"There’s the inn," said Dick presently. "Doubledick isn’t abed, late as it is." A light shone through the red blind of the inn parlour. The door was open, and Doubledick stood in the doorway, illuminated by the light behind. In spite of the heavy rain several men, among whom Dick distinguished the elder Tonkin, were grouped about the door. They had heard the wheels of the oncoming carriage, and there were signs of excitement among them. As the vehicle drew up, Tonkin stepped forward, thrust his head in, uttered a smothered exclamation, then opened the door hastily. The eyes of all the men were fixed on the figure that emerged, so that Dick on the box was not noticed. A short, broad man, clad in a long overcoat, his cocked hat pulled low over his brow, descended from the carriage and went quickly into the inn, the men following him. The door was shut. Feeling that he was in a somewhat false position, Dick seized the opportunity to slip down from his seat and withdraw round the angle of the wall, where a flight of steps ascended between it and the wall of the opposite house. He heard Tonkin speaking to the driver; the carriage rumbled over the cobbles, not returning up the hill, but going through the village in the opposite direction. Immediately afterwards the inn door was reopened, the heavy boots of the fishers clumped along the street, and in a few moments nothing was to be heard except the pattering of the rain. Dick felt a little sore at having to trudge back afoot, without a word of thanks. He was drenched to the skin. Glancing behind as he began to climb the hill, he saw that the light had now disappeared from the inn-room. The whole village was in darkness. More than ever dispirited and mystified, he plodded along. Apparently the carriage had been expected. He could not help connecting it with the horsemen whom the driver had been so anxious to avoid, and, remembering the strange accent of the passenger, it suddenly flashed upon him that the man might be one of Boney’s spies, whom he had unwittingly helped to escape pursuers. But on reflection this idea seemed untenable, because a spy was hardly likely to appear at this remote part of the coast, and he could not believe that the smugglers of Polkerran, like those of the south-eastern counties, had any treasonable communications with the French ogre. He was still pondering on the baffling occurrence when the sound of horses trotting again fell on his ear. In a few moments he had to stand aside to avoid being knocked down by the first of half-a-dozen horsemen, whom, dark as it was, he recognised by their headdress to be soldiers. Their uniforms were covered by their riding cloaks. He was seen as he shrank back: a rough voice called "Halt!" and the horsemen reined up. "Stand forth, in the King’s name, and answer for your life," said the same voice. Dick went towards the foremost horseman. "Who are you?" he was asked. "My name is Trevanion," he replied.