But he reflected that he could hardly satisfy his curiosity without spying on Jake Tonkin, and this was out of the question. He would have ruefully done nothing more had he not seen that the lad, instead of keeping to the path that ran directly to the village, struck off to the left along a track that led nowhere but to the Dower House. This raised his curiosity to a still higher pitch. What had Tonkin to do with John Trevanion? Knowing that his father and John were on bad terms, and having seen many little indications that the latter was bent on annoying his cousin, it was natural that he should wonder whether the interests of the Squire were in any way affected by the apparent connection between John and the smugglers. After a little hesitation, he sent Sam into the Towers, to reassure his parents and then go to bed, and went on himself after the waddling figure of Jake Tonkin, now almost out of sight. Walking quickly, he was in time to see Jake enter an outhouse at the rear of the mansion. The door closed behind him, and Dick, taking a look round, and seeing no one, ran swiftly to the building and peeped through the window. The room was lighted by a single candle, whose rays fell on the forms of a dozen men seated on chairs, stools, pails, and the table. All had their faces blackened, and he failed to discover among them the large and massive form, almost impossible to disguise, of Jake’s father. "He be fast asleep," he heard Jake say, evidently in answer to a question. "I knocked once, a little un; then twice, rayther louder; then I tried the door: ’twas locked. I didn’t hear un snore, but maybe he sleeps quiet." "Hee! hee! ’a will sleep quieter in the grave," said a voice, which Dick had no difficulty in recognising as that of Doubledick, the innkeeper, whose conversation was always partial to death and the churchyard and similar cheerful subjects. "Mildmay would fly in a passion if he knew old Joe were asleep," said a man whose voice Dick could not identify. "Ay, and so would riding-officer," added a third. He referred to the official so denominated, whose duty it was to work on shore hand in hand with Mr. Mildmay on the sea, and who was in effect in charge of the coast for ten or fifteen miles, acting under the Custom House officer at St. Ives. "Oh, ’t’ud only be a little small passion," said Doubledick, "’cos the summer bean’t over, and not a man of ’em will look for us to begin afore pilchur fishin’ be past." "Body o’ me, hain’t we ’ticed Mildmay away to stop a run?" "Nay, sonny, ’twas tidings of a French privateer that baited him. ’Tis a proper dark night, and if the wind holds, Zacky will be here a little arter midnight. And the manin’ o’ that is twenty pound in our pockets, a noble fust lesson to say ’magnify’ arter."