"Yes, with the belief that when he has us there, warmth, good liquor, and pleasant company will prove more attractive than hunting rascals in the cold." "Why did you accept, then?" "First, to look after you, Mildmay. Second, to keep my eyes open. Third, to make Trevanion think I don’t suspect him, so that the smugglers may go forward with their plans. He is playing a deep game, I’m sure of it." "That’s detestably unjust, Polwhele," said Mr. Mildmay, with some heat. "Give a dog a bad name, and——I tell you what. We will both leave at nine; not a minute later. That’s several hours before any run took place that ever I heard of. Nine it shall be, and call me jackass if the shore’s not as quiet all night as the churchyard." Meanwhile, what had Dick been doing? At the hour when Mr. Carlyon was driving the terms of his proclamation into Petherick’s reluctant skull, Dick rose from bed, and taking the key of Penwarden’s cottage, brought to the Towers by Gammer Oliver, went up the cliff to make a more thorough examination of the premises than he had made on the previous day. He wished that he had thought of doing so before, for there had not only been rain in the night which would help to obliterate any traces that the kidnappers might have left on the ground, but the neighbourhood had been visited by inquisitive boys, dairymaids, farm-hands, and idle folk from the village, who tramped round the cottage, gazed at the door, and peered in at the windows, leaving innumerable footprints on the soil. Dick was puzzled to think how Joe’s captors had obtained entrance to the cottage. It was not by the front door, unless Penwarden had carelessly left it open; its timbers were sound and the lock unbroken; not by the chimney, which was too narrow to admit anything larger than a pigeon. They might have gone through the garden and forced the back door; though they would surely have tried to effect an entrance quietly, while the old man lay asleep. Arriving at the cottage, Dick unlocked the door, entered, and went through the passage to the back door, which opened on a tiny garden. The lock had not been tampered with. Penwarden was very proud of his garden, devoting many hours a day in the summer, when his duties were light, to the cultivation of peonies, fuchsias, nasturtiums, and other flowering plants, together with onions, artichokes, and vegetable marrows. The flowers were on one side of a narrow path, the vegetables on the other. There was a small gate in the rear fence. At this time of year the ground was bare, Penwarden finding nothing to do but a little rake and spade work.