The trunk was opened, and Penwarden turned over its contents, Mr. Mildmay looking on. He found articles of apparel, a sword, some bundles of papers, a bag of money, a large leather-bound book, a brace of pistols, and sundry insignificant articles, none of which was chargeable with duty. "Thank you, sir," said Mr. Mildmay, when the inspection was concluded. "I am sorry to have detained you, but in these times——" "Quite so, captain," interrupted the other. "In these times one cannot be too particular. I bid you good-night, and better luck at your next examination." Mr. Mildmay hurried on with Penwarden, and was soon lost to sight. "Who’s that popinjay?" said the traveller, when the lieutenant was out of hearing. "That be Maister Mildmay, the preventive officer, and a dratted furriner," replied the fisher. "He’ve been in these parts two years now, and a meddlesome feller he be too. Hee! hee! He got nowt for his pains this time, maister, and if there’s one thing I do like to see, ’tis the preventives fooled. Hee! hee!" "Old Penwarden looks the same as ever, except for the shade over his eye." "Do ’ee know him, maister?" "I used to, years ago." "Iss, old Joe be a decent good soul of his trade, and we was vexed, trewly, when ’a got his eye put out in a fight by Lunnan Cove. But there, he shouldn’ meddle with honest free-traders. Lawk-a-massy! I be speakin’ free." "Oh, you’re quite safe with me. I’m a bit of a free-trader myself, in my way." They went on, and in a few minutes came to an inn at the lower end of the village near the beach. This was the Five Pilchards. The village boasted another inn, a hundred yards away, called the Three Jolly Mariners; but it belied its name, being frequented mainly by farm labourers. The traveller paid and dismissed the fisher, and rapped at the closed door. It was opened by the innkeeper himself, a podgy, red-nosed, blear-eyed fellow, with an underhung lip, and a chin like a dewlap. A small candle-lamp hung above in the doorway, showing a dim yellow ray upon the smiling face of the visitor. The innkeeper started back. "I startled you, eh?" said the visitor. "Yes, it is I myself—John Trevanion come home again. I am getting on in years, Doubledick, and I felt I should like to die among my friends." "Ha, ha! Ho, ho!" laughed the innkeeper. "’Tis Maister John, for sure, come home with his little jokes. Come along in, maister, come in; daze me if I bean’t as pleased as pigs to see ’ee." "Take me to a room, Doubledick, and get some clean sheets, will you? And send me up something passable to eat and drink; I’ll sup alone." "Iss, sure. I’ll give ’ee the best I’ve got in the house. What do ’ee say, now, to collops and fried taties, or a nice bit o’ bass, or a dish o’ pickled pilchurs, and some real old—you know what, Maister John? Hee, hee!" "Whatever you like, Doubledick, only be quick about it."