There would be a good reward, so he argued, and he’d risked his neck often enough with them, and now if somebody was to get the money, that somebody must be he. So he went straight away to the address given, a walk of some twelve miles through the night, and slept through the early hours of the morning, in a cart-shed in the farmsteading.
About nine o’clock next day he was ringing the door-bell of the supervisor of Customs for the counties of Sussex and Kent.
Before the coastguards were organised, the inland branch of preventive service was carried on by the riding officers, one of whom we have seen speaking to Daniel Maidment, as he dug in his garden that day.
At this time, a stretch of some two hundred miles of coast-line would be given in charge of fifty riding officers, and utterly inadequate until reinforced by soldiers, this force proved to be. For by lighting false signals, nothing was easier than to draw the riding officers off on some wild-goose chase, while the smugglers beached their cargo undisturbed.
It was not long before Ratface was shown into a room where the riding officer was seated, writing.
“My business is to tell you what you and your men have been wanting some time to know, sir. And if you makes it worth my while, I’ll give you information what’ll help you to clap your hands upon as pretty a shipload of ankers and half-ankers, as you’ve ever heard on.”
“Ah, I thought I should hear that name now. No; Dan’l ain’t a pertickler friend of mine.”
“My information is accordin’ to the information money.”
“And that again, as you must know, depends on the value of goods seized, and not on this alone. A full seizure reward cannot be earned without a good proportion of smugglers being captured. Twenty pounds for every smuggler taken, and full seizure money if the boat, as well as goods, be ours. Where is this intended run to be made?”
“On the night of the 18th, as soon after dusk as possible, at the Grey Rock, off Knapper’s Head.”
“And who are the chief smugglers concerned?”
“Obadiah Crumblejohn of the ‘Mariner’s Rest,’ Thurot, known as Lambkin, freighter and owner of the smuggling galley _Lapwing_, to row sixteen oars. Cargo, brandy and silks.”
The revenue officer made full notes, then he looked at Ratface as he stood blinking those restless eyes of his, scraping a lean cheek with his maimed hand.