It was Dick’s turn to recount the steps of his discovery, and he learnt from Penwarden the explanation of the only point that still puzzled him: why he had found the front door of the cottage unlocked. Penwarden said that one of the kidnappers had opened the door to keep a look-out. The presumption was that, after locking the back door behind his comrades when the deed was done, he had merely closed the front door, probably because he was in haste to rejoin them. While Dick told his story, the Vicar was turning over the yellow leaves of an old leather-bound manuscript book. "Ah! I have it," he exclaimed at length. "This is the diary of William Hammond, vicar of this parish eighty years ago—material for my poor starveling history, Trevanion. You have seen his name on the tablet in church. Listen. ’To-day I read the burial service for seven men of this parish, to wit, Anthony Hallah, Francis Hocking, John Tregurtha, John Maddein, Richard Kelynack, Paul Tonkin, Thomas Rowe, who ’tis supposed were overwhelmed in the late landslip beyond St. Cuby’s Cove. Their bodies have not been recovered, but I yielded to the entreaties of their families that I would recite the solemn office of the Church, that their souls might rest in peace.’ Do you see the story in this? The poor fellows were smothered while running a cargo into the cave which Dick found blocked up. Naturally the place was shunned by the smugglers, and I daresay it was years before a new generation made for themselves the hiding-place Dick has discovered. No doubt it is in the part of the cliff that bulges over the sea. They must have hollowed out the chamber, and pierced a hole in its floor, and you might have searched for ever, Mr. Mildmay, without perceiving from below the trapdoor with which it was concealed. No doubt, as Dick suggests, they have traded on the superstitions of the people in regard to the ghost at the well, and the fact that they seldom needed to use the hiding-place has helped them to preserve their secret. This will be a terrible blow to the smuggling hereabouts, and ’tis an extraordinary thing that it should be due to Dick, whose intervention has been brought about so strangely." "Confound it, Dick, you ought to be in my place," said Mr. Mildmay with a rueful look. "Here have I been dashing about in the cutter, and Polwhele riding up and down, and all the fuss and fury not half so effective as your quiet use of your wits. ’Tis a dash to one’s proper pride." "There was a great deal of luck about it, sir," said Dick. "If Sam hadn’t overheard the conversation between John Trevanion and Doubledick, we might have puzzled our wits for years without getting at the truth."