minute ago, and smiled all over his oily face? To hear him talk you’d think he ought to have been a Preventive himself, while as for the way he begs me to come and take my pot-luck at his house whenever I choose—” He broke off, his jaw hardening. “One of these days that’s what I will do—when I’m sure I’ll find pot-luck there!” he said. He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “There’s a tavern down there, on the quay—the Ypres: I was coming away from it when I met you. I
“Where does the stuff come from?” asked the Major.
Ottershaw shrugged. “Most of it from Guernsey: that’s the biggest
“Don’t they get intercepted at sea?”
“Sometimes, but, to make the naval patrol effective, double—three times!—the number of vessels is needed. Even then—with the whole coast to be watched, and the tricks that are employed being past counting—I doubt if it could be done. It’s not only a matter of false bulkheads, and suchlike, sir. There’s no question but that the smuggling craft slip through time and again because they get signals warning them where there’s a Revenue cruiser or a sloop lurking, from vessels no one would suspect.” He nodded to where a fishing smack was drawing clear of the harbour. “That craft, for instance. She may be innocent, but the chances are that if she sights a patrol-boat some damned hoverer will have her bearings before nightfall.” He paused, as though deliberating, and then said: “You can’t signal every craft you see to heave-to, sir, let alone board them. People don’t like it—very naturally, if they’re going about an honest business, such as that smack out there may be, or perhaps cruising for pleasure, as Mr. Richmond Darracott does.”
“They wouldn’t, of course,” agreed the Major.
“However, there’s one thing you can be sure of,” said Ottershaw. “The blockade’s in charge of a man who means to stamp out smuggling, no matter how many people he offends. Ay, and so does the Government! Time was when they were pretty lukewarm in London, but since the war ended there’s been so much smuggling done that if it isn’t stopped things will get to be as bad as ever they were when the Hawkhurst Gang was ruling Sussex. That’s something that those who protect the
His voice died in mid-sentence, and the Major saw his jaw drop, and his gaze become fixed, a sort of fascinated awe in his eyes. Considerably surprised, the Major looked round to discover what he had seen to strike him to sudden silence, and beheld his cousin Claud advancing towards him.
Chapter 12
Since he had parted from Hugo, Claud had acquired a buttonhole of enormous size, which added the final touch to an appearance startling enough to excuse Lieutenant Ottershaw’s stupefaction. It was seldom that any gentleman honoured Rye by sauntering through its streets in the long-tailed coat, the pantaloons, and the Hessians that were fashionable for a lounge down Bond Street, or a promenade in Hyde Park; and even in these modish haunts Claud’s costumes must have been remarkable, for his pantaloons (with which he hoped to set a fashion) were neither of a sober biscuit hue, nor of a more dashing yellow, but of a clear and delicate lilac; his neckcloth was of inordinate size, and had a large amethyst pin stuck in its folds; his hat, the very latest product of Baxter’s inventive genius, was so revolutionary in design as to cause even its wearer to feel some qualms, for instead of being the bell-topped and rough beaver favoured by town-dwellers, or the more countrified shallow, it bore a marked resemblance to a tapering chimneypot. But even more stunning than his hat, or his pantaloons, was the long cloak of white drab, lined with lilac silk, which hung in graceful folds from his shoulders. It was not the custom of gentlemen to wear cloaks over anything but evening-dress; but it had occurred to Claud, studying his reflection once before setting out for Almack’s Assembly Rooms, that there was something peculiarly becoming in a well-cut and silk-lined cloak. The idea of designing one suitable for day-wear had flashed into his mind, and he had instantly suggested it to Polyphant. Polyphant had not seemed to care for it, but although he usually allowed Polyphant to guide his taste, he had been so much taken with this flower of his own brain that after brooding over it for several weeks he laid it before the more adventurous of his tailors. “Yes, sir. For a masquerade?” had said Mr. Stultz, rather dauntingly.
But Claud had not allowed himself to be daunted; and when he subsequently showed his cloak to two of his particular friends they were loud in their expressions of envy and approval. He had not yet worn it in London, but its effect on Rye had been very encouraging, and he rather thought he would venture to try it on the ton at the start of the Little Season.
Lieutenant Ottershaw found his voice. “Is that—is that Mr.
“Yes,” replied the Major. “It is!”
The Lieutenant drew a long breath. “I’m glad I’ve seen him,” he said simply. “I’ve heard a lot about him, but I didn’t believe the half of it.”
Having come within range, Claud put up his glass, the better to scrutinize his cousin’s companion. The Lieutenant, fascinated by an eye thus hideously magnified, could not drag his gaze from it, and was only released from its spell when Claud let the glass fall, and addressed himself to Hugo, in fretful accents. “Dash it, coz! Been searching for you all over! Even took a look-in at the church. If I hadn’t thought to ask pretty well everyone I met if they’d seen a mountain moving about on legs, I might be hunting for you still!”
“I’ve been chewing the bacon with Lieutenant Ottershaw here,” replied Hugo.
“How-de-do?” murmured Claud, groping for his glass again. He raised it, a puzzled frown on his brow, and levelled it at the Lieutenant’s blue and white uniform. “Naval?” he said doubtfully.
“Customs’ Land-Guard, sir,” said the Lieutenant stiffly.
“Thought you wasn’t wearing naval rig,” said Claud. “Never know one uniform from another, but those breeches didn’t seem right. Well, what I mean is, don’t wear ’em in the navy, do they? Silly thing to do, because it stands to reason—
The Lieutenant, growing stiffer every minute, made him a slight bow. “I am a Riding-officer, sir.”
“That accounts for the breeches,” said Claud, glad to have this point cleared up. “Had me in a puzzle. Very happy to have met you, but trust you’ll forgive me if I drag my cousin away: got a nuncheon waiting for us at the George!”
“You remind me that I also must be on my way, sir,” responded Ottershaw. He then bowed again, saluted Hugo, and strode off.
“If ever I met such a ramshackle fellow!” said Claud severely. “Hobnobbing with a dashed tidesman! Next you’ll be arm-in-arm with the beadle!”
“You’re mighty high in the instep all at once!” remarked Hugo.
“No, I ain’t: no all at once about it! Never rubbed shoulders with a Preventive in my life! Not the thing! I’ll tell you what, coz: if you don’t take care you’ll have people wondering if you’re hand-in-glove with the fellow, and you’ll be in bad loaf. Take my word for it!”
“And if I were thought to be hand-in-glove with the free-traders? I collect that would be all right and regular?”
“Nothing of the sort!” retorted Claud crossly. “What you ought to do is to have nothing to say to any of ’em. I don’t wish that tidesman of yours any harm—in fact, I hope he may prosper, though I shouldn’t think he would, because he looked like a clunch to me. The point is, catching free-traders ain’t my business, and it ain’t yours either. And another thing! If my grandfather knew you’d formed that sort of an acquaintance he’d very likely go off in an apoplexy!”
Having uttered this warning, and even enlarged on it over the excellent ham pie provided for nuncheon at the George, it was with considerable exasperation that Claud heard his incorrigible cousin, some hours later, describing his encounter with Lieutenant Ottershaw to an audience that included not only Lord Darracott, but Vincent as well.
