I was startled; I could not order my thoughts. I mumbled out involuntarily—
“I—there used to be a talk of smugglers.”
He turned upon me like a snapping dog.
“Smugglers! What about them?”
Harry glanced at me warningly.
“O!” I said, recovering myself with a flush, “it was an old tale when we came, Mr. Pilbrow; and, since, the weather and the coastguard have been knocking it to pieces between them.”
He stood thoughtfully rubbing his chin.
“So?” he murmured. “Knocking what to pieces?”
“Why, the tale,” said I; for I did not wish to be more particular.
I don’t know if he understood my reluctance. He did not persist in his questions, anyhow, but lapsed into a brown study. He seemed to have forgotten our presence.