“Umph-humph!” exclaimed Sir Hector; and together they entered the hospitable portal of the ‘Market Cross Inn,’ where they were met by the cheery Mr. Bunkle, who ushered them as honoured guests into his five-doored holy of holies. “Do you gin’men ’appen to ha’ seed the bill as they’ve printed an’ posted arl-on-account-o’ pore Jarge Potter? What—no, sirs? Then bide a minute an’ I’ll show ye one o’ they bills.” Saying which, Mr. Bunkle put aside snowy apron and from vasty pocket drew forth such incongruous articles as: a whip lash, a fragment of tobacco, a nutmeg, a small pistol, and finally, after laborious groping, a folded paper which, having carefully smoothed out, he held up against the wall and they read as follows: ONE HUNDRED POUNDS REWARD. Dead or Alive. WHEREAS George Potter a NOTORIOUS SMUGGLER did upon the 10th inst. of June fire upon certain of His Majesty’s soldiers and coastguard officers in the execution of their duty, thereby MALICIOUSLY WOUNDING divers of them: the above sum, to wit ONE HUNDRED POUNDS, will be paid to any or such persons as shall give information leading to capture of the aforesaid NOTORIOUS MALEFACTOR. Dead or Alive. LONG LIVE THE KING. “Save’s a’!” exclaimed Sir Hector, “the man Sayle is unco’ serious an’ damnably determined.... A hundred pounds! Losh, man, ’twill be an awfu’ temptation tae the avereecious. How think ye, Peter?” “Why, I think, sir, as that theer hundred pound will go a-beggin’——” “But ... a hundred pounds, man——!” “Aye,” nodded Mr. Bunkle as he refolded the bill, “’tis a sight o’ money, I rackon; Jarge ought to be a proud man this day! ’Twill be the gumboo as usual, sirs?” Now when their glasses were empty and Sir Hector had fared unwillingly homewards, Sir John, being alone, took out the battered snuff-box to view it once again in keen-eyed scrutiny, more especially the lid; for there, scratched faintly on the horn, were these two initials: J. S. CHAPTER XXXIV CONCERNS ITSELF WITH ONE OF THE MANY MYSTERIES OF THE ‘MARKET CROSS INN’ In these sleepy summer days, while Alfriston drowsed about its business, High Dering opened doors and lattices far wider than usual to behold a troop of workmen who, with planks, poles, ladders and other paraphernalia, descended upon Dame Haryott’s little cottage.