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There was just light enough for them to pick their way down over the cliff, treading softly; and just light enough to show that the beach beneath them was empty. On the edge of the sand the doctor chose a convenient rock and called a halt behind it. Peering round, he had the mouth of the cave in full view till the darkness hid it.

“Now’s the time!” said he. He took off his coat and lit the lantern under it, muffling the light. “Seals? Come along, man; I promise you the cave is just full of sport!”

He crept for the cave, and Dan’l at his heels, the sand deadening all sound of their footsteps. Close by the cave’s mouth he crouched for a moment, felt the hammer of his gun, and, uncovering the lantern with a quick turn of the hand, passed it to Dan’l and marched boldly in.

The soft sand made a floor for the cave for maybe sixty feet within the entrance. It ended on the edge of a rock-pool a dozen yards across, and deep enough to reach above a man’s knees. As the doctor and Dan’l reached the pool they heard a sudden splashing on the far side of it.

“Hold the lantern high!” sang out the doctor. Dan’l obeyed, and the light fell full not only on his face, but on the figure of a man that cowered down before it on the patch of shingle where the cave ended.

“Seals?” cried the doctor, lifting his gun. “What did I promise you?”

With a scream, the poor creature flung himself on his knees.

“Don’t shoot! Oh, don’t shoot!” His voice came across the pool to them in a squeal like a rabbit’s.

“Eh? Hullo!” said the doctor, but without lowering his gun. “Mr. Deiphobus Geen, I believe?”

“Don’t shoot! Oh, don’t shoot me!”

“Be so good as to step across here,” the doctor commanded.

“You won’t hurt me? Dan’l, make him promise he won’t hurt me!”

“Come!” the doctor commanded again, and Phoby Geen came to them through the pool with his knees knocking together. “Put out your hands, please. Thank you. Dan’l, search, and you’ll find a piece of cord in my pocket. Take it, and tie up his wrists.”

“I never meant you no harm,” whined Phoby; but he submitted.

“And now,”–the doctor turned to Dan’l–“leave him to me, step outside and bring word as soon as you hear or glimpse a boat in the offing. At what time, Mr. Geen, are the carriers coming for the tubs out yonder? Answer me: and if I find after that you’ve answered me false, I’ll blow your brains out.”

“Two in the morning,” answered Phoby.

“And Tummels will be here in an hour,” sighed the doctor, relieved in his mind on the one point he had been forced to leave to chance. “Step along, Dan’l; and don’t you strain yourself in your weak state by handling the tubs: Tummels can manage them single-handed. You see, Mr. Geen, plovers don’t shed their feathers hereabouts in the summer months; and a feather floating on a tideway doesn’t, as a rule, keep moored to one place. I took a swim this morning and cleared up those two points for myself. Step along, Dan’l, my friend; I seemed to hear Tummels outside, lowering sail.”

Twelve hours later, Dan’l, with a pocketful of money, was shipped on the high seas aboard a barque bound out of Bristol for Georgia; and there, six months later, Amelia Sanders followed him out and married him. Not for years did they return to Porthleven and live on Aunt Bussow’s money, no man molesting them. The Cove had given up business, and Government let bygones be bygones, behaving very handsome for once.