men were in the lugger?" But here we were stopped by the arrival of a chaise outside. A man entered hurriedly. "It's all right, Gray," the newcomer called to the officer. "We have the boy. We caught him back there, along the road, with a couple of gipsies. There can be no doubt about it. The clothes and bundle are just as they're described in the advertisement. Who have you here?" "Oh, a boy we brought in on suspicion," said the officer. "Shall we let him go?" "Well, who is he?" asked the new arrival. "Eh, boy? Who are you?" "A poor boy," I answered. "How do you make a living?" he asked. "Little boys, like you, oughtn't to be about on the roads, you know. What d'ye do for a living?" I am afraid it was rather a bold statement; but I cried out that I could sing ballads. "Oh, Jim. So you sing ballads, do you?" said the officer. "Get on to that chair and sing us a ballad."