“Aye, I do, sir,” answered the Sergeant, saluting; “any person so attempting to be——” “Be off!” roared the Captain. “Aye, sir. And if fugitive discovers hisself, we to shoot at same with intent to——” “Aye—shoot and be damned!” “Yes, sir!” answered the Sergeant, and with another salute he wheeled smartly, strode into the street, bellowed incoherencies at his perspiring men and marched them away to their stations. “You, landlord,” quoth Captain Panter, seating himself and stretching dusty legs, “bring me a bottle o’ burgundy—now, at once! And as for the rest o’ ye, I’ll let you know I’m Panter o’ the Third and not to be gammoned by a tale o’ cock and bull!” The wine being brought, Captain Panter filled and drank thirstily while the place rang and reverberated with the tread of heavy feet and thuds of musket-butts that marked the searchers’ activity. “O John,” said Sir Hector, after some while, “wull ye harken tae yon noble heroes! Is it no a graund thing tae be a sojer?” At this, the Captain set down his glass with a bang. Quoth he: “I’ll thank ye to leave my profession alone!” “I will that!” answered Sir Hector. “I’ve no’ juist hankered tae be a catchpoll, y’ ken.” “Catch——” the Captain choked. “Poll!” added Sir Hector. “Catchpoll, laddie——” “By all the devils!” exclaimed the Captain, rising, but at this moment Ensign Page re-entered, dusty and dishevelled. “Sir,” said he, casting looks of yearning upon the Captain’s bottle, “I beg to report that we have searched everywhere to no effect.” “But, burn me,” exclaimed the Captain, “the rascal must be here! You saw him enter that door, we all saw him, and he’s had no time to win clear ... besides, the place is surrounded.” “Nevertheless, sir,” answered Ensign Page, still eyeing the bottle thirstily, “there’s never a sign of him high nor low.” “And I say he’s here somewhere, hid. Where ha’ you looked?” “In all the usual places, sir.” “Then go search the unusual places!” “Sir?” “I say,” fumed the Captain, “that the rogue must be here somewhere, and if he’s here, here he shall be found.... Go, find him, sir!” The young Ensign saluted the bottle and departed. So was a new series of thumps and bangs and tramplings alow and aloft, what time the autocratic Captain Panter sipped his wine and glared at the occupants of the settle who seemed so very much at their ease; and, as the wine grew low, his choler rose correspondingly. He viewed Sir Hector’s shabby garments, Sir John’s plain attire, and setting them down as persons of no condition, treated them as such. “Sunstroke!” he snarled. “Sunstroke, begad! ’Tis very evident ye’re aiding and abetting this rascally smuggler—both o’ ye! Could I but be assured o’ this, I’d march ye to prison, aye, I would, by Jove! B’gad, but you may be arrant smugglers yourselves—you’ve the cursed, sly look of ’t.”