Upon hearing Mr. Pym’s news, he grew profoundly thoughtful and stood awhile staring into the fire. “Sir Hector be right, I rackon!” said he at last. “’Tis a spy’s work, sure-lye ... an’ there be only one way to mak’ sarten an’ that be to go theer——” “Do ’ee mean Cuckmere ’Aven, Jarge?” “Aye, Peter, I do. I be a-goin’ d’rackly-minute to watch. If they shows the signal light a-swing from cliff, I’ll know ’tis a spy ... an’ must warn Sharkie off——” “Aye, but how, Jarge?” “Wi’ this, Peter.” And from a pocket of the frieze coat Mr. Potter drew a short-barrelled, heavy pistol. “I wait till Sharkie be within ’ail and let fly ... flash’ll warn ’im.... An’ noo I’ll be a-goin’——” “An’ I’m wi’ ye, Geordie man!” quoth Sir Hector, reaching for his hat. “And I,” said Sir John, clapping on his own. “Why, Lord love ’ee, gen’lemen,” exclaimed Mr. Potter, “’twon’t be nowise easy-goin’! I be for short cuts ’cross Down, ship-tracks an’ hidden ways.” “No matter,” answered Sir John. “An’ what’s more, sirs, dappen us reaches Cuckmere in time, when I fires to warn Sharkie ’tis but to be expected as they Preventive lads’ll fire back at me ... so ’tis best I go alone, I rackon——” “Hoot-toot, Geordie, ye’re wastin’ an’ awfu’ lot o’ wind; save it tae better purpose, man, for we’re gangin’ wi’ ye.” “And I also,” said Mr. Pym, examining the flint of his musket. “Why, then, come your ways, sirs,” said Mr. Potter; “but if we be took, ’tis as smugglers you’ll be sarved——” “And why not?” retorted Mr. Pym argumentatively. “Are not all Sussex folk smugglers at heart—aye, and mankind in general, for matter o’ that?” “Well, good fortun’ go wi’ ye, sirs,” said Mr. Bunkle. “’Twill be middlin’ dark; moon doan’t rise till three o’clock.... An’ there’ll be a bowl o’ summat ’ot waitin’ agin your return. You ought to be back inside two hours, eh, Jarge?” “Why, as to that, Peter,” answered Mr. Potter in his placid manner, “what is to be, will be, I rackon!” And opening a door he led them forth by a discreetly unobtrusive passage that brought them to a back lane, to a footpath skirting the rope walk, and so to a steep upland, rising against the stars. Once clear of the village, Mr. Potter went at a pace that Sir John found somewhat trying by reason of the difficult country. Moreover, his hurt arm irked him; but Mr. Pym strode unfaltering, up hill and down, despite the heavy musket he bore, and Sir Hector’s long legs seemed tireless. Though there was no moon as yet, the stars made a palpitant glow, a glimmering dusk wherein all objects loomed up vague and unfamiliar. To Sir John the dim forms of his silent companions seemed like phantoms in a phantom world; stumbling and breathless he struggled on, feeling as one in a nightmare, conscious of spectral shapes that reached out ghostly arms, or touched him with clammy fingers—things that by day were trees and bushes, but now were things very evil and sinister.