Now, the moment Cragg had seen the butler close the hall door safely upon the ladies he proceeded immediately to Queen's College, aroused the porter and inquired whether Doctor Syn had yet retired to bed. The porter informed him that the Reverend Gentleman was abroad at the house of the Chancellor. Cragg said that he had a very important letter to be delivered to the Reverend Gentleman and would the porter be seeing him on his return? The porter assured Cragg that he would, since it was his duty to unlock the gate to anyone abroad after closing hour. So Cragg left the note, crossed the road, went down a side street, came back by another, and waited to watch in the shadows.
Both Cobtree and Syn stayed a long time with the Chancellor, who had been delighted to see them, since many a rumour of the adventure in St. Giles' had reached him, and he was anxious to have the truth of the affair. The young men were relieved to find him very sympathetic, and indeed entirely upon their side.
He agreed with them that the neighbourhood would be the cleaner if cleared of such a rascal, but he did not desire any scandal to fall upon the University. He pointed out that whereas Mr. Cobtree was perfectly entitled to take up the bully's challenge, since he was free of the ties of studentship, Doctor Syn was in different case.
To this Doctor Syn had raised objections. “Do you mean, sir, that because one is an official of the University, any bully can insult one with impunity?”
“I mean this, my good young Doctor,” the old man replied. “No man of sense could call in question the honour of anyone in Holy Orders who declined to give satisfaction, or ask it, from a noted duellist. You have chosen a profession which must ever put the Word before the sword.”
“And yet, sir,” argued the Doctor, “Christ Himself whipped the moneylenders from the Temple.”
“I am not saying that I should not be the first to applaud you were you to give the rascal a good thrashing. But should we once countenance duelling within College walls, why, we should have every high-spirited young gentleman under our charge killing one another. No, Doctor Syn, you have shown quite enough of your mettle by knocking the bully into the roadway, and my advice is to let it rest at that.” After an hour or so, the mellowness of the good old man's excellent advice and admirable wine imparted itself to the spirits of both the young gentlemen, so that when they bade him farewell, and walked into the night air, each was desirous of seeing the other to his home.
“You are a guest, Tony,” said Doctor Syn, “and have already kept your future relatives up too long. I will walk there with you.”
“And have you no regard for your College gate-keeper?” laughed Cobtree. “I told my in-laws I should be late, and they have entrusted me with their house key. I will therefore walk with you to Queen's, and drink a good-night glass with you. What do you say?”
“I can hardly refuse my best friend hospitality,” laughed Syn.
And thus it was that Fate gave Doctor Syn a valued ally in a great adventure for no sooner had they rung the porter's bell than the Squire's note was handed to the Doctor.
He read it by the light of the lantern in the lodge, and as he read, his friend saw his face veiled over with determined rage.
“What is wrong, Christopher?” he asked.
Doctor Syn crumpled the letter in his hand and, bringing his fist down with a crash upon the porter's desk, cried out, “That settles it! Either I or that rascal dies tonight. The Chancellor did not guess at this. Read it and wait here. There is something I must fetch from my chambers.” Cobtree did not obey, but with the letter in his hand hurried after his friend, and when the chamber door was unlocked and Doctor Syn had lighted a candle in the cosy and familiar study, Tony smoothed the paper and read. By the time he had finished it, with many a gasp of horror and surprise, his friend stood before him in a long cloak.
“This is a wicked lie,” cried Cobtree, flourishing the letter. “Let us go to White Friars, where no doubt we shall find the dear ladies are sleeping safely.
This is but a trap to get you to Iffley.”
“By gad, Tony, you are right, I never thought of that. Come with me to St.
Giles', and if they are not there—well, then, I am for Iffley and the rascal's blood.”
“Of course they will be there,” said Tony. “How could he have dragged them from the house?”
“Well, if he has,” said Syn between clenched teeth, “I have this about me that will rescue them,” and drawing back his cloak he tapped the hilt of a long sword. “It was my father's, who was but with the Prince in '45. He took it from my father's dead hand. Aye, the old lawyer died game enough, and so will I if needs be. Come on. If they have gone, I'll get a horse at Hobson's. And if they are there I'll get it just the same and teach this rogue that parsons are first of all gentlemen. The Chancellor may groan, but this night I fight a duel. At least come with me to St. Giles', but after that I go alone.”
“Come along, then,” replied Tony grimly. “We'll get along there as quickly as we can, and after we will get two horses from Hobson's.” And so the two friends hurried from Queen's to St. Giles', where all was quiet, as the Fair had closed.
Now, owing to the fact that the landlady at White Friars had been extremely anxious as to the fate of Doctor Syn, the two young gentlemen found a light burning downstairs, and on their knock upon the door it was immediately opened. Although very glad to find the Doctor alive and able, when she had told them about the ladies under her charge and had read the contents of the Squire of Iffley's letter, she was in a sore state of panic, in which Doctor Syn and Tony had to leave her, since their haste was urgent in order to rescue the ladies from what they knew would be unspeakable torture.
As they ran toward Hobson's stables, Doctor Syn begged Tony to go home and leave the rest to him, which, of course, Tony refused to do. But it was not until Doctor Syn found himself galloping neck to neck over Magdalen Bridge alongside his friend that he realized nothing could shake off Tony Cobtree from the perilous adventure.
“To the gates of Iffley, I suppose?” cried Tony, spurring on.
“No,” retorted the Doctor. “I have a better plan. We will pick up on our way another ally against the rascal. We will rouse the farmer I told you about, because this is to be war to the death, and the more upon our side the better our generalship against this rogue, who will have a host of retainers at his back.
From what I told you, I think this farmer will not hang back now.”
