“I’m ready to act in any way you propose, Oliver; what do you intend to do? Issue your commands, and I’ll obey. Shall we attack the village of Newlyn single-handed, and set fire to it, as did the Spaniards of old, or shall we swim off to the fleet of boats, cut the cables, bind the men in charge, and set sail for the mackerel fishing?”
“Neither, my chum, and especially not the latter, seeing that a thundercloud is about to break over the sea ere long, if I do not greatly misjudge appearances in the sky; but, man, we must see this testy old fellow again, and warn him of the danger which threatens him. I feel assured that that rascal Cuttance means him harm, for he let something fall in his anger, which, coupled with what we have already heard from the smuggler himself, and from Tonkin, convinces me that evil is in the wind. Now the question is, how are we to find him, for searching in that crowd is almost useless?”
“Let us go to his house,” suggested Tregarthen, “and if he is not at home, wait for him.”
“Do you know where his house is?”
“No, not I.”
“Then we must inquire, so come along.”
Pushing once more through the throng of busy men and women, the friends ascended the sloping causeway that led to the village, and here asked the first man they met where Mr Hitchin lived.
“Right over top o’ hill,” replied the man.
“Thank you. That’ll do, Charlie, come along,” said Oliver, turning into one of the narrow passages that diverged from the main street of Newlyn, and ascending the hill with giant strides; “one should never be particular in their inquiries after a place. When I’m told to turn to the right after the second turning to the left, and that if I go right on till I come to some other turning, that will conduct me point blank to the street that enters the square near to which lies the spot I wish to reach, I’m apt to get confused. Get a general direction if possible, the position indicated by compass is almost enough, and ask again. That’s my plan, and I never found it fail.”