His right arm fell as he sought his pocket: the front of his coat was revealed; one button was missing. It is probable that Dick, but for his long waiting and his excitement, would not have yielded to impulse. But as Tonkin threw the tobacco into the lugger, Dick stepped up to him, and, holding out the incriminating button, said: "This is yours, I believe." Tonkin stared at him for an instant, blew a cloud from his lips, and held out his hand for the button as if to examine it. In anticipatory triumph Dick handed it to him. "Did I hear ’ee say as this button do belong to me?" asked the man in a curiously quiet voice. "Yes, I did say so." "Well, drown me if I want it," and with a flick between his forefinger and thumb he sent it skimming through the air. It fell into the sea a dozen yards away. Dick’s cheeks flamed with rage at his stupidity in allowing himself to be outwitted. He had had in his possession the sole piece of evidence against the kidnappers, and now it was lost on the sandy bottom of the harbour. Shaken out of his self-control, he said hotly: "’Twas you that kidnapped Penwarden. Don’t think you will escape. There’ll be an end to this villainy." "Go and inform, then, you cussed young slip of a rotted old tree. ’Tis not the first time, neither, you dirty young whelp." A burst of laughter from the lugger brought Dick to his sober senses. Disdaining to contradict the aspersion, he turned abruptly on his heel, tingling with fury at his own indiscretion. Jibes and jeers pursued him as he walked towards the homeward road; these stung him less than the knowledge that by his own folly he had thrown away a chance of helping Penwarden. Gloomy thoughts kept him company as he toiled up the hill. Nor was he cheered by the air of malignant triumph manifest on Doubledick’s fat face, when, half-way up the hill, he met the inn-keeper waddling down. In imagination he heard the gleeful chuckles with which Doubledick would learn of his discomfiture. After the heroic resolution he had lately come to, it was a sorry thing to have been worsted in the first encounter. Walking more rapidly on the level road past the Dower House, at a cursory glance to the left he saw a short, thickset form scramble over the fence that bounded the premises, and hasten furtively in the direction of the Towers. The sight struck him with surprise and wrath at once, for the slinking figure was undoubtedly that of Sam Pollex. Being himself partially concealed by the hedge, he thought it probable that Sam had not seen him, so, hurrying along, he turned as soon as possible into the grounds of the Towers, and came face to face with Sam as the boy arrived at a little wicket-gate. "What do you mean by it?" he demanded angrily, holding the gate so that Sam could not pass through. Sam blushed and dropped his eyes, looking flustered and perturbed.