“Yes. Who is it? Poll Perrow?”
“Yes, Master Leslie, it’s me.”
“Why, what are you doing here?” said Leslie, as cynical old Uncle Luke’s hints about the smuggling flashed across his mind.
“Nothing to do with smuggling,” she said, as if divining his thoughts.
“Indeed, old lady! Well, it looks very suspicious.”
“No, it don’t, sir. D’you think if I wanted to carry any landed goods I should take ’em along the coastguard path?”
“A man would not,” said Leslie, “but I should say it’s just what a cunning old woman’s brain would suggest, as being the surest way to throw the revenue men off the scent.”
“Dessay you’re right, Master Leslie, but you may search me if you like. I’ve got nothing to-night.”
“I’m not going to search you, old lady. I’ll leave that to the revenue men. But what’s the matter?”
“Matter, Master Leslie?”