Upon hearing Mr. Pym’s news, he grew profoundly thoughtful and stood awhile staring into the fire.
“Sir Hector be right, I rackon!” said he at last. “’Tis a spy’s work, sure-lye ... an’ there be only one way to mak’ sarten an’ that be to go theer——”
“Do ’ee mean Cuckmere ’Aven, Jarge?”
“Aye, Peter, I do. I be a-goin’ d’rackly-minute to watch. If they shows the signal light a-swing from cliff, I’ll know ’tis a spy ... an’ must warn Sharkie off——”
“Aye, but how, Jarge?”
“Wi’ this, Peter.” And from a pocket of the frieze coat Mr. Potter drew a short-barrelled, heavy pistol. “I wait till Sharkie be within ’ail and let fly ... flash’ll warn ’im.... An’ noo I’ll be a-goin’——”
“An’ I’m wi’ ye, Geordie man!” quoth Sir Hector, reaching for his hat.
“And I,” said Sir John, clapping on his own.
“Why, Lord love ’ee, gen’lemen,” exclaimed Mr. Potter, “’twon’t be nowise easy-goin’! I be for short cuts ’cross Down, ship-tracks an’ hidden ways.”
“No matter,” answered Sir John.