“Ay, sir. And, by what I’ve heard tell, he be about the worst of the whole lot of ’em, old or young!”. This certainly tallied with the experience Tregenna had had of the young ruffian, so he swallowed his annoyance as well as he could, and, turning again to the man, said shortly— “And it’s the old story, of course? Nobody knows anything about him, or where he lives, or anything that could help to put us on his track?” The man appeared to glance about him cautiously, as if afraid that his reply might be overheard by some unseen person. Then he answered, in a low voice— “Well, sir, they do say he’s to be heard of somewheres about Rede Hall.” “Rede Hall?” echoed the lieutenant with interest. For this was, he knew, the home of the artful Ann Price, of whose wiles he retained so vivid a remembrance. “Ay, sir.” And then it crossed Tregenna’s mind that this rascally lad must be some relation of Ann’s, a younger brother, perhaps; for, looking back to his impression of the boy’s pale, set face, he seemed now to be able to trace a resemblance between his features and those of Ann, different as was the expression of the calm, homely woman from that of the fierce lad. It was clear, then, that Rede Hall must now be visited, and that in the first place a warrant must be obtained for the apprehension of such of the smugglers as he could identify; for Jem Bax, Ben the Blast, Robin, nicknamed “Cursemother,” Bill, nicknamed “Plunder,” and for one other, whom he could only describe as “Jack,” as there was, even among the cutter’s crew, a certain strange reluctance to give him any further name. When Tregenna called at Hurst Court to obtain the warrants, in company with the brigadier, on the following morning, he found himself in the midst of a very lively scene. The squire had given a breakfast to the members of the hunt, and the guests were trooping out of the house, and mounting their horses on the lawn in front. The scarlet coats of the men gave a pretty touch of bright color to the scene; and the presence of ladies, in their silken skirts and velvet hoods, added brilliancy to the gathering. Behind the scattered groups on the grass, the white house and the red-brown trees on either side of it formed a picturesque background, throwing up the gay colors of the costumes in vivid relief. One figure, and one only, attracted Tregenna’s attention the moment he entered the gates. This was Joan Langney, who, in her plain Sunday gown of russet tabby, with a full black hood, looked, he thought, a very queen of beauty among the more smartly dressed wives and daughters of the country squires. He let the brigadier pass on alone up to the place where Squire Waldron was standing, and, dismounting from his horse, lingered a moment to pay his respects to Mistress Joan. He had always the excuse to himself that she might be able to afford him some useful information. “Your servant, Miss Joan. ’Tis not necessary to ask if you are well this morning.”