'Oh! you know well enough,' said the officer in command, entering. 'There has been at least one cargo that has to be dispersed to-night, but the rascals have snuffed us, and have slipped away. We shall catch them yet. But as a preliminary we will look for their tracks here. If they have taken to their heels they cannot have carried off their burdens. They must be deposited somewhere. You confounded old rogue, who are at the bottom of it all, we shall not let you off if we can find a thread of rope by which to hang you.' 'It is a little dark for finding such a thread,' said Job. 'Jane, light all the candles in the kitchen to assist the gentlemen. There is a pair of horn spectacles of my grandmother's I can lend the officer.' Suddenly Mrs. Marley cried out――'My child! Winefred! Where is she?' She had discovered that her daughter was not in her bed. She had vanished. 'Where is Winefred?' cried the mother, forgetting everything in a paroxysm of maternal anxiety. 'Captain Rattenbury, where is she?' 'How the deuce should I know?' answered he angrily; 'I am not a nurse.' 'Where is Winefred?' cried the woman again. She ran distractedly to the door, and called into the darkness, repeating her child's name. She waited, listened; no answer. She came back to the preventive men. At first she thought that, frightened by the noise at the door, the girl was hidden in the house, or had run forth at the back, and she felt the bed. It was cold. It could not have been left recently. Clasping her hands, standing before the men who had entered, she entreated, 'Tell me, where is she? What has become of her? Have you taken her? Did you suppose she could have told you anything?' 'My good woman,' said the officer in command of the search party, 'we know absolutely nothing of your child. We have not seen her. Do not disturb us now. We have our duties to attend to, and cannot look after runaway wenches.' The men dispersed through the house. They sought on every side. They sounded the walls, tapped on the floors, but could detect no signs of a place of concealment. One man took a candle and examined the hearth, he called for a besom and swept it. He tried the light up the chimney, and struck the bricks with a hammer. All in vain. 'What is in that cabinet?' asked the officer, indicating the oak wardrobe clamped with brass and iron. 'You are welcome to look,' answered Rattenbury. 'It is not locked. Old clothes. Are they contraband?' One of the men threw open the doors and revealed the ranges of garments; he swept them aside. 'Women's gear,' said he in a tone of vexation. 'I may husband my wife's old suits without your leave,' retorted Captain Rattenbury. 'No liquor anywhere?' asked the officer. 'Yes, a flask of Schiedam for my own consumption,' sneered Job. 'You will find that under the seat in the window. I will not begrudge you a drop to wash down your mortification.' 'You infernal rascal, you are too deep for us. But we shall be even with you yet.'