“I didn’t stop to hear more, but I just got a couple of brace of pistols, and came away at once to overtake you. We might have ridden all the way into Osberton, but Mr Woodcock cautioned me to go in quietly, lest the smugglers or the people, whoever they are, who have got Master Digby, should hear of our coming, and suspecting treachery, should carry him off elsewhere.”
“I am rejoiced to hear what you tell me,” exclaimed Arthur, when John Pratt had finished his account. It is impossible, by the by, to do justice to the quaint and thoroughly provincial way in which he expressed himself; so that Arthur at times could scarcely understand him. “There can be but little doubt, from what you tell me, that he is alive, and that we are in a fair way of recovering him. We must proceed, I see, with caution and courage; and as we may employ another man, I know one who will gladly aid us. He is a friend, too, of Digby’s—Toby Tubb is his name. If we want help, he can help us better than anybody.”
“He may be a friend of Master Digby’s, and I hope he has many friends, but he can’t be a greater, nor one who would give every day he has to live for him,” exclaimed John, with a very natural burst of feeling.
They were walking on all this time rapidly towards Osberton. On arriving there, they first went to Mr Nugent’s house. He had been made aware of what had occurred, and had already consulted with Toby Tubb on the subject. While Arthur took some tea, and rested, he sent off for Toby.
When Toby, who had been thinking the matter over, as he said, arrived, and was told Arthur’s errand, he slapped his thigh, and exclaimed, “I thought it was so. I know the gang; a set of daring ruffians as ever lived. Poor Master Digby; it was hard for him to fall into their power. But we will get him out again as soon as we can, if they haven’t spirited him away.” Toby had come prepared for an expedition. He begged Mr Nugent to lend him a brace of pistols. Arthur and John Pratt were already armed. Adam Hodder had gone back with the horses. Arthur, with his two attendants, therefore, John and Toby, immediately set forth on their undertaking. As Toby Tubb knew every inch of the way, they soon reached the high ground above Luccombe Cove.
“There’s the cottage,” he observed, pointing to a hut low down on the beach. “I know Jem the Spotsman well—a terrible old ruffian he is. Do you, Master Haviland and John Pratt, go in and give him your message. If he refuses to help you, call me, and I’ll see what I can do.”
Arthur, followed by John Pratt, stepped boldly in. The expedition, independent of the object, had peculiar charms for him; there was so much romance and excitement in it. He did not stop to knock, but flung open the door of the hut, and unhesitatingly entered. An old man, in a blue Guernsey frock, sat bending over a drift-wood fire, which spluttered and smoked as he kept piling on the yet damp chips. He looked round at the noise, and, seeing strangers, rose with considerable activity to his feet. He scowled at them beneath his white shaggy eyebrows.
Arthur had begged that he might be the spokesman; he felt fully up to the emergency. At an early age, indeed, he had learned much to rely on himself. “Jem the Spotsman, I have a message for you,” he began.
“Who told you that was my name?” asked the old man, with a growl.
“Never mind, if it is your name,” said Arthur. “We’ve come to do you good, and show you how to gain five golden guineas.”