"But there es, Maaster Tresidder. Not a week agone a boat-load of sperits was landed at Polventor."
"At Polventor! Why, I thought you kept a sharp look-out there. Besides, only fisher folk live there."
"'Iss, but tes they fishermen that do do et. Ye see, they go out so they zay to catch fish, and then afore mornin' they do come across the big smugglers' boats, and taake the things to the coves they do know 'bout. They be all of a piece, Maaster Tresidder."
"Well, keep a sharp look-out, Grose, and bring them before me, and I'll see that they don't do any more smuggling for a few months."
"I'm glad we've 'ad this 'ere talk, sur, you bein' a majistraate. But we must be off, sur."
"Good-afternoon. By the way, if you call at Pennington to-night about ten I shall be glad to see you. You will perhaps be able to report progress by that time."
"Thank 'ee kindly, sur. Good afternoon."
Richard Tresidder and his son Nick then sat down on a rock near, and both began to smoke, and then, when the Preventive officers were out of sight, they laughed merrily.
"I wonder if they know that the grog they have drunk at Pennington was made of smuggled brandy?" asked the father.