"At your service, sir," answered a young officer, pressing his horse forward alongside Mr. Smellie's.
The Major reached out a hand for the lantern. Someone passed it to him obediently; and holding it he scanned the officer up and down amid the dead silence of the crowd.
"Your name, sir?"
"Arbuthnot, sir—Captain Arbuthnot, of the 5th Dragoons."
"Then allow me to ask, Captain Arbuthnot, by what right have you and your troopers assaulted my men?"
"Excuse me," the Captain answered. "I am acting on trustworthy information. The Riding Officer here, Mr. Smellie—"
But here Mr. Smellie himself interposed brusquely.
"You can stow this bluster, Hymen. I've cornered you, and you know it. The flares in the offing yonder came from two preventive boats. Back-door and front I have you, as neat as a rat in a drain; so you may just turn that lantern of yours on the cargo, own up, and sing small."
"To resume our conversation, Captain Arbuthnot," the Major went on. "Upon what information are you and your men taking a part, uninvited, in this evening's—er—proceedings? You must understand, sir, that I put this question as a magistrate."
"To be frank, sir, I am warned that under cover of a feigned attack between your two corps an illicit cargo was to be run here to-night. The Riding Officer's information is precise, and he tells me he is acquainted with the three boats in which the goods have been brought over."