“Aye,” cried Tony, riding hard. “If we ride to the gates of Iffley they will be prepared for you, but if this fellow can ferry us over the Isis in his boat and land us there upon the Iffley estate, we shall attack perhaps with more surprise.” Although the hour was very late, the young men were fortunate in finding a light in the cowshed, where the farmer was attending to a sick animal. He recognized Doctor Syn immediately, and after hearing that their errand was in the quest of revenge, was at once eager not only to help, but to take an active part in the affair. In the space of a few minutes Hobson's horses were stabled, and he was leading them towards the meadow bank where he moored a fishingboat.
“I bring a loaded pistol for the cause, sir,” he said. “I am no gentleman and cannot use a sword, but if you two should fail to kill this vermin, believe me, gentlemen, I can shoot straight. And now, please tell me how you intend to act when we touch the farther bank.”
“Proceed to the house, and kick up hell till we get in, of course,” said Syn.
“I have a better plan than that,” replied the farmer. “A secret that for years has been a source of comfort to me. You may have heard of Charles Herman.
He is the most skilful cabinet-maker in Oxford.”
“Very well,” said Syn. “He does a lot of work for the colleges.”
“He is my brother-in-law,” went on the farmer. “A year or so back he was called in by the Squire yonder to open up a sliding panel in the great oak room on the first floor which the scoundrel uses for his gaming. This panel, as our Charles discovered, leads by a flight of winding steps to the old water-gate. In his father's time it had been closed, but no doubt the present Squire has found good use for it. There have been bodies recovered from the Isis before now over which the coroner has pronounced 'Suicide' or 'Accidental death by drowning'.
On each occasion, Charles and I thought differently. The poor victims had no doubt fallen foul of Bully Tappitt. Charles repaired the secret spring which operates on both sides of the door, and being an expert locksmith too, he had to make a new key to fit the water-gate. After the tragedy to my daughter, Charles told me of this secret way, and I learned that he had not destroyed the mould from which he made the key. I begged him to make another, which he did, and gave to me. I have it always here against my heart. It is a large key, but the feel of it has ever been a joy to me. The knowledge that at any time I had the means to surprise that devil has made my heart sing for sheer delight. I have used it many times, and listened at the panel. But on each occasion he had company, and I needed him alone. Sometimes in the dead of night I have let myself through the panel, which Charles had made to slide so silently, and have stood in the oak room gloating on what would one night happen there. I noted that he kept his duelling pistols there, and they were loaded. I hoped to use one of these instead of mine own, for the murder would then seem suicide. Well, gentlemen, we will use the key now, and with God's help rescue your ladies and deal with the Squire.” Silently they got into the boat, and the farmer took the oars, rowing with caution against any noise. As they passed the Squire's boat-house they heard a man's voice singing a bawdy song, and saw a light in a window above it.
“It is the water-man,” whispered the farmer. “He drinks himself into the early hours like his master. He will not trouble us.” The water-gate was round a bend of the river, some fifty yards from the boat-house, and the only spot where the house itself touched the river. With a final pull the farmer shipped his oars carefully and crawled into the bow, where he crouched with a short boat-hook. Without a word he pointed above his head, and the young men knew that the large mullioned window lighted up was the oak room for which they were bound. The farmer eased the boat gently to the wall and made fast to a mooring-ring. He then crawled on to the gateway step and motioned the others to follow. There was no noise save the gentle lapping of the river beneath the boat.
The water-gate was fitted with a heavy oak door, iron-studded. The farmer produced his key from his shirt, and by the time the door had swung silently into the darkness the young men were standing close behind him. Cautiously they all entered, and the farmer shut the door behind him. Step by step they mounted, the farmer first, since he knew where to find the secret spring. Doctor Syn next, and Cobtree last. After completing the first turn of the turret, the farmer put out his hand behind him to call a halt while he listened. It was then that Syn turned to his friend and whispered:
“I would have been happy to see you clear of this adventure, Tony. For your parents' sake, and for your lady. But oh, man, I am yet glad to have you with me. But it is first of all my quarrel!” The farmer turned and warned them not to whisper. Then once more they mounted up. Syn calculated that they had completed three full turns of the turret, and by the sound of a man's voice knew they were reaching the top, when the farmer turned and whispered the order, “Back.” they retreated three steps, and only just in time, for suddenly the turret steps were flooded with light, and the hitherto murmuring voice of the man arose loud and clear, showing that the panel was open wide. The farmer levelled his pistol, and the young men's hands went to their sword-hilts.
“It leads to the river,” said the voice of the Squire. “I show it to you just to prove how completely you are in my power. In a few minutes it will be time for you to hear your mother scream again. My rascals are punctual. They delight in their work. If, as you tried to threaten when you heard the last scream, your mother were to die of shock, her body would be carried down these steps and with a bag of stones around her neck she would sink to the bottom of the river.
You know that you can stop your mother's terror at will. You have only to consent to me, and all will be happy for her. And for you, too, if you only knew it. I am something of a good lover, my dear. After the next scream or groan, whichever it may be, you will hear them more rapidly, for my instructions are to increase the dose as the night wears on. Why not let the old girl alone, my dear? She could lie upon the bed and cry herself to sleep if you will only be kind to me. Why not give in? Eventually you must, and you will save her so much pain. Listen. There. A moan. Do you hear? Ah yes, and now?” A piercing scream arose from a distant part of the house. Doctor Syn tried to push past the farmer, but he held him firmly back.
The Squire's voice went on: “It is no use you running to that door, my dear. I have the key in my pocket. What a horrid scream that was! She must be suffering. How can you suffer it? Now obey me, child. Undo your little bodice. I have a wish to kiss you on the shoulders.” Once more Doctor Syn tried to push by the farmer. But the latter was a strong man, and, being above the parson on the steps, had the advantage.
