It took all of an hour to discover the cove, which was little more than a cleft in the solid rock with a small, sloping beach. The smith's son waited for them with a lantern, humming to himself and stamping his feet on the wet sand for comfort.

Bolitho dismounted and said, `Hold my horse, Martyn.' The animal was nervous and restless, as horses often were in the presence of death.

The corpse lay on its back, arms outflung, mouth open.

Bolitho forced himself to kneel beside the dead revenue man.

`Was he like this, Tim?'

`Aye, zur.' The youth giggled. `I was a-lookin' for…' He shrugged. 'Anythin'.'

Bolitho knew all about the local blacksmith. His wife had left him long ago, and he. sent his weakminded son out of his cottage whenever he was entertaining one of his many female visitors. It was said that he had caused the boy's mind to go by hitting him as a baby in a fit of rage.

The youth said as an afterthought, ''Is pockets is empty, zur. Nary a coin.'

Dancer called, `Is it the man, Dick?'

Bolitho stood up. `Aye. His throat's been cut.'

The Cornish coast was renowned for its smugglers. But the revenue men were seldom injured in their efforts to find and catch them. With the squire away, and without his additional support as local magistrate, it would mean sending for aid from Truro or elsewhere.

He recalled the gamekeeper's words and said to Dancer, `Well, my friend, it seems we are not free of our duty after all.'

Dancer soothed the restless horses. `I thought it too good to last.'

Bolitho said to the youth, `Go to the inn and tell the landlord to rouse some men. We'll need a hand-cart.' He waited for his words to sink in. `Can you manage that?'

He nodded jerkily. 'Oi think so, zur.' He scratched his head. 'Oi bin 'ere a long time.'