“Surely!” cried Sir Risdon excitedly. “No, no,—you must be mistaken. A boyish prank. No one about here would injure a boy.”
“Humph!” ejaculated Gurr, looking at the baronet searchingly. “Glad you think so well of ’em, sir. But I suppose you’ll grant that the people about here would not be above a bit of smuggling?”
Sir Risdon was silent.
“And would run a cargo of brandy or silk?”
“I suppose there is a good deal of smuggling on the coast,” said Sir Risdon coldly, as he thought of his vault.
“Yes sir, there is, and it will go hard with the people who are caught having any dealings with the smugglers.”
Lady Graeme looked ghastly.
“What would you say, sir, if I were to order my men, in the king’s name, to search your place?”
Sir Risdon dared not trust himself to speak, but darted an agonised glance at his wife.
“However, sir, I’m not on that sort of business now,” continued Gurr sternly. “Want to find that boy. Good day. Now, my lads.”