Thrusting his pistol into his side pocket, he used one hand in keeping the Doctor back and the other was pressed hard over his mouth to prevent him from making a noise.
It was then that they heard Imogene's voice for the first time.
“God will have no mercy on you when my Christopher, Doctor Syn, arrives.
He will kill you, and God will bless him for the deed.”
“I have tried to be merciful to you,” replied the Squire. “I have been patient too long. Why should I wait when my lips are burning for you? I am going to take you in my arms.” At this moment, and just as Doctor Syn was about to hurl himself at the farmer, whose strong arms had pressed him back, there came a sharp knocking on the locked door at the far end of the room.
“That will be news of your mother, no doubt,” said the Squire. “We will open and see. But in case you are tempted to run down these dusty steps, we will close the panel. Not that you could get far, because below there is a locked door that leads to the river.”
The Squire closed the panel as he spoke, and as his heavy strides crossed the room the three avengers climbed the remaining steps. The farmer had his hand upon the secret spring, and Doctor Syn whispered him to open it.
“Wait till whoever has come has gone,” cautioned the farmer.
When the Squire unlocked the door, Imogene gave a gasp of horror, for there stood before her an enormous man stripped to the waist and holding a huge pair of blacksmith's pincers.
“Well, fool, what is it?” asked the Squire.
“That last nip I gave her put her out,” growled the brute. “What shall I do? Wait for her to wake up, or go on as you ordered?”
“Throw a jugful of water over her, throw her on the bed, and lock her in for the night,” ordered the Squire. “Leave the key in her lock, in case I wish to view her. And give the strictest orders to the servants that I am not to be disturbed until the morning. Under no circumstances are any of you to set foot in this wing of the house. You will mount guard in the main hall, with the stable-lads. If this Doctor Syn should come clammering at the doors, see first who comes with him. If he is alone, or merely with his lawyer friend, admit him, and deal with him. You will be more than enough to settle with them.
Have cords to lash them up, and put them down in the old dungeon vaults till morning. It may be I shall kill him in the morning—both of them if they come.
That depends upon this little beauty here. If the loving is to be all on my side tonight, the parson has preached his last sermon. Now go, and don't disturb me till the morning, no matter what shrieks and screams you hear from this part of the house. Understand?”
“I understand, your honour, and wish you a very good night. I think your honour will have it, too.” And with a grin of appreciation at the terrified girl, he went out, closing the door behind him.
The Squire poured himself out another glass of wine.
“Just one more to wish your mother a happier state, which is in your hands, and then—” He drank, set down the glass and eyed her. “And now, my dear, unless you prefer to wait upon yourself, you will permit my clumsy fingers to act the lady's-maid. That tempting little bodice must be unhooked. Yes. Now.” The wine mounted to his brain as he lurched toward her.
“It is you who are cruel,” he said. “Your beauty tortures me. Must I take you without consent? It will be worse for your mother if I do. Come here, you ravishing devil, and let me kiss you down to Hell.”
“Where you are bound for now.” These words were rapped out in a cold voice behind him.
The Squire, who had seized the girl in his strong embrace, swung round, as what he saw drained the blood from his heated cheeks. He stood there swaying, ashen pale, with terror in his eyes. He seemed incapable of movement, but just stared at the two cloaked figures who were standing there with drawn swords.
For the moment Imogene could not believe her sight. She had forgotten the secret panel. The mysterious appearance of her lover and his friend to her was something of the supernatural. Doctor Syn saw that the Squire was equally mystified, and calmly he set him right.
“We are no ghosts, my Bully,” he said icily. “Indeed, you will find us very flesh and blood. You have insulted us both. You will fight us both, though something tells me there will be no need for Mr. Cobtree to engage you. You are a bully, a coward, a liar and a cheat. And you will fight now, and in this room, which you have so carefully left undisturbed till dawn.” With an effort the Squire seemed to shake his huge body into some confidence. He knew at least that he was a match for most in a duel.
“May I ask,” he said coldly, “the name of the servant who has betrayed my secret panel to you, parson? For after I have dealt with you, with both of you, I shall deal with him. I pay good wages for services, but only death for betrayal.”
“It is not your servants, but your sins, that have betrayed you,” went on Doctor Syn. “I wonder now if you recollect among your victims a certain lovely girl called Esther Sommers. Ah; I see you do. She died of the shame she suffered at your hands. Since God is shortly to judge you for that, I will not dwell on that girl's tragedy. But I wish to point out your own stupidity. You did not know that Charles Herman was her uncle, did you?”
“And who the hell is he?” demanded the Squire.
“The cabinet-maker and locksmith who repaired this panel behind me,” explained Syn. “You were very stupid not to see that he destroyed the mould from which he made the key to the water-gate. From it he made another key, and gave it to the father of Esther Sommers. We have made good use of that key tonight. You see, there comes a time when the most evil man can mock God no more.”
“Don't preach, but fight!” cried the Squire.
“I shall be at your service in a moment, sir,” replied Syn. He turned to Imogene, who had been so overcome with grief that she had been unable to move. “My beloved, thank God, Who guided us here to rescue you in time.” As she flung herself sobbing into his arms, the Squire took three swift strides towards a cabinet on which lay his case of pistols. But Tony Cobtree was there first, with his sword at the other's breast.
“Take your hand from that box, sir,” he cried, “or by God I'll spit you like an ox! Get back!”
“I was merely preparing for the fight, sir. You may examine the pistols if you wish.”
“We fight with steel,” said Syn finally. He then turned again to Imogene and added, “Do you know where your mother is, so that we may relieve her of anxiety?”
“Yes,” replied Imogene. “Let us go to her at once. And then, Christopher, let us go and leave this devil. Let us leave him to the law to deal with. Why should you risk your life?”
