“Surely they’ll not be so foolhardy as to continue in these ways, now that they must do it at such fearsome risk!” urged Tregenna.
“Nay, sir, I know not. But ’twould be a fair day for Sussex if you could but get the men to give it up, and to take to honester work again.”
The words were hardly out of her mouth when the cart sank down into a small morass with such a jerk that Tregenna, less used to this type of vehicle than his companions, was all but precipitated into the road. At the same moment a slight groan from the back part of the cart struck upon his ears, and startled him considerably.
All at once it flashed into his mind that it was not a load of contraband tobacco and spirits, laces and silks that the hay was concealing, but the wounded smuggler Tom, who had eluded the brigadier, escaping by the back way from the Parsonage on the approach of the soldiers. Almost at the same moment he realized why it was that Ann Price had shown such a sudden desire for his own company. The artful woman had guessed his suspicions of herself and her load of hay, and had invited Tregenna to put him off the scent, and to avoid having her vehicle overhauled by the soldiers.
He took care not to betray, by word or sign, that he had heard that groan from the wounded man; he went on talking to Ann, getting her opinions on agricultural topics, which she gave with characteristic intelligence. And all the while he was congratulating himself that he should find out where Tom lived, and be able to follow him up and bring him to justice.
There was another thing that he wished to find out: whether the tipsy smuggler whom Ann Price had treated so cavalierly was the “Ben Bax” whose knife he had found beside the murdered coastguardsman. He put the question to her direct—
“Was that fellow who affronted you in the street yonder the man they call ‘Ben Bax’?” he asked at the first convenient opening in their conversation.
But Ann, whether she knew the reason of his question or not, was cautious in her answer.
“Maybe,” she answered, as if indifferently, “there be plenty o’ Baxes in these parts; they’re in every village. I know not whether I ever heard yonder fellow called by any other name than ‘Ben the Blast.’”
“He’s a fisherman, I suppose, by his dress?” pursued Tregenna.