His tale was
that he had a relative to visit at Plymouth Dock, and meant to push
on that night so far as Probus, and there sleep and wait for
Russell's waggon."
"But his road," I objected, "wouldn't lie through Gerrans village,
unless he went by the short cut through the field beyond St. Mawes,
and took the ferry at Percuil."
"Right, lad; and that is precisely what he did; for--to push ahead a
bit--we overran his track on the main road, and, learning of that
same short cut, drove back along the other side of the creek to
Percuil, and had a talk with the ferryman. The ferryman told us that
at ten o'clock, or thereabouts, he was going to bed having closed the
ferry, when a voice on the other shore began bawling 'Over!'
He slipped on his boots again, rowed across, and took over a man who
was certainly Captain Coffin."
"He was alone?" I asked.
"He came across the ferry alone," said Mr. Rogers, "and I dare say he
had no idea of being followed. But back at St. Mawes, while he was
drinking gin-and-water in the taproom, another man came to the door
of the Lugger. This man sent for the landlord--Bogue by name--and
asked to be shown into a private room. He was dressed in
odds-and-ends of garments, including a soiled regimental coat and
dirty linen trousers.
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