“Because I believe that God has appointed me to kill him.” He then looked at his friend and added, “Tony, do you take Imogene to her mother, for I have my duty here, which will be no sight for ladies.” Tony shook his head. “I am sorry, old friend. But, knowing the man's reputation, I feel obligated too stay here and see fair fight.”
“This is my home, gentlemen,” cried the Squire. “And I'll brook your insults no longer. Let us either hear the clash of steel or the crack of artillery, and be done with it. Then I shall be at liberty to enjoy the fresh beauty of this ravisher.” In two strides Syn was at him, and with all his strength he smote him on his unhealed wound upon the jaw, cutting it open till the blood fell in a red cascade upon his cravat.
“I'll kill you for this!” hissed the Squire.
“I ask nothing better than that you should try,” replied the parson.
There was no question of Imogene's mother then, for the Squire unhooked two duelling-swords from above the fireplace and placed them, hilts from him, on the gaming table.
“I choose my own sword to kill you with,” replied the parson. “It was returned to me by a man of Romney Marsh who took it from my father's dead hand at Culloden Field. Your own blade may be the longer, for all I care, but I fight you with my father's sword. Are you afraid at last? It is the first time you have met a better man?” Now, for his father's sword Syn had a great affection. As a matter of sentiment he had not only kept it clean and sharp, but he had trained his hand to use it as his father's son, and despite his cloth of peace he had taken it daily to the fencing-school for exercise. Thus it was that the Squire of Iffley was unpleasantly surprised when, having selected a weapon to match his opponent's, he found a blade opposing him that proved a brain within its temper.
It may have been a full minute that the blades slithered and clanked, but in that minute the Squire knew that he would have to use his utmost skill and be aided by fortune in order to break down the other's guard. He therefore called a halt by crying out:
“A moment, Mister Parson. If we are fighting to the death and in my house, I would wish that all things were fair. I see you know something of fence. Well, as sportsmen let us enjoy the other's skill before one of us shall fall. Suppose we both remove our coats and vests, roll up our sleeves, drink our last drink, maybe, and fall to it again?”
“As you wish, sir,” replied the parson, and then to Imogene, “We shall not keep your dear mother long in suspense. In a few minutes she will be avenged.” Meanwhile Cobtree had taken advantage of the break to better the duelling space. He pulled aside the big gaming-table, and placed the movable candelabras facing one another in the centre of the room. This, with the help of the hanging chandeliers, concentrated the light into the centre of the oak floor.
He then rolled aside the heavy rugs, and was about to move the wine-table, when the Squire interrupted.
“We will drink before we fight,” he said. “Although there is nothing but hate between us, I will at least offer you that much hospitality. I would see no one bound for hell or heaven lacking a drink.”
“For us, sir, no,” replied Syn, who had already stripped himself of coat and vest and clerical cravat, and rolled up his shirtsleeves. “Mr. Cobtree and myself are only in the habit of drinking with gentlemen. From your appearance you have drunk already more than is good for your safety, and if you will permit me to preach once more to your advantage, I should counsel you to abstain from more, since you will need all your wits and skill to hold your own against my death-thrusts. Swill if you will, swine, and then join blades again. Tony, will you oblige me by moving that pistol-case to the far end of the room behind my back?”
“You think I would take an ill advantage of you?” snarled the Squire.
“Think?” re-echoed Doctor Syn. “I know. I take no foolish chances with a liar and a cheat. Come, sir, drink if you must, and let us be done with it once and for all.” Foolishly the Squire drank straight from the bottle's neck till it was done.
Dr. Syn watched him and said aloud, “You fool! that last drink has delivered you into my hands. But do me the grace to own I warned you. Come, sir.
Defend yourself as best you can.” This time the Squire selected another blade of longer reach, to which Cobtree objected, but Doctor Syn waved him aside and touched blades in warning.
Furiously the Squire attacked, and as the minutes sped to the ring of steel his fury increased, because he found in the young parson a swordsman the like of which he had never met before. Their methods were different, for the Squire fought with a dashing ferocity, showing a lithe agility remarkable in a man of such heavy bulk. But the parson met each fiery attack with a rock-like defense, and although retreating slowly before the licking steel, he seemed to do so with cool deliberation. Right down the room, the Squire like a fierce whirlwind drove him, till at last the parson felt the panelling touch his back.
With a hideous misgiving for this friend's safety, Cobtree cried out, “Attack!” It was then that Syn smiled and shook his head, while the Squire doubled the speed of his attack, determined to keep his opponent pinned against the wall until he could break through his defence. The Squire had now the advantage of the lights behind him, and this he meant to keep until he could deliver the death-thrust. But the same thought was in the mind of Doctor Syn, and despite the rapidity of the licking thrusts, his voice rose above the continual clash and slithers of the steel.
Calmly he said, “I think we will get back into the light again.” With the same deliberation that he had used in his retreat, He now as calmly advanced, slowly but surely, foot by foot.
To Cobtree's practised eye it now seemed as though the Squire was rebounding from the heavy impact of his own attacks, for though the parson steadily advanced with an uncanny assurance, he still fought only on defence, checking each lightning lunge with his impregnable barrier of steel.
The Squire's livid face began to change from red rage to an almost childlike bewilderment. In his vast experience of fighting he had never met a man like this with no attack. If only he could snatch a rest in his own defence, and let the other fight, he felt that he would sooner or later get the opening he needed.
Instead of which the remorseless steel against him continued to advance with an unbreakable defence. Already they were past the lights, to Doctor Syn's advantage, and the Squire's breathing came in short gasps. Still Syn advanced, pressing his defence upon the elder man. The fumes of wine which had helped the Squire in his first dashes now began to hinder him. His eyes bleared and troubled him as tears of exhausted rage collected in the rims and gave a misty view. Syn's coolness and courage were demoralizing. Apart from that implacable sword advancing so remorselessly, there was that in the parson's eye which drove him back.
