"Well, there ain't one
of 'em there now! Naught but the hole where they was! Well--this must ha'
been during the early morning--after I left Jim to go into Norcaster. And
of course him as put the stuff there must be him as fetched it
away--Chatfield. Let's see if there's footmarks about, guv'nor."
"Wait a bit," said Copplestone. "We must be careful about that. Move
warily. We 'd better do it systematically. There'd have to be some sort
of a trap, a vehicle, to carry away those chests. Where's the nearest
point of that road you spoke of?"
"Up there," replied Spurge, pointing to a flanking bank of heather. "But
they--or him--wasn't forced to come that way, guv'nor. He--or them--could
come up from that cove down yonder. It wouldn't surprise me if that there
yacht--the _Pike_, you know--had turned on her tracks and come in here
during the night. It's not more than a mile from this tower down to the
shore, and--"
At that moment Vickers called to them, and they went back to find Jim
Spurge slowly opening his eyes and looking round him with consciousness
of his company. His one eye lightened a little as he caught sight of
Zachary, and the poacher bent down to him.
"Jim, old man!" he said soothingly. "How are yer, Jim? Yer been hit by
somebody. Who was it, Jim?"
"Give him a drop more brandy and lift him up a bit," counselled Gilling.
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