On Wednesday evening, Doubledick left the inn, and walked along the southward bank of the stream in the direction of the church. He had left word that he was going to see Petherick about a Christmas dinner which the Vicar was accustomed to give to the children and young people of the parish, in a barn upon his glebe. He spent an hour or two with Petherick in his cottage near the church, received from him the Vicar’s orders for squab-pie (a hotch-potch of mutton, apples, onions and raisins, with sugar and seasoning), "figgy pudden" (which is Cornish for plum-pudding), and other delectables of the season, and having arranged with the sexton the commission to be paid him for passing on an order which he could have placed with no one else, he drank a parting glass and started ostensibly for home. It was a fine night, moonless but clear, with that crisp coldness in the air that exhilarates. Instead of walking along the road by which he had come, Doubledick struck off to the left into a lane that would bring him, after a long round, to the south cliff. There were no houses hereabouts, the church being at least half a mile from the nearest dwelling. When the innkeeper came to the spot where the ground began to rise, he did not turn to the right, along the path that led to the bridge over the stream, and was the nearest way home, but trudged directly onward, puffing a little as he went higher. It was very dark, or he might perhaps have seen a figure silently stalking him. Every now and again he stopped to take breath and to glance in the direction of the village. At these times the shadowy figure dropped down behind a furze bush, and there waited until Doubledick, with a grunt and sigh, again went on his way. Presently he came to Mr. Polwhele’s house on the cliff. He did not pass it by, nor approach the front door, but stole to the window, where a light shone through the blind, and gently tapped at it. In a few moments the door opened. Mr. Polwhele’s figure was for an instant silhouetted against the light from a hanging-lamp in the passage. Doubledick entered quickly, and the door was shut again. The silent form of the second man was motionless and invisible in the darkness. But when the door was closed, it tip-toed swiftly across the grass, and if a third person had been in the neighbourhood he might have seen the head and shoulders of a fisher in strong relief against the illuminated blind. But there was no spectator. The fisher placed his ear against the glass, and remained in that posture for several minutes. Then he withdrew, muttering his disappointment, and posted himself behind a clump of gorse a few yards away, where he could keep his eye on the door. "Well, Doubledick," said the riding-officer, when he had given his visitor a chair, "’tis to be, then?" "Iss, sir, and a big thing too. Maister Trevanion hev £200 ventured, and Tonkin the same." "And where is it to be this time?"