“Cuttance,” he said, “it is not unlikely that, if brought to justice, you will swing for this night’s adventure.”
He paused and glanced at the face of his prisoner, who still maintained rigid silence.
“Well,” continued our hero, “I believe that your intentions against Mr Hitchin were not so bad as they would appear to be—”
“Who told ’ee that?” asked the smuggler sternly.
“No matter,” replied Oliver, drawing a knife from his pocket, with which he deliberately cut the cords that bound his prisoner. “There—you are free. I hope that you will make better use of your freedom in time to come than you have in time past, although I doubt it much; but remember that I have repaid the debt I owe you.”
“Nay,” replied Cuttance, still continuing to walk close to his companion’s side. “I did give you life. You have but given me liberty.”
“I’d advise you to take advantage of that liberty without delay,” said Oliver, somewhat nettled by the man’s remark, as well as by his cool composure, “else your liberty may be again taken from you, in which case I would not give much for your life.”
“If you do not assist, there is no one here who can take me now,” replied Cuttance, with a smile. “However, I’m not ungrateful—good-night.”
As he said this, the smuggler turned sharp to the right into one of the numerous narrow passages which divide the dwellings of Newlyn, and disappeared.
Charles Tregarthen, who was as sharp as a needle, observed this, and, leaving his man in charge of Tonkin, darted after the fugitive. He soon returned, however, wiping the perspiration from his brow, and declaring that he had well-nigh lost himself in his vain endeavours to find the smuggler.