“He is,” said the officer. “What is more, I found that cargoes are run down here in a cove or rift upon your coast, where a handy boat is kept.”
“We’ve got a boat down the rift,” said Aleck.
“Exactly; one that runs to and fro between here and Rockabie.”
“Yes,” said Aleck, mockingly; “to fetch fishing-tackle and grocery—and writing paper; eh, uncle?”
The captain nodded, while the young lieutenant went on:
“And to take messages from here to Rockabie.”
“No,” cried Aleck; but the officer went on, quietly:
“Look here, sir, I am credibly informed that it was your boat that rescued one of the most daring of the smugglers on the night of an encounter we had there—a man whom I was holding with my own hands till I was savagely struck down. It is quite likely that this may be examined into later on, but my business now is to find my messmate. Look here, it will save a good deal of trouble, and make things much easier for you, if you put me up to the place where the prisoner is hidden.”
“Perhaps it would,” said Aleck, firmly now; “but I tell you I know nothing whatever about your young midshipman. If you think he is hidden somewhere here you are quite wrong.”
“Perhaps so,” said the officer, sternly, “but we shall see.”