Scarcely had he gone when the small and weather-beaten face of the smuggler entered the room.
Job, who had often paid visits to the captain at various places, but never at the office, was awed for a moment by the grand furniture and piles of papers and documents.
"Mornin', captain——"
"Have you brought the account?" said Mr. Murpoint.
Job nodded, and produced a greasy bag, which he placed on the polished table.
The captain turned out the contents of the bag, and commenced counting the heap of gold and silver.
Then he examined an account which was made out on a dirty piece of paper Job had handed to him, looking up at last with a dark frown.
"How is this?" he said, in a low, stern voice. "There is some mistake. Here is only a third of the profits—there should be a half."
"There bean't no mistake, capt—sir," said Job, with an emphatic nod. "They've sent all they means to send, and a hard job I had to get that. The boys say that they don't see the justice like of one man—gentleman or no gentleman—taking half the swag when they've worked for the whole of it."
"Oh, they don't?" said Mr. Murpoint, with a soft smile. "Tell them that unless I have the remainder of the money by this time next week, and a fair half for the future, paid to the very day, I will peach upon the lot of them. Not a man shall escape me. The police shall know how the great smuggling trade is done and who does it. You tell them, will you, with my compliments?"