"But my dear Humfrey, Jack looks dead-beat."
"We'll cure that by any by. The fire isn't out; we'll make it up; and I'm sure you women won't sleep a wink till you've heard the story."
"Hurray!" shouted Arthur, capering.
So they trooped into the snuggery, and there Jack, fortified with a glass of hot cordial brought by Molly, related his adventures from the time when he was carried to France against his will.
"There are two things I can't make out," he said in conclusion. "One is, how Gudgeon is mixed up in this. 'Twas his boat, I'm sure, that carried me in the tub to the lugger; and he drove to Gumley's the other night to hear what had been done. Where does he come in, cousin?"
Mr. Bastable laughed a little awkwardly.
"Go to bed, Arthur," he said.
"I know, father," said the boy, grinning.
"You do, do you, you young rascal! Well, Jack, I'll tell you. Gudgeon is a sly old dog. He's the smuggler hereabouts—but behind the scenes. His smoking chimney was the signal by day, as Fronsac's, it seems, was by night. But he's not a traitor; he knew nothing of Fronsac's double scheme, I warrant. He's a smuggler simply. Why, Jack, he has supplied me with smuggled brandy for years; so he does the parson at Wickham. The stuff you're drinking was smuggled; the lace your cousin Sylvia is wearing came from Valenciennes, and paid no duty. I'm afraid I must give it up now, my boy. There's not a squire on the seaboard but thinks it no harm; but with a cousin a gallant king's officer—yes, I must give it up." He sighed. "And I think I'd better go and see Gudgeon in the morning."
"He'll be transported, as sure as a gun," said Jack.