"Well, I hate close folks who make a secret of everything, so I’ll tell you. I got a lift in a travelling wagon from Newquay, but the wretch that drove it was bound for Truro, and point-blank refused to bring me farther than the cross-roads a couple of miles back. So now you know, my man, and I daresay you could tell a stranger what I’ve told you." "Sure and sartin. You be come from Newquay in a wagon, and when ye got to cross-roads driver said he’d be jowned if he’d carr’ ’ee a step furder." "You have it pat; and now step out; ’tis getting latish." They proceeded along the silent road at a good pace toward the village, the traveller dropping a remark now and then from which the fisherman understood that he was not a complete stranger to the district. Just as they reached a spot where the road dipped somewhat steeply, there were sounds of rapid footsteps behind them, and in a few moments two men came up, one Mr. Mildmay, the revenue officer, the other an old weather-beaten fellow in seaman’s clothes. He wore a black shade over his right eye, and the unnaturally short distance between his nose and the tip of his chin showed that he had lost his teeth. This was Joe Penwarden, the veteran exciseman who had been mentioned at Squire Trevanion’s supper-table. On leaving the Towers, Mr. Mildmay had gone first to the right, and fetched Penwarden from his little cottage on the cliff, and then retraced his steps through the Squire’s grounds. Had he been a few minutes earlier, he could hardly have failed to see the pedestrian trudging with his trunk on his shoulder along the path that ran a score of yards from Penwarden’s cottage. "Halt, in the King’s name!" cried Mr. Mildmay, as he overtook the two men who had preceded him along the road. [Illustration: "’HALT, IN THE KING’S NAME!’ CRIED MR. MILDMAY"] "I’ll halt if ’ee bid me in the King’s name," said the fisher, recognising the revenue officer, whom he, like the population of Polkerran generally, held in detestation mingled with unwilling respect, "but I bean’t doin’ nowt agen the law, I tell ’ee, carr’in’ a genel’um’s traps for a groat." "A gentleman, is it?" said Mr. Mildmay, turning to the traveller. "I must ask you to tell me your business." "And you shall have an answer. I come from Newquay, and am going to seek a night’s lodging at the Five Pilchards, if you have no objection, captain." Mr. Mildmay looked suspiciously at the speaker, whose accent was that of an educated man. He was not the type of person to meet afoot with his trunk on the high road. Old Penwarden’s single eye also was fixed on the stranger’s swarthy, bearded face. "No more objection, my dear sir, than you will have to my taking a look at the inside of that trunk of yours. In the King’s name!" "With all the pleasure in life. Amos, or whatever your name is, set down the trunk for the inspection of this exceedingly zealous officer of His Majesty’s."