“It came by pigeon late yesterday,” answered the landlord; “and it must have been blown out of the track, for look at the date of it. The excisemen are looking about pretty closely, but there’s nothing for their finding now. But here’s to-day the 14th, and to-morrow the Captain’s wedding, and the fresh stuff coming over, unless we stop it, and every hole and corner on the watch.” “It isn’t cards that’s Dan’l’s only game, Crumblejohn,” said the rat-faced man. “We must send the lad over--but what about the boat?” “On the other side with Lambkin,” said the landlord. “Pigeons?” “Not safe enough. I’ll send a pigeon, but I must send the lad too, for they’re on the track of this here business, and unless we can beach it by Knapper’s Head, this matter must stand over for the time. Now, if we was going to get Dan’l into it, as I thought we should, we could have got his boat for the business. Lord, how handy now that boat would ha’ come in. But I gathered you hadn’t seen your opportoonity this evening; he didn’t give no manner o’ sign?” “Give no manner o’ sign, do you put it? Why the man’s working for the excisemen, and if you’d half an eye you’d have guessed it, but leastways you was mum. No, don’t you put no trust in Dan’l for our little trade, master; and what’s more, there mustn’t be any stuff in the cave till he’s off the track, for he knows this coast as he knows his own pocket, and if he’s paid for it, he’ll make it his business to find out even more than he knows.” “Then how’s the boy to go?” mumbled old Crumblejohn. He disliked his friend’s superior cunning, yet he was sufficiently harassed to be dependent on it now. “How’s the boy to go, I ask yer? Captain Bluett don’t want no cabin-boy, for I asked it ov’ him; the places on the vessel is all filled.” “Oliver shall go all the same, captain or no captain,” whined the rat-faced; “and you may be thankful as I’ve got my full wits if I haven’t got my full fingers. The captain’s lady goes with him?” “So they say. Married here to-morrow, and no end of a business, and straight off to France with her husband in his ship.” “Where’s she bound?” “Boulogne.” (Only the landlord called it Boo-lone.) “Boo-lone?” repeated the rat-faced, “the very place where Lambkin’s waiting for a word, and you stand there asking me how we’re to get the lad over, with a vessel making for the very port? No, no,” he murmured, looking into the fire, “you ’urt me, Crumblejohn, you ’urt me when you go on like that. You can be stoopid for a whin, and you can be stoopid for a wager, but it ain’t natterel to be quite so stoopid as you are; it ain’t natterel, and it ain’t safe.”