“I rather think this is your last fight, sir,” said Syn quietly.
How could the fellow fight and talk so calmly? wondered the Squire. The parson's words had pierced his cowardly heart, for he felt a cold sweat of fear flowing from it to his veins. He knew that his strength was snapping beneath the strain. He thought of his loaded pistols in the case. They were far down the room where Cobtree had placed them. In an endeavour to reach them he tried to turn and so reverse positions. This Syn resisted, for he did not mean to lose the advantage of the light. Also he had a wish to drive his opponent's back against the panelling, as his had been. So doggedly, he prevented the Squire from turning, and doggedly he drove him farther up the room.
The Squire's condition was now deplorable. Sweat poured from his forehead, and his eyes were full of tears, so that he had to jerk his head sharply to be rid of them. And so, baffled and weary, he was driven back. At last he touched the panelling, and knowing he was beaten, cried out in a sob of rage, “Will nothing make you fight, man?”
“I rather thought we had been fighting all this while,” replied the Doctor.
With his back to the wall, the Squire fought wildly, and with a last despairing effort tried to break through the other's guard.
“Attack him now!” cried Cobtree. “You have him at your mercy.”
“Which I will show up to a point,” replied Syn, still doggedly defending. “I do not wish to kill him suddenly. His soul is in bad case, and I would give him time to repent upon his death-bed. Bring me more light here, Tony, and I will do it skilfully.” Before Cobtree could pick up one of the heavy candelabras, the Squire, with his last ounce of strength, attacked again. Syn guarded himself with the same persistence he had used throughout, and then, as the wavering candlelight flickered towards them, he suddenly changed his tactics and attacked with the same lightning fury as the Squire had done.
Now, whether what followed happened through a cunning design of the Squire's, who at least knew that he could depend upon the honour of the parson, or from the superior skill of Doctor Syn, but ere Tony could reach them with the lights the Squire's sword shot high over Doctor Syn's head and fell with a clatter on the floor behind him.
“You have him now!” cried Tony.
The Squire crouched panting against the panelling, breathing hard.
Doctor Syn retreated slowly, facing the Squire, until he passed the fallen sword.
Then, with a superb gesture of command, he pointed to it with his own weapon and said, “Pick it up.”
“And you'll spit me as I do it,” snarled the Squire ungenerously.
“Had that been my way, I could have done it easier three seconds ago,” replied the Doctor.
To gain time and recover his gasping breath, the Squire slowly straightened himself, wiped the sweat from his brow, and then advanced towards his sword with weary steps.
“Make haste sir,” cried Syn, “lest my patience snap. But I have no interest to kill a man unarmed.” Since everyone's eyes were upon him, no one saw or heard the secret panel behind the Squire's back slide open. It was Syn who first saw the farmer standing there. The Squire was about to pick up his sword when the parson said, “For heaven's sake, look behind you!”
“Another trick to catch me unawares?” sneered the Squire.
“I have never tricked you,” replied Syn. “I have fought fair. But it seems that other hands than mine must kill you.” The Squire realized that all eyes were upon something behind his back, and so he slowly turned.
A bewildered look came over the Squire's face as he tried to recollect where he had seen this man before who now faced him with a levelled pistol in his hand and grim, determined hate upon his face. He was not long in doubt.
“I am Esther Sommers's father,” he said, in a hoarse whisper. “I have come to put Paid to your account.” A flash, a deafening report, and then, amidst a stench of gunpowder, they saw the Squire's great body crumple down upon the boards. Nothing moved save the twitching of his sword-hand and the curling smoke from the steady barrel of the pistol.
It was a strange voice that brought the onlookers back to a state of reality.
“This looks to me like murder.” The speaker, who was quietly closing the door through which he had entered, was richly dressed. He was short in stature, but broad-shouldered and heavily built. His complexion was browned from foreign sun, and his gold earrings indicated the sea as a profession. Unlike the prevailing fashion, he wore his hair short-cropped and his black, pointed beard gave him more the appearance of an Elizabethan than a Georgian. When he smiled, as he was doing then, and showed his fine white teeth, he was not unattractive. About the age of Doctor Syn, he looked older, for he had lived hard and run the pace. His bearing conveyed a recklessness which to feminine eyes at least appeared romantic. Booted and spurred, he carried his riding cloak over his arm, but as he advanced easily into the circle of light he tossed it from him to a distant chair. It was then that Imogene recognized him, for with a cry of joy she sprang forward, seized his hands in hers and said, “Nicholas!”
“Of course,” observed Syn to Tony. “It is the Squire's nephew.”
“And come in the nick of time to close my uncle's eyes, it seems.” His manner was almost jocular as he set the girl aside, with a friendly patting of her hands, and surveyed the dying man upon the floor.
Not even the pains of death which gripped him could disguise the hatred of the Squire as he asked, “Have you come to crow at my death, young cockerel?”
“I hurried from Spain, sir,” replied the nephew, “in response to your last letter threatening to cut me off from the estate. I took the precaution of calling upon the family lawyer in London, and no doubt you will be desolated to learn that you have no means of carrying out such a piece of petty spite. He was setting out for Oxford tomorrow in order to inform you of this himself, but, as you see, I have forestalled him with the good news.”
“I would have made him find the means,” replied the Squire.
“I rather think that the little misfortune which I see you in, dear Uncle, will give me the estate within the hour. I have seen death writ on faces before now.”
“Aye, I am done for this time,” went on the Squire, speaking with increasing difficulty. “Had I lived tonight, I would have married that girl, whom you had lost to the parson there. I warrant her child would have been a bar to your inheritance.”
