"Yes," the smuggler said, "I know him by sight. He's the son of an old man-of-war's man who lives half a mile away."
"Well, you see, some of your men might some day, if they quarreled wis you, or in zeir drink, drop some words which might lead to inquiries. Better put him on board ze Chasse Marée. I will see ze matter is settled."
Harry had spoken no word from the time he was grasped. He felt in an instant that his life was forfeited, and was surprised that he had not been instantly killed. He had not raised his voice to hallo, for he knew that no cottagers were near, and was sure that an attempt to give the alarm would insure his instant death. To struggle would have been useless. He was unarmed, and although a stout lad, was but a child in the grasp of a powerful man like the smuggler. He saw, too, that on the instant the Frenchman had drawn a dagger from his breast, and though more quiet than the smuggler he felt by the tone of his voice that he was as determined as his colleague that his silence should be secured by death.
In another minute he was bound and thrown into a corner. The Frenchman then took his seat near him, assuring him in a low tone that he would at his first movement plant his dagger in his heart. The smuggler strolled off to summon his crew, and for a quarter of an hour silence reigned in the cottage.
"You are one fool," the Frenchman said at last, as if he had been thinking the matter over—"one meddlesome fool. Why you want to listen at people's doors and learn zeir secrets? I don't want to kill you, but what are we to do? You make us kill you. You push your own head into ze trap. Zat is ze way wis boys. Zey are forever meddling in affairs zat concern zem not, and zen we have ze trouble to kill zem. I would give a hundred pounds if zis had not happened; but what can I do? It is my life against yours, and alzough I am sorry to have to do it—parbleu! my life is of much more value zan zat of a fishing boy. Bah! you are one meddlesome fool."
So exasperated was the Frenchman at the trouble which the prying of this lad had brought upon him that he got up and angrily gave him a kick. A few minutes later the smuggler returned.
"The men have all gone down to the boat," he said briefly. "Come along, mounseer. Bring that tin case with you, and those pistols."
"Zere is no fear zat I forget ze tin case," the Frenchman said. "As to ze pistols—zey are not of much use. However, I will take zem;" and he thrust them into the pockets of his coat.
The smuggler stooped, picked up Harry, threw him onto a sail which he had laid on the ground, wrapped this round him, and then cast him over his shoulder.
"I'm not likely to meet anyone on my way to the boat," he said, "but should I do so I'm taking the mainsail of the Lucy down to her."