That Tonkin himself, an hour or two later, should carry his fish to the Dower House was natural enough, but it was not perhaps quite so natural that, having delivered them to Susan for transmission to the cook, he should have been asked to step into the house and taken to the master’s own room. Nor was it likely, when he was let out at the front door by Mr. Trevanion an hour later, that the conversation which had passed between them in the interim had for its subject nothing but fish. Nobody in Polkerran knew of this visit, or some intelligent person might have suspected that it had a connection with a remarkable change that came about in the villagers’ manner of regarding Monsieur Jean Delarousse. Hitherto they had looked upon him as a keen man of business, with whom it was as safe as it was honourable to have dealings of a free-trade nature. But from that day they cherished a sour distrust of him; they resolved to do business with him no longer, and to transfer their custom to another merchant of Roscoff, whose name is of no importance in this history. In this transference they followed the lead of Tonkin, blindly—all but Doubledick, who swam with the current, indeed, so far as outward appearances went; but in the privacy of his own cunning mind, buzzing still with the recollection of what he had heard through the keyhole of his parlour door, indulged in speculations of a very tantalising nature, and wondered what Maister John’s little game was. Whether the relation of cause and effect existed between this meeting of Trevanion and Tonkin, and an event that took place a few hours later at the Towers, is a matter on which the reader may presently form his own conclusion. Dick had gone to bed a little earlier than usual, tired out after a long tramp over the moor in search of wild fowl. His room faced the sea, and he had left his window open, as his practice was except in stormy weather. In the dead of night he suddenly found himself awake, and wondered why, for he had not been dreaming, nor was he conscious of having heard a sound. But in a few seconds he was aware of an unusual smell, that appeared to be wafted through the window on the sea breeze. It was the smell of burning wood. He leapt out of bed, ran to the casement, and looked out over a row of outhouses that extended for some yards from the dwelling towards the cliff. One glance was sufficient. The tool-house at the furthermost end was on fire. Quickly pulling on his breeches, he ran to the adjoining room, occupied by Sam, hauled the snoring boy from his bed, shook him vigorously, and cried— "The tool-house is on fire! Run to the turret and pull the bell. Quick! The breeze is off the sea, and we shall have the whole place in a blaze."