“What does he mean, Imogene?” asked the nephew.
“It means, Nicholas, that I am betrothed to Doctor Syn,” she answered.
“Tonight my mother and myself were brought here forcibly, but Doctor Syn and Mr. Cobtree came to rescue us. Your uncle tried to kill my lover, who proved himself the better swordsman. Indeed, your uncle was disarmed when the shot was fired.” Nicholas looked at the man who still held the pistol. “Why, it's Sommers.
You lived across the river. I remember. You had a daughter. I warned my uncle at the time that his peccadilloes would get him into trouble. I think I heard she died.”
“Aye,” replied Sommers. “He killed her.”
“So you kill him,” said Nicholas. “Well, all I can say, my friend, is that you are in something of a fix. A duel's a duel, and murder's murder.”
“I'll swing for it if needs be. I am glad,” replied Sommers.
“Tut, man, let's have no more corpses. While uncle obliges me by dying as quickly as he can, I'll think what's best to do.” As a reproof to his callous hatred for his uncle, Doctor Syn took cushions from chairs and propped the dying man into a more comfortable position.
“Leave me alone,” said the Squire. “But give me wine.” Imogene poured it out and took it to him. He tried to drink, but could not.
Instead he muttered to her through his clenched teeth:
“Will you tell me something, child?”
“What is it?” answered Imogene.
“That fellow Sommers,” he went on with an effort. “Regard him well, and tell me how came such an ugly devil to possess so beautiful a daughter. Yes, Sommers, your Esther was a pretty wench. I wonder now if I'll meet the jade?” They were his last words. Doctor Syn knelt by him and felt the heart. Then he slowly rose and said, “He is dead.”
“Well, I'll be no hypocrite,” said Nicholas. “I always hated him.” He picked up the dead man's waistcoat and felt in the pockets. In one of them he found a key, which he carried to a cabinet by the fireplace. This he unlocked and searched amongst the many papers it contained. At last he lit on a document, which he opened in haste. He scanned it through and then said aloud, “To my nephew Nicholas Tappitt, all my estate.” Then he looked at the others with a smile and added, “So the rascal did not alter his will. My visit to the lawyer was not true. I said it to frighten him. I think he could have left his money where he would. However, it seems that I am safe. And now, gentlemen, let us see about giving him a more regular death than he enjoyed. I have no wish to see the father of Esther Sommers on the scaffold. If you gentlemen will agree to my plan, there will be no question of murder. At dawn tomorrow Doctor Syn, with Mr. Cobtree here as second, will meet my uncle in an affair of honour. As his nephew I will act for him. I know a surgeon in the town who for a purse of guineas will keep his mouth shut, and certify the death as regular.
We'll play the farce in Magdalen Fields. It would seem a natural meetingplace. No possible blame can fall on Doctor Syn for killing him, unless it is a rap over the knuckles from the University Authorities. What do you say?”
The effrontery of this suggestion seemed to the others so preposterous that they at first emphatically refused. But gradually Nicholas made them see that only by such means could Sommers be saved from trial.
“You may safely leave this to me to carry through,” said Nicholas. “All you have to do is escort the ladies back to Oxford, and await me at dawn in the Fields.”
“But why in Magdalen Fields?” asked Cobtree. “It could be managed better here.”
“The pistol-shots must be heard in a more public place,” explained Nicholas. “It will be the publicity of the affair that will deceive. I will bring the body by coach. The surgeon and I will lay it on the sward. Doctor Syn and I will fire the pistols into the air. The corpse will be lifted back into the coach, and Sommers is at liberty to stay in bed if he wishes. As to my servants here, they will obey me implicitly. They ever had a good regard for me, and hated my uncle. Let us release your mother, Imogene, and I will send you by coach back to Oxford.” The dominance of Nicholas succeeded, and since nobody had a better plan, they all took an oath of secrecy and agreed to carry out the grim game. Vastly relieved at his salvation and accomplishment, the man Sommers went the way he came, by boat. They found Imogene's mother in sad condition. The terror which she had gone through, added to the physical pains from the brutalities that had been practised on her, had affected her poor brain, and they took her back to White Friars only half conscious. Nicholas, who had locked the door upon his uncle's body, accompanied them in order to arrange with the surgeon, whom he proposed to take back with him to Iffley. The good landlady at White Friars was awaiting news anxiously, and was overjoyed to find the rescue had been accomplished. The three men then left the ladies to her care, and proceeded to the house of the questionable surgeon.
Accustomed to be called out in the night, they found no difficulty in awakening him.
“It is by no means the first time that the rogue has done a dirty piece of work at Iffley,” whispered Nicholas as they waited for him to dress. “He'll do whatever I ask of him, for I know enough to get the rascal's name struck off the Rolls.” And so it proved. For twenty guineas he promised to arrange things to their liking. He was perfectly willing to accompany Nicholas to Iffley, for he was promised good wine upon arrival, and so they went their way, while Tony went back to Queen's College with Doctor Syn, where they kept vigil waiting for the dawn.
As they watched the night sky, Tony said, “I only hope that the killing of this bully will not ruin your career, Christopher.”
“I might have killed him there,” said Syn. “At least I have not his blood on my conscience. And I honestly think it would have gone hard with Sommers at a trial. A jury seldom finds a murder justifiable, though this one was, I think. I wonder what the Chancellor's views will be. My good Tony, how glad I shall be when we know the upshot of this somewhat deceitful business!” At the first paling of the sky, the two companions, muffled in heavy cloaks, crossed the Courtyard, and let themselves through the gate with the key which they had borrowed from the porter's lodge some hours before, for Doctor Syn had realized that the rousing of a sleepy porter would occasion noise and attract attention from the students. Once in the street, they walked briskly toward Magdalen.
On the way Tony rallied his friend upon his gloomy countenance:
“At least you are about to fight a duel, with absolute certainty of killing your man, and the finest fighter can hardly say that.”
“I only hope this Nicholas Tappitt will not bungle things,” replied the Doctor.
“Not he,” said Cobtree. “He is as anxious as we are to save this Sommers.”
“I have been wondering about his motive,” went on Syn. “He did not strike me as a man who would take much risk for another than himself. And I think this plot of his is to insure his own safety. After all, he was in the room when the shot was fired. He was admitted by the servants in the hall. He was known to have a hatred for his uncle, and he had everything to gain by his death. It occurs to me that he does not altogether trust us. Suppose we had chosen to side with the man Sommers, our Nicholas would have been in an ugly case.”
“How could we have done that?” cried honest Tony.
“Of course we could have done no such thing, but I think he measured us by his own character.”
In this Doctor Syn was right, for despite his easy manner, Nicholas realized that his situation might be dangerous. There were those on his ship now moored in London Docks who knew he had gone in haste to Oxford on a quarrel with his uncle, and where his own safety was concerned he trusted no one. Doctor Syn's cloth, and Cobtree's legal profession, and the fact that both were men of honour, did not weigh with him. He imagined that anybody would commit perjury if it could be safely done. After all, he did not wish his uncle's death to be too questionable, and the duel that he was staging would satisfy the public mind. They would say that Bully Tappitt had reaped what he had sown, and that the noted duellist, who had been a menace too long, had met his just desserts.
Whatever may be said of Nicholas Tappitt—and all through his life bad things were said of him—he did not bungle things. Hardly had Doctor Syn and Cobtree taken their positions by the field gate when they saw the Iffley coach approaching. They opened the gate in readiness, and the coachman drove his team to the centre of the field. The surgeon alighted with his case of instruments, followed by Nicholas with the case of pistols.
Syn and Cobtree went to aid them in the grim task of removing the body from the coach.
“Before we have him out,” whispered Nicholas, “it would be as well if one of you gentlemen were to take a look in the ditch yonder. That hedge affords good shelter, and with so many strangers in Oxford for the Fair, it is a likely spot for a homeless tramp to crawl.” Doctor Syn immediately hurried to the spot, took a quick look round, and then ran back with the disquieting news that two gipsies were there, one with his head beneath a coat and the other with closed eyes and snoring heavily.
Indeed, as they listened they could her the noise across the meadow.
“If they do not wake before our pistol-shots,” whispered Nicholas, “their presence will help us, and the news will fly through Oxford that this affair of honour was conducted regularly. Let us quickly get the body to the grass.” After some difficulty they managed to get the stiffened body through the door, and laid it face upwards in the grass. Nicholas dragged away the cloak it had been wrapped in, folded it neatly and put it on the ground. He then brought from the coach his uncle's brocaded coat and waistcoat which the dead man had divested the night before, and had also had the foresight to add a hat to this deception.
“Now, Doctor Syn,” he went on, “take this pistol and fire it into the ground when I signal. Measure fifteen paces from the body, and then strip to your shirt.
And now, Mister Surgeon, your bottle.”
The surgeon handed a phial containing blood, which Nicholas uncorked and poured upon the dark stain that had congealed upon his uncle's shirt. He then poured a little on the dead man's lips.
“This is my own blood,” he whispered to Cobtree with a smile. “I never thought to shed it for my uncle, but wet blood is essential, and the surgeon took it from my arm this last half-hour. Aye, that looks convincing. Now, Mr.
Cobtree, take up your position as your friend's second. We must be quick. It's getting light and those rascals may awake.” By this time Doctor Syn had taken his fifteen paces, and had placed his hat and clothes upon the ground.
“Have you seen to the priming of the pistols?” asked Cobtree. “We should look foolish were they to misfire.”
“I reloaded them myself,” replied Nicholas. “They are splendid weapons and have never been charged more carefully.”
Then, after Cobtree had taken his position by the surgeon, and the coachman had driven away to what would appear a safe distance, Nicholas stood above his dead uncle. Since he could still hear the snoring from the ditch, he risked speaking aloud, addressing the corpse at his feet.
“Faith, Uncle, you are living up to your reputation, and are fighting your last duel from the wrong side of the grave.” He then nodded to Doctor Syn. The two pistols flashed almost simultaneously, startling the already wakening rooks from the trees above them, and as the frightened gipsies peered over the edge of the ditch they saw the surgeon running with his case of instruments toward the fallen man. They saw Doctor Syn hand his pistol to his second, and as he leisurely put on his clothes he said:
“Ask if the wound is serious, Tony. Also whether he would wish me as a parson to say a prayer.”
Tony approached, and the surgeon, looking up, said: “He is dead. But I will extract the bullet while the body's warm. The coroner will need it.” It was then that Doctor Syn perceived that they had made an error. The pistol used by Sommers had been a clumsy weapon, and would have fired no doubt a leaden ball of heavier calibre than duelling bullets. He was reckoning without the thoroughness of Nicholas, for, as the gipsies drew near, the surgeon held up in his pincers a silvered bullet wet with blood.
“Lodged in the rib-bone just below the heart,” he said.
“Fit it to the barrel, Mr. Cobtree,” said Nicholas. “Then we can report to the Coroner that all was regular.”
“Aye, it fits,” replied Cobtree, marvelling at this piece of ingenuity.
“An affair of honour, eh, gentlemen?” asked one of the gipsies.
“What do you suppose it is if otherwise, you fool,” growled Nicholas, making a fine attempt to show frayed nerves. “It is no picnic, certainly. This gentleman is my uncle, and he is dead. Although I acted for him, I will own that he gave the affront and forced the fight. This gentleman who killed him is a parson from Queen's College, and has acted throughout in all honour. The fight was fairly fought. You agree with that of course, Mr. Cobtree?” Tony bowed assent. “And now, you rogues,” went on Nicholas to the gipsies, “would a guinea apiece help you to deliver a message correctly? I see you think it would, so here it is. Now go to the Town Hall, and tell the officer in charge that Doctor Syn of Queen's has killed the Squire of Iffley in a duel fought here in Magdalen Fields. And add that the seconds and the surgeon will this morning wait upon the Mayor and give him the circumstances.” After making the rogues repeat this message, Nicholas gave them the guinea. The gipsies, however, seemed in no hurry to set out, and as they stared upon the body one of them muttered, “Didn't he bleed?”
Nicholas, who wisely did not wish to move the body beneath their eyes lest the unnatural stiffness of the limbs should seem suspicious, rapped out: “I think I paid you? Go at once.” They slunk off towards the gate, where already a few early risers were gathered and watching from the distance.
“The story will be all over Oxford within an hour, and lose nothing in the telling,” said Nicholas, with a smile.
He beckoned to the coachman, and directed the vehicle to draw up so that it screened the body from the watchers at the gate. Then they lifted the dead Squire, and placed him inside, drawing the window-curtains close. The surgeon got in to steady the body, and Nicholas turned to the others and said:
“I will see my uncle taken home, and then we will wait upon you gentlemen at Queen's. We can then, Mr. Cobtree, drive to see the Mayor and lay our information.” This he said aloud, but as he stepped into the coach, he whispered with a smile: “How beautifully it worked! I can tell Sommers not to fret, I think.” He closed the door, and the coach rolled away and through the gates. Syn and Cobtree followed.
“It seems that we must run the gauntlet of a pretty crowd,” said Tony.
“Aye,” replied Syn, “and where they have sprung from at this early hour, heaven alone knows. The whole business distresses me, Tony. The more so because I have to own to you that I enjoyed that fight last night. Aye, man. I would not have missed a second of the joy of it. Should they unfrock me for this business, I shall leave the pulpit for a more adventurous life.”
“You must think the first of Imogene,” returned Tony.
“I thought on her with every clash of steel last night,” replied the parson.
When they reached the gate, the crowd, which had now so mysteriously increased, held the gate open for them. The men doffed their hats, and such women and girls as were there dropped curtseys. As they passed through the gate, the people raised a cheer. Syn stopped and silenced them:
“I would rather you should weep for the dead than rejoice for me,” he said gravely.
“Bully Tappitt was a scoundrel, and deserved to die,” cried out one man, bolder than the rest. “It needed a man to kill him and that the man is a parson gives me a better opinion of the Church.” At this the crowd cheered the more wildly.
“Come, Tony,” whispered Syn, taking his friend's arm and hurrying him along. “Would I were free of this and of the whole damned business.” But the crowd were not to be robbed of their triumph against a man they hated. They had most of them witnessed the behaviour of the Iffley Squire in St. Giles' the day before, and to them Doctor Syn was a hero who deserved the fullest acclaim. And so they followed him and cheered him to the gates of Queen's, where their wild enthusiasm roused the porter before Doctor Syn was able to unlock the gates himself.
“You are a hero, Christopher,” said Tony, as they passed the gates. “And you well deserve it for your courage of last night. And remember this. The more popular you are in the public opinion, the more sympathy you will get from the coroner's court, and from the University itself. You may be sure of the students as of the crowds in St. Giles' fair. Yes, I think you will come out of this with honour.”
“The whole thing is such a damnable lie,” grumbled the Doctor.
“But you have saved Sommers,” comforted Tony. “And though you did not actually kill the scoundrel, you might have done twenty times last night. By gad, old friend, I begin to think that your cloth is a mistake. You fight too well to waste such talent. Let us pray that they do unfrock you, and then you can lead a regiment in the wars. Come along; a little breakfast will make you take a more cheerful view of it. I wonder how many innocent lives you have saved from ruin by dealing with this bully. Let that thought comfort you.” As they anticipated, the news of Bully Tappitt's death spread like a raging fire through Oxford. That he had fallen in a duel which he had instigated appealed also to everyone's sense of justice. Long before Nicholas Tappitt arrived in his coach to take Cobtree with him to the Mayor, congratulations were pouring in to the young Doctor of Queen's. That the Bully had fallen at the hands of a parson was choice news indeed, and Doctor Syn was accordingly lionized. When at last the Iffley coach approached the College, the way was blocked with carriages and chairs of every description, while the great courtyard and the stairs leading to the Doctor's chambers were filled with the best rank and fashion of the town, all eager and determined to shake the parson's hand and hear the delightful details from his own lips. The unfortunate young Doctor, suffering as he was from lack of sleep and exhaustion, never knew that he had so many friends and admirers. That the parson had won the hand of a rich and beautiful Spanish girl who was visiting the town gave him an additional lustre, since the news had leaked out that this same beauty had been the cause of the duel. The College servants, unable to cope with such a fashionable crowd or deny them entrance, were swept aside, while the fine folk invaded the parson's chamber and fawned upon him through their quizzing-glasses.
The only comfort Doctor Syn derived from all this was the security of public opinion, so that should the Authorities take too stern a view they would be risking their own popularity.
While Tony was wondering how best to effect his meeting with Nicholas Tappitt, since the way was so blocked, he heard that gentleman's voice upon the stairs, boldly announcing himself as “Captain Nicholas Tappitt, nephew and heir to the deceased,” and that he had come on urgent business concerning the affair on the authority of the Mayor of Oxford. Knowