His next stop was a few paces away in a gin shop. He was to arrange there the details of the next smuggling run which was coming into Trelynne Cove. The long mild coastline of Mount’s Bay, comfortably sheltered between Land’s End and the Lizard, was a haven for smugglers. Oliver had runs operating from Mullion to Mousehole, openly flouting the authorities. He shared the Cornish belief in the right to smuggle in goods to enhance comfort and pocket and only one Customs officer had ever dared to cross him.

A new keen man stationed at Penzance, where the Customs had their headquarters, had forced entry into a house at Marazion and arrested the occupant, one of Oliver’s customers. The evidence – bales of silk, brandy and rum and glass for the customer’s parlour window – was sitting under the kitchen window. The customer’s wife had raced after Oliver and told him of the affront and Oliver had returned in a rage. He hurled aside the Customs officer’s self-made introduction and demanded an explanation during which speech he slipped a silver snuff box into the Customs officer’s pocket. He then accused the unfortunate man of stealing it. The Customs officer heeded the warning and admitted he had made a ‘mistake’. He kept out of Sir Oliver’s way after that.

Oliver bought a full round of drinks in the gin shop, mixing readily with the local men in the clammy smoky room. He accepted a glass of gin from Jake Merrifield of Rose Farm on the Pengarron estate, and amid much hectic betting and riotous cheers won an arm-wrestling match against a swarthy foreign sailor. His ability to mix with and drink alongside these men had earned him their admiration and respect, and loyalty on the runs.

He then moved on to another drinking place, where the beverage and clientele were in complete contrast – a gentleman’s coffee shop. Oliver spent an interesting hour discussing the latest political, financial, and royal court news with Sir Martin Beswetherick and James Mortreath. Oliver baited James Mortreath, who was extremely wary of him after the night of Sir Martin’s birthday party, without mercy. It put him in just the right mood for his planned encounter with Peter Blake.