“Give us a ‘and, Dick.” I nearly jumped out of my skin, the high-pitched voice was so close to my ear; and a squeak must have escaped me, for there was a swift cessartion of movement beyond the door, and a thrill of fear in the man's voice when next he spoke.

“Eh, Dick — joo ‘ear tha#”

“‘Ear what?”

“That. Some'at in the wall. Gives ‘un the shivers, it did — like a strangled woman.”

“Rat, more'n likely. Or maybe a ghost—'ow's that for a nasty bit o’ cheer?”

“Dick — you don't think as the Cap'n—”

“Aw, for the luv of Jesus, Eb, com'eer and ‘elp us shift a keg or two. We've not got all night, I reckon.”

I leaned against the door, adjudging it to be cleaner than the tunnel wall, and listened intently. For some time the two men appeared to be engaged in serious labour— shifting what I supposed to be caskets, and tearing off the lids of kegs, from the sound of splintering wood; this, and the occasional oath at a bruised shin, were my sole amusements for what seemed an eternity. The chink of glass proclaimed the bottle to be passed, and a deep sigh the fact that it had been emptied; and still the search — for search it undoubtedly was — went on, — I found it in me to wonder, if the tunnel had indeed led to the very doors of the Grange, where the farm's inhabitants might be. Tending the wounded man, perhaps? Or were the men arrived at the very stables, and shifting about with only beasts for company?

“Eb! Eh, Eb— ‘ave a gander at this!” Dick exclaimed, after an interval.

A scuffle of feet, and a low whistle, followed by the nastiest of chuckles. “You s'pose as the swells really play cards like ‘at? indecent, it is. Fancy painting a Queen o’ Hearts what ain't got no clothes on. Those Frenchies'll get up to anything.”

And this was my reward for risk and wakefulness! I closed my eyes in wearied exasperation. I had long suspected the men were rifling a storage of smugglers’ goods, but this last confirmed it. The rage for playing cards had so inflated the demand for them in England, that the Crown had imposed a tax upon the principal supplier — France — and rendered the game too expensive for most people's purses. French cards were often to form a part of contraband cargoes; but I had not formed a notion of what sort of cards they might be.

“Well, I'm flummoxed,” Dick said, and from the complaint of a bit of wood, I knew he had seated himself on a crate.

“The Reverend's stuff ain't ‘ere, nohow,” Eb agreed.

I imagined the two of them scratching their heads, lost in a fog of spirits, and wished them more prone to babble and less to a complaisant silence. Had ever a keyhole listener heard less to the purpose than myself? It was not to be borne.

“What? us do, Dick?” Despite his whiskey courage, there was a note of fear in Ebenezer's voice.

“Get out o’ Lyme while the gettin's good,” the other replied. “Now Sidmouth's in jail, we've bought oursels some time — His Honour's too distracted wit’ the justice an’ all. But we'd best make tracks afore he notices we failed ‘im, or we'll land at the end o’ the Cobb like Bill Tibbit.”

The other man audibly swallowed, and to my horror, began to sob — a terrible sound in a grown man, however unnerved by drink and fear. My own spirits were little better — for Dick's words were too open to a painful construction, and their import had the power to sink my very heart — but I longed to hear them debate their dubious fate the longer, in the hope of learning more.

“Now, now, Eb — ain't I allus looked after ye?” Dick said, in an effort to comfort his fellow. “We're snug coves, like you says, and we'll work oursels out o’ this pickle. Let's get on back to the beach afore daylight, and take the boat round to Pegweli Bay. It's a hop-skip from there to the London road, and we're out o’ the Reverend's ken. You just buck up there, laddie, and trust in ol’ Dick.”

“’Alfatick—”

“Eh, what's ‘at?”

“I'm not leavin’ all this ‘ere, you ninny. Us'll live a year in London, for the price o’ these.”

“Put ‘em back, Eb,” Dick said, with a certain menace. “I'll not ‘ave the law on our ‘ides, and the Reverend, too. Free Trade is one thing. Stealin's another. I've always kept the difference careful-like. A man'd ‘ang for what you've got.”

“But it ain't stealin’! This is contraband—”

“It ain't our'n.”

“Aw, Dick—”

The sound of a blow, and a whimper, and some goods let fall, and Eb was brought to heel.

So absorbed was I in all that passed, that I barely attended to the approach of heavy feet, until with a click the door began to swing inwards. I flattened myself along the tunnel wall, and endeavoured not to breathe, though my heart was pounding painfully within my chest; and in another instant, the door was thrust hard against my person and the two men stumbled through. The heavy musk of liquor enveloped their passage. They were too lost in thought and spirits to notice that the door abutted something other than the tunnel wall; and indeed, in the welling shadows beyond their lanthorn's reach, little could be discerned. As Ebenezer went safely past, I gave a gentle push to the door, which swung closed behind the two men, to the satisfaction of a single glance from Dick over his left shoulder; and since I stood in the blackness just behind his right, I managed to remain undetected. What a fever of anxiety gripped my senses, however, while the three of us retained the same bit of tunnel! That the others could not feel the presence of a third, by some buried animal instinct, had the power to astonish me — so certain was I that my very breath cried out my betrayal.

But they discovered nothing, and were down the enshrouded flight of steps, and on into the tunnel's depths, before very many instants had passed — taking with them, perforce, their comforting beam of light. In a little while all was utterly dark. A decision was now before me: should I attempt to find the door's hidden mechanism, or turn back the way I had come — and face the dawn on Charmouth beach? That way, assuredly, lay the easier path of least resistance; but I had come thus far, and would gladly return to Lyme possessed of the knowledge of whose storeroom the men had invaded.

I ran my hands the length of the door's face, and pressed its wood determinedly; but the portal remained unmoved. Perplexed, I paused for consideration. Neither Dick nor Eb had appeared to expend any remarkable energy, in forcing the way; and neither was possessed of inordinate cunning, as a puzzle lock might require. Abandoning the wood, therefore, I felt along the jamb's length, and was rewarded by a small knob, of very little protrusion, and roughly the size of a shilling. I pressed it, and was unsatisfied; pulled it, and was confronted with an open door.

All was darkness beyond the sill, and discernible within it, the huddled shapes of a quantity of goods, spilled about in hasty confusion. The men had not troubled to restore order where they had bestowed their chaos; and as I stepped into the room, my boots met splintered wood. After so many hours in utter gloom, my eyes could see nearly as well as by day; and I took a moment to look about me curiously, content from the example of the two men's easy search, that the room was safe from surprise.

The room had no windows; it must, therefore, be a cellar — beneath the Grange's barn, perhaps? Or a greater excavation still, a floor below what passed for cellars in the farmhouse itself? I must trouble to move with caution, until I learned better whose manor I invaded. But what riches this storeroom held!

I strained in the darkness to put names to the huddled objects, and was rewarded with a king's ransom of goods. There were brandy kegs by the dozen, and deep casks of fragrant tea — the best China leaf, too dear for the humble Austens’ housekeeping — and rough sacks of coffee beans, and pounds of chocolate; exotic spices, from Malabar and the Canaries; the finest Spanish lace; a snorting wealth of sneezing snuff; coal, coffin-nails, hair-powder, and sealing wax; and in one extraordinary chest, all disordered at the tunnel's very entrance, a quantity of newly-strung pearls. Cool and silken to the touch they were, and I understood now Eb's unwillingness to let them slip, and felt a strange respect for the stalwart Dick's refusal. The morality of the Gentlemen of the Night was indeed passing strange.