from abroad lands
all them sorts of things here, and then sails away and takes her chance
of running the rest of the cargo somewhere else."

"But how can anyone get up there? I see nothing like a path."

"There ain't no path, sir. The revenue men would have found it out long
ago if there had been. The boat comes along, as I said, of a dark night,
when there is no swell on, and the chaps inside show a tiny light to
guide them to the spot. When the boat comes, they lower a rope down and
haul the bales up; and then the boat goes back to the lugger, and she
ups sail, and no one is the wiser."

"But what do they do with the stuff? I don't mean, where do they stow
it, but how do they get it away?"

"There is a passage somewhere," Bill replied. "I don't know where it
goes out. I reckon there ain't half a dozen men in Weymouth who do know.
I should say, except the men whose business it is to take the goods
inland and forward them to London, there is only one chap who is in the
secret; and he is not in Weymouth now--he is in jail. That is Joe
Markham. He is in for poaching. But for a good many years he sailed in
one of those French luggers. Then, as I have heard, he was keeper of the
cave for a bit; but he had to give it up--he was too well known to the
coast-guard, and they kept too sharp an eye on him for him to venture to
go out. He had had enough of the sea, and no doubt he had got some money
laid by; anyhow, he took a cottage by the river, and took to poaching,
more for devilment, I should say, than because he wanted the money. I
expect he was well paid by the smugglers, for he used to get up half the
stories to put them off the scent, and never missed being present when a
run was made."

This conversation came back to Julian's memory, as he stood by the clump
of bushes wondering what had become of the man that he had pursued, and
it flashed upon him that the spot where he was standing could not be far
from the smugglers' cavern, and that the entrance to this might very
well be among these bushes. The man knew where that entrance was, and
nothing was more likely than that he should make for it as a place of
concealment until an opportunity occurred to get on board a lugger and
cross the channel. It was a very likely place; men could come and go at
night without risk of being seen or heard by any of the coast-guardsmen
on the cliff, and would not be likely to encounter anyone within two or
three miles of it. Years might