kably a cart,
lumbered across the stones at the end of the pier. After a while this
cart emerged from the black shadows of the houses and we could see it
toiling up the hill which leads out of the town. A very slight
southerly breeze was setting across the bay from the town to us. We
could hear the driver shouting encouragement to his horse as he
breasted the hill. The cart was evidently heavily loaded.

"The boats haven't been out," said Marion. "There cannot have been a
catch of mackerel."

When there is a catch of mackerel the fish are packed in boxes on the
pier, and carts, laden like the one we watched, climb the hill. There
is a regularly organized service of those carts under the control of
Crossan.

"It can't be fish," I said, "unless the _Finola_ has been making a
catch and has come in here to land them."

Another cart bumped its way off the pier, and in a minute or two we
saw it climbing the hill. Then the lights on the _Finola's_ deck went
out one by one. The boats ceased plying between the yacht and the
shore.

"I don't see why they should land fish in the middle of the night,"
said Marion.

The activity of the people on the pier increased. More lights appeared
there and moved very rapidly to and fro.

"Unless they're landing what they're ashamed of," said Marion, "I
don't see why they're doing it at night."

Mysteries always irritate me. I answered Marion impatiently.

"You can't be so foolish as to suppose that Conroy is smuggling. It
wouldn't be any temptation to a millionaire to cheat the revenue out
of the duty on a few pounds of tobacco."

Several more carts followed each other in a slow procession up the
hill. It seemed as if Crossan's entire staff of men and horses was
engaged in this midnight transport service.

"Mr. Conroy might not know anything about it," said Marion. "It may be
done--"

"I don't suppose Bob Power--"

"There was another man on board," said Marion, "and Godfrey seemed to
think that he was--well, not a very nice kind of man."

"The fact that Godfrey called him a cad," I said, "rather goes to show
that he is a man with a great deal of good in him. Besides, as it
happens, I know all about him. His name is McNeice and he is a Fellow
of Trinity College. It's ridiculous to suppose that he's landing a
cargo of port wine for consumption in the common room. Fellows of
College don't do that kind of thing. Besides, he's a good scholar. I
had some correspondence with him w