At half-past six there met in the Squire's room, Mr. Mildmay, the riding-officer, Mr. Carlyon, and Dick. They drew their chairs to the fire; the elder men lit their churchwarden pipes, and, with glasses of steaming toddy at their elbows, proceeded to discuss the situation.
"I have a note from Sir Bevil," said the Squire. "He is sending to Truro for assistance. What shape that may take I don't know."
"The shape of a constable or two, probably," said Mr. Polwhele, "and if they are no better than Petherick, they won't help us much."
"Petherick shall cry the village to-morrow," said the Vicar. "Being a justice as well as parson, I have written out a proclamation, summoning all good and true men to give information that will lead to the discovery of Penwarden, dead or alive."
"I don't believe they'd murder him," said Mr. Mildmay, "or they wouldn't take the trouble to spirit him away. A crack on the head would be a much simpler matter."
"What do you suppose is their object in kidnapping him?" asked the Vicar.
"Either to hold him while they run a specially valuable cargo, or to ship him to France and keep him permanently out of their way. A fool's trick; for he's bound to be replaced, though we'd find it hard to get a better man, old as he is."
"And foolish in another way," added the riding-officer. "They ought to know that a deed of that kind will only stir up the rest of us. I wouldn't give much for their chances of running a cargo yet awhile."
"Nor for shipping him," said Mr. Mildmay. "I'll swear they haven't done it yet. My boats were up and down the coast all last night. One of them spied that rascally privateer putting in towards St. Cuby's Cove in the mist this morning, but she sailed away, and though I gave chase, she got off. To-night we'll have the boats patrolling for miles; I defy 'em to slip through us."
"When did they seize him, d'you suppose?" asked the Squire.