“I don’t know. I thought he had rowed round to the Bay.”
I shook my head and began to wonder what it meant.
“Father has been round to Penzance or Plymouth, I think,” said Bigley. “He’ll be back soon, I expect.”
“What’s he gone after?” said Bob shortly.
“I don’t know,” said Bigley, colouring a little. “Fishing or trading or carrying something, I expect.”
“I don’t!” sneered Bob. “I know.”
“That you don’t,” said Bigley quietly; “even I don’t.”
“No!” sneered Bob; “you never know anything. People at Ripplemouth do. He has gone on a jolly good smuggling trip, I know.”
I saw Bigley’s eyes flash, and for a moment I thought that he was going to say something harsh, and that we were going to have a quarrel through Bob Chowne’s propensity for saying disagreeable things; but just then I happened to turn my head and saw a boat coming round the western corner of the entrance to the Gap.
“Why, there’s father!” I cried. “Where can he have been!”