‘I doubt it,' his uncle said, unruffled, 'and if you want their co-operation it'll make your job a lot easier if you know more about 'em. I can see you're thinking in terms of a couple of men and a small fishing smack, but -' he wagged an admonitory finger, 'remember the Marsh covers a couple of hundred square miles, and the Marsh Men control all the smuggling along the coast from Folkestone to Rye Bay, and that's some twenty-five miles. Why, I doubt if anything happens on the Marsh without them knowing about it - and not only on the Marsh. Did you notice any people on your way here last night?'

'I didn't see a soul after I got through Hythe.'

The old man shook his head and smiled. 'I'm sure you didn't; but people saw you: long before dawn they were trying to discover why a naval officer galloping full tilt along the Ashford road suddenly turned off southwards at Sellindge and headed for Aldington. Many people were roused from their beds, and didn't get back to their sleep until word reached them that Mr Rufus's nephew had arrived at Treffry Hall, and all was well.'

'But what -' a startled Ramage began to say.

'Ask anyone on the Marsh the distance from one place to another, and he'll say so many miles, as the Rhee hawk flies. If he gives an odd sort of grin as he says it, you'll know he's a Marsh Man.'

Ramage looked puzzled. 'Rhee hawk? What sort of bird is that?'

Treffry gave a dry laugh. 'Ah, you might well ask. An invisible bird that can carry a message in its beak and fly almost as fast as a galloping horse.'

'But "Rhee"? I don't remember -'

'Part of the sea wall that stops the Marsh flooding at high water...'

Ramage nodded. ‘I remember. They say the Romans started to build it when they began draining the Marsh. Separates Romney Marsh from the next one - Walland Marsh, isn't it? Joins up with the Dymchurch sea wall.'

'Well, the hawk in question probably nests somewhere in the Rhee Wall,' his uncle said enigmatically. 'Anyway, you'd better forget all about it now, as long as you've grasped what I'm trying to tell you.'

Ramage glanced at his watch but his uncle shook his head. ‘There's no hurry - yes,' he held up his hand to quieten Ramage, 'I know you're in a rush, but you can't do anything until Raven comes back.'

'Where's he gone? He was here a few minutes ago.'

'Gone to see a friend of mine. He’ll be back within the hour - and then we'll know if my friend is going to be your friend, too!'

'You're talking in riddles,' Ramage protested mildly.

'Not really! Raven's gone to ask a man on my behalf if he can help you.'

'But Raven doesn't know what I want!'

'He knows all my friend needs to know - and anyway, he's carrying a letter from me.'

For the next ten minutes both men ate in silence. Treffry finally pushed his plate aside and said, 'Your aunt will be down very soon. She has a bagful of questions about the family - that's why I haven't asked any! - and she'll want you to look at the grapes.' Seeing Ramage's puzzled expression, he added, 'You've forgotten your aunt's big vine on the south wall - just about covers the lower half now. Lot of fruit on it - she's hoping for a mild summer.'

'So's Bonaparte,' Ramage said, irritated by the way the time was passing. Then, regretting his hasty remark, he added: 'I remember stealing a bunch of grapes when I was a small boy.' He grinned as he recalled more of the episode. ‘They were sour as the devil, and you made me eat them all, as a punishment!'

'And you had colic for a couple of days. Your aunt played merry hell with me; said I was a wicked uncle.'

An hour and a half later, by which time Ramage had told an eagerly listening Aunt Henrietta all the family news he knew and all the London gossip he could remember, horse's hooves thudding up the long driveway signalled Raven's return.

Ramage repressed a smile when, five minutes later, once more neatly dressed in his butler's clothes, Raven came into the breakfast room with a letter on a silver tray. He glanced at the plates on the table, as if shocked that the family should still be sitting in the breakfast room, and delivered the letter to his master.

Ramage noted that his uncle played the role equally well: he took the letter as though Raven had just received it from a messenger at the front door, thanked him, and waited until Raven had left the room - after refusing a request that he be allowed to clear the table - before breaking the seal.

He winked at Ramage. 'Raven knows better than I what this letter says, but he's a stickler for appearances.' He fished around in a pocket and brought out a pair of pince-nez, which he jammed on the end of his nose. 'Hmm - from his handwriting you'd never guess this fellow has a cool quarter of a million in Consols and as much again in property. Ah . . . cautious into the bargain: I expected as much.'

He removed his pince-nez, put them in their case and stuffed them into his pocket along with the letter. Ramage tried to appear unconcerned but could think of nothing to say to his aunt, who was waiting for her husband to speak. Finally she said impatiently, 'Rufus - don't be irritating. I'm sure that letter says something that concerns Nicholas, and the poor boy is on tenterhooks!'

'Oh? By jove, Nicholas, I was daydreaming. Nothing to worry about. Wants to meet you. If he agrees to help, wants me to stand as surety.'

'Surety for what?' Ramage exclaimed.

Treffry gave a rich laugh. 'For your good behaviour. He's probably not yet convinced you haven't left the Navy and joined the Revenue Service without telling me!’

'And if I'm not well behaved?' Ramage asked sarcastically.

'I indemnify him for whatever he might lose,' Treffry said simply, 'and of course I accept. But don't worry, once he hears your story he'll do all we want.'

Your story . . . for a few moments Ramage had the feeling he was galloping across the Kent countryside and shouting at the top of his voice that he was going to France on a secret mission. His uncle seemed to sense his thoughts and said reassuringly, 'Never fear, these people know better than most how to keep their mouths shut. One careless word could hang them. And don't worry about informers - those that aren't Marsh Men know better than to look one way when they should be looking t'other, and they know what happens to men that look and gossip ...'

Ramage pictured the bodies of past informers being put in sacks, weighted with stones, and dropped into one of the dykes. Or maybe not even weighted, but left to float, a warning to like-minded folk and over-zealous Revenue men; the smugglers' equivalent of a gamekeeper hanging up dead carrion crows outside his lodge. Yes, he would be a foolish fellow who saw packhorses laden with casks of brandy and leather panniers of French lace passing his door on a wet and windy night; the slightest hint that these unshod hooves were on the move would be enough to make men talk loudly to their wives, or put more wood on the fire; do anything in fact, except look out of a door or a window.

Treffry stood up. 'We'd best be on our way. I'll find you a decent horse.'

Ramage shook his head. 'Thank you, no; I'll use the one the soldiers lent me so that I can go straight back to Dover to collect my men. I'm leaving my uniform here,' he told his aunt, 'I'll collect it on my way back!'

'I'll tell Raven to get your luggage, then,' his aunt said and gave him an affectionate kiss. Although she obviously did not know where he was going and for how long, she assured him he would find Gianna staying at Aldington when he returned.

Fifteen minutes later Ramage was spurring his horse and following his uncle along the narrow road to Lympne and Hythe. The road ran eastward along the high land above the Marsh, dipping occasionally and running over a brook and through a copse of trees, then rising over a crest from which Ramage could look to the right across the Marsh and to the left where the land dropped into a valley and then rose and fell in ever increasing hills and valleys until it reached the North Downs.