“Was it Dutch goods?”
“It was; and if you’ll wait here I’ll fetch a drop of it to you,” said he nervously.
“Stay where you are,” said I. “Tell me, who is there can say what the ship’s name is and where bound?”
“No one, unless it’s Hugh Henry at the inn below.”
“Did the young lady say anything as they took her on the boat?”
“Sure, she asked to see the captain, and to know when they were to reach Dublin, and seemed to mislike the voyage altogether. But I heard Martin say it was her father’s orders, and that he would be in Dublin to meet her.”
This was all the news I could gather, but it was enough to confirm my worst suspicions. Leaving the old man still in doubt as to the motive for my questions, I returned as rapidly as I could to Malin, and presented myself at the inn.
“Sure, I thought you were away,” said the host, who came down half-dressed to admit me.
“I want to know something about the Dutch ship that was in here overnight,” said I. “Not,” I added, as I noticed the conscious fall of his face, “that I care what she carried. No doubt she was a smuggler, and that you and she had your business together—”
“’Deed, sir,” he began, “may the—”