Consequently, at the moment when the officers were condoling with each other, Tonkin and his man were rowing into the creek, towards a large body of tub-carriers gathered on the shore. The boat moved very slowly, and a light thrown on the scene would have revealed, attached to its stern, a rope on which the first of a line of tubs was bobbing up and down. When it came within a few yards of the waiting men, half a dozen of them waded out and drew it high on the beach. The rope was then hauled in, scarcely a word being spoken, and in less than ten minutes thirty men, each carrying two tubs slung across his shoulders, were trudging to their appointed destinations.
Tonkin was alone. As soon as the men had disappeared, he removed a plug from the bottom of the boat, and pushed it towards the middle of the stream, where it sank in eight feet of water. Then he set off with long strides towards the village. His business was accomplished: now he could deal with Doubledick.
A few minutes after the flare had been announced in the inn, Doubledick, left alone for a moment, let himself down into the cellar. Not even his wife knew of his design. He slipped on a pair of goloshes, took up two heavy and cumbersome sacks, slung them over his shoulders, and hurried through the secret passage, which opened half-way up the narrow-stepped lane. The night was very dark; there was a blind wall on each side of the lane; and no one saw the laden man as he crept stealthily up the steps. Soon he came to a similar passage at right angles to the other, leading down to the bank of the stream. He turned into this, went more quickly to the bottom, and then trudged along among the rushes in the direction of the bridge.
Coming to that point, he did not ascend by the steps that led to the road, but passed under the arches and continued his way along the stream. When he had walked about a quarter of a mile, he paused for a minute or two to take breath, then laboriously climbed up the steep bank with the assistance of bushes and saplings, and came panting to the top. He was now within a few yards of the path that led past the Parsonage across the moor, and joined the Truro road after a winding course of nearly a mile. At this hour of the evening he had no doubt that the Vicar would be in his study, and his small household engaged in preparations for the morrow.
Doubledick had gone only a short distance, however, along the path, when he caught sight of a figure coming in the other direction. Instantly he stepped on to the grass on the left, and picked his way as carefully as he could in the darkness over the rough ground and among the furze bushes. He dared not turn his head. The merest glimpse of a pedestrian was enough to set him quaking; nor had he the courage now to make his way back to the path. Having met one person he might meet another. In his state of panic-fear he saw in every dark bush a man lying in wait for him, and the thought of tramping for miles over this desolate moor filled him with terror. There was another way to Truro, by the high-road running past the Towers to the cross-road from Newquay. In a few minutes, therefore, he turned again to the left, and struck across the uneven ground towards a point about midway between the Dower House and the Towers. Dark as the night was, he would at least see the road and fare more easily upon it. Passers were rare at this hour, and he hoped, if he should chance to meet any one, to catch sight of him in time to slip aside on to the dark moorland.
As he came to the road, he threw a glance to the left, where the ruins of the Dower House were smouldering, sparks now and then flying southward on the wind. The sight awoke no reflections, regrets, remorse, in his soul. He was obsessed by anxiety for his own safety.
Dick, having accompanied Mr. Carlyon to the Parsonage, remained there for an hour or two, talking over the strange events of the day, and then started homeward along the path that would bring him to the bridge. He noticed a man, bowed beneath a load, turn aside on to the moor, and chuckled at the thought that perhaps the smugglers had made their run after all, and this was one of the tub-carriers conveying his precious load to an expectant farmer. Well, it was no business of his. He went on until he came to the road, turned to the right, sniffing as the wind brought pungent smoke to his nostrils, and when he came opposite to the Dower House, which the spectators had now deserted, halted for a few moments to contemplate the empty shell, momentarily lit up as a gust stirred the embers. It was little more than three months since John Trevanion entered into possession. How swiftly retribution had overtaken him for the ill that he had done! In the short space of an hour his prosperity had vanished like the smoke from his burning house, and he was gone to pay the penalty, Dick could not doubt, for the fraud and trickery of years.
Turning away from the smoking ruins, Dick pursued his homeward way. A few minutes later he was surprised to see, stepping into the road from the unfenced moorland, the same figure as he had seen twenty minutes before going in the contrary direction. The man had come from the village; why then had he chosen so roundabout a route? His curiosity thoroughly aroused, Dick hurried on after the lumbering figure, expecting to overtake it before it reached the Towers. He was struck by the strange fact that while his own footsteps rang on the hard surface of the road, he heard nothing of the movements of the man in front, though the wind was blowing towards him. Fast as he walked, the distance between them did not appear to lessen. He was convinced now that the man was a smuggler, hurrying to avoid observation. He slackened his pace; it was not worth while chasing the man, even to discover his identity. To-morrow was Christmas; he was going to sell his burden, so that he might have the wherewithal to make merry on the festive day.
The man had just passed the gate leading to the Towers. In less than a minute Dick would turn into the drive and lose sight of him. But suddenly there was a dull thud behind, and a glare momentarily lit up the sky. A portion of the masonry of the Dower House had fallen into the smouldering mass below, and stirred a fitful flame. Immediately afterwards he heard a hoarse cry in front, then a sound of scrambling, of snapping twigs, of heavy footsteps in the field on the other side of the hedge in the direction of St. Cuby's Well. Dick knew that there was a gap a few yards beyond the gate; he raced on, forced his way through, and sprinted after the retreating footsteps. Coming on to higher ground, he was able to see, in the dim diffused light thrown by the flickering flames behind, two figures, separated by a short interval, rushing towards the well. One minute they were visible; the next, where the ground dipped, they disappeared into pitchy darkness.
Dick saw that the second figure was steadily gaining on the first. Leaving the zigzag course that had been traced by the smugglers, and was now followed by the fugitive, the pursuer ran in a more direct line for the well. The former, perceiving with the instinct of a hunted animal that he was being headed off, and could not reach the haven of the ruined chapel, towards which he was hurrying, without encountering the other, suddenly swerved to the left in the direction of the cliff. He was followed instantly by the second man, who now seemed to leap after him like a wild animal after its prey. In a few moments, just as they came to the brink of the cliff, the two men closed. Running towards them at headlong speed, Dick heard a furious cry, a scream of terror, and saw one of the men lifted from his feet above the head of the other. But before the captor could summon his strength for the effort of hurling the captive over the edge of the cliff, Dick flung himself forward, caught the victim's feet, and tugged him violently back. A savage oath broke from the other man's lips. He staggered backward, and attempting to recover his footing, let his burden drop with a dull thud and a jingling crash to the ground.