In the confusion Dick’s arrival was unobserved. The smugglers were thronging up the beach with threatening cries. Penwarden’s pistol flashed, but next moment a heavy missile, hurled by one of the men, struck him on the head, and he fell. "Throw un into the sea," shouted a rough voice. Half-a-dozen men rushed towards the prostrate man and began to drag him towards the water. "Stand!" cried Dick, dashing forward. "Loose him, or we’ll fire." [Illustration: "’STAND!’ CRIED DICK, DASHING FORWARD. ’LEAVE HIM, OR WE’LL FIRE.’"] A sudden silence fell upon the scene. The men who held Penwarden’s arms stood aside; the others edged away, taken aback by this unexpected intervention; there had not been time for the tidesmen to arrive from the village. Dick and Sam stood over the exciseman, pointing their useless muskets at the crowd. For a moment there was absolute stillness; then one of the men murmured: "’Tis young Maister Trevanion." "Yes," cried Dick, "and I warn you that if any of you lays a hand on the old man again I will report you all to Sir Bevil. I know you, for all your black faces. There’s Doubledick, and Tonkin, and——" "Iss, ’tis I, and I don’t care who knows it," interrupted Tonkin, pushing forward. "What ’nation call ha’ you got to meddle, cuss you!" "I don’t meddle with your trade; it’s nothing to me; but I won’t see an old fellow killed by a pack of ruffians." Tonkin cursed again, but some one drew him back and spoke to him in low tones. The fact that the interruption had come from the Squire’s son was more daunting than the lads’ muskets, which had no terror for armed men accustomed to contend with equal numbers. But the name of Trevanion, in spite of the fallen fortunes of the house, was still a moral power in the country-side, and, further, if any harm befell the Squire’s heir, they could not escape a heavy retribution. After a few moments’ colloquy, a man came forward. "Hark ’ee, sir," he said, and Dick recognised his voice as Doubledick’s, in spite of an attempt to disguise it. "We take it hard as you’ve meddled wi’ honest free-traders as never did ’ee no harm. As for old Joe, ’twas only a bit of fun—hee! hee!—he bean’t for drownin’. What I says I says for all, and that is, we’ll let ’ee take un away if you do give us yer sacred word not to gie our names to Sir Bevil or Mr. Mildmay,—them as you knows." "I don’t want to play informer," replied Dick. "I agree to that." "Not a word to a soul?" "No. I’ve said so." "That’s fair spoke," said the man, turning to the rest.