CHAPTER VII
I HEAR RICHARD TRESIDDER TELL NAOMI PENRYN'S HISTORY, AND AM IN DANGER OF BEING KILLED BY SMUGGLERS
Richard Tressider slowly filled his pipe again, and seemed to be collecting his thoughts before telling his son what was in his mind.
"Her home, as you know, is at Trevose, not far from Trevose Head," he said, presently. "The house is a funny old place—as lonely as a churchyard and as bleak as a mountain peak. It seems a strange idea to build a big house like that on a rocky eminence, but the Penryns have always been a strange people. However, it is said that the Penryn who built the house back in Oliver Cromwell's days kept ships for strange purposes, and that he had curious dealings with 'gentlemen of fortune.'"
"Pirates do you mean?"
"Better let them be unnamed. Anyhow, from the tower of the house you can see many miles up and down the coast—as far as Bude Harbour on the one hand, and Gurnard's Head on the other. There is some very good land belonging to the estate, too."
"Much?" asked Nick.
"More than belongs to Pennington by a long way, my boy. The rents are handsome, I can assure you."
"Well, go on."