“It’s me, sir—Dunning, sir—the captain’s gardener, sir. Come to see, sir, if I could be of any help.”
“No,” cried Aleck, sharply, “you’ve come to play the spy, you deceitful old rascal.”
“Oh, Master Aleck, sir!” whined the man, “how can you say such a thing?”
“Because I know you by heart. You’ve been hand and glove with the smugglers all through.”
“Master Aleck, sir!”
“That will do,” cried the lad, indignantly. “I’ve never told my uncle what I’ve seen or heard, but I must now, and you know what to expect.”
“Master Aleck!”
“That’s it, is it?” said the middy. “He’s one of the gang, and of course I shall make him a prisoner as soon as we get out. Here, you, Bodger, I order you in the King’s name to take that man prisoner.”
“Ay, ay, sir,” cried Tom, and he made a move towards the gardener.
But it was ineffective, for the man suddenly thrust out a foot and hooked one of the pensioner’s wooden legs off the stone floor of the slope, giving him a sharp thrust in the chest at the same time.