hey could not. The
scoundrels have hidden the things somewhere up in the wood by the house,
thinking that nobody would come in there to search."

"The artful rascal!" said Archy to himself, feeling better now that he
had put this interpretation upon the proceedings; and, knowing his way
better now, and thinking of the dog the while, he hurried on, and had
nearly reached the house, meaning to hide somewhere among the abundant
shrubs which surrounded it till the smugglers had passed, when all doubt
as to the party being those he was tracking was chased away by his
hearing a voice just before him say,--

"All right, father. Here they come."

Archy stopped short, as he felt his position. The farmer and his son
had come up here, and were waiting for the men to act as carriers.

"What shall I do?" he asked himself, for he was between two parties, and
a step might mean discovery. In fact, if the last speaker had taken a
step forward, he must have detected the spy's presence.

There was no time for thought Archy stood for a moment or two as if
paralysed; then, as he heard the farmer's gruff voice, he dropped down,
and began to crawl among the bushes.

"Been a long time coming; here, go in and get the lanthorns now."

At that moment Archy was brought up by a wall, over which he passed his
hands, to find that he was directly after touching iron bars close to
the ground.

It was some building, and then, as he crouched there, he was conscious
of a peculiar odour, which told him not only that this was a cellar, but
one in which brandy was stored.

Again he felt a strange sensation of misery. He had accidentally hit
upon the place where the cargo had been hidden, and it must be in the
cellar of the Hoze, and not in the wood.

He wished he had not made the discovery now, and felt ready to retreat,
for it would be horrible to have to tell the lieutenant, giving him such
information as would lead to the arrest of the tall, careworn man who
had impressed him so strangely that day.

All at once he was conscious of a gleam of light, following a faint
noise, and right before him he saw the fluttering blue flame of a
brimstone match, which blue began to turn yellow and illumine the face
of the boy who had been a prisoner, and two great stacks of kegs and
bales, reaching nearly from floor to ceiling of a low vault.

The light shone out through the grated window, by which he was on hands
and knees, and feeling that he would