little persuasion, though, in spite of Veronica.

I should have to meet Carlos Riego and Castro in a little fir-wood above
the quarry, in half an hour's time. All I had to do was to whistle
three bars of "Lillibulero," as a signal. A connection had been already
arranged with the Free Traders on the road beside the quarry, and they
were coming down that night, as we knew well enough, both of us. They
were coming in force from Canterbury way down to the Marsh. It had
cost Ralph a pretty penny; but, once in the hands of the smugglers, his
cousin and Castro would be safe enough from the runners; it would have
needed a troop of horse to take them. The difficulty was that of late
the smugglers themselves had become demoralized. There were ugly rumours
of it; and there was a danger that Castro and Carlos, if not looked
after, might end their days in some marsh-dyke. It was desirable that
someone well known in our parts should see them to the seashore. A boat,
there, was to take them out into the bay, where an outward-bound West
Indiaman would pick them up. But for Ralph's fear for his neck, which
had increased in value since its devotion to Veronica, he would have
squired his cousin. As it was, he fluttered round the idea of letting
me take his place. Finally he settled it; and I embarked on a long
adventure.




CHAPTER TWO

Between moonrise and sunset I was stumbling through the bracken of the
little copse that was like a tuft of hair on the brow of the great white
quarry. It was quite dark, in among the trees. I made the circuit of the