Miss Thane turned to Sir Tristram. “The truth is, my dear sir, that your cousin fell in with a band of smugglers last night upon the road here, and had a sad fright.”
“Smugglers?” repeated Shield.
“Yes,” averred Eustacie. “And I am just telling this stupid person that it was I who came here last night, and not a smuggler.”
“Begging your pardon, sir,” said the riding-officer, “but the young lady’s telling me that she rid here last night to catch the mail coach.” His tone inferred that he found the story incredible, as well he might.
“I’ll have you know,” growled Nye, “that the Red Lion’s a respectable house! You’ll find no smugglers here.”
“And it’s my belief I’d find a deal you’d like to hide if I knew just where those cellars of yours are, Mr Nye!” retorted the Exciseman. “It’s a fine tale you’ve hatched, and Miss knowing no better than to back you up in it, but you don’t gammon me so easily! Ay, you’ve been careful to sweep the snow from your doorstep, but I’ve followed the trail down the road, and seen the blood on it!”
“Certainly you have seen the blood,” said Eustacie. “There was a great deal of blood.”
“Miss, do you ask me to believe that you went gallivanting about on horseback in the middle of the night? Come now, that won’t do!”
“Yes, but you do not understand. I was making my escape,” said Eustacie.
“Making your escape, miss?”