“As you see. He asked me just before he died whether I thought your story had been true after all.”
“I dare swear you told him No,” remarked Ludovic, slipping the ring on to his finger.
“I did,” said Shield calmly. “You must remember that I heard that shot not ten minutes after I had parted from you, and I knew what sort of a humour you were in.”
Ludovic shot him a fiery glance. “You thought me capable of murder, in fact!”
“I thought you three-parts drunk,” said Shield. “I also thought you a rash young fool. I still think that. What possessed you to turn smuggler? Have you been sailing off the coast of Sussex all this time?”
“‘Hovering’ is the word,” said Ludovic, with a gleam of mischief. “Free trading seemed to me an occupation eminently suited to an outlaw. Besides, I always liked the sea.”
Sir Tristram said scathingly: “I suppose that was reason enough.”
“Why not? I knew some of the Gentlemen, too, from old days. But I was never off these shores till now. Don’t like ’em: there’s too much creeping done, and the tidesmen are too cursed sharp. I’ve been helping to run cargoes of brandy and rum—under Bergen papers, you know—into Lincolnshire. That’s the place, I can tell you. I’ve been dodging revenue cruisers for the past fifteen months. It’s not a bad life, but the fact of the matter is I wasn’t reared to it. I only came into Sussex to glean what news there might be from Nye.”
“But you will stay, mon cousin, won’t you?” asked Eustacie anxiously.
“He can’t stay,” Shield said. “It was madness to come at all.”