"Yes, the gentleman who was in here a minute ago: the one who drove up in a dogcart."
"You must be making a mistake, sir," replied the old dame. "That bain't Mr Jones. No one of that name bides hereabouts—leastways I can't call the name to mind, an I've lived here maid and wife these sixty-seven years come Michaelmas. Sure, now, that wur Mr Tassh—Paul Tassh commonly socalled—as is butler up at the big house."
"Polkerwyck House?"
"Yes, Sir Silas' place."
"Thank you: I've made a mistake in supposing his name was Jones," said the Scout, and saluting he left the shop.
"I say, old fellow," exclaimed Simpson. "What's the move? You don't know anyone called Jones living about here, I feel certain."
"Neither do I," agreed Atherton calmly. "I only wanted to find out who that fellow was. He may be the man who paid a night visit to Seal Island."
"Of course he may be, but there are ever so many chances that he may not be," said the Leader of the "Wolves." "One thing I noticed: he was not wearing indiarubber shoes."
"It is not at all unusual for a man to change his shoes more than once in a day," remarked Atherton. "It was his walk that I noticed. He has big feet, yet he took very short steps. The suspicious way in which he looked over his shoulder did not impress me very favourably."
Before any more could be said the two Leaders separated to rejoin their respective patrols, and the ascent of the cliff path commenced. It was a tedious tramp up and down, as the route descended almost to the sea-level in order to traverse the numerous small streams that found their way into the bay. Five times the lighthouse was hidden by intervening ground ere the Scouts drew up at the whitewashed stone wall enclosing the lighthouse and the keepers' houses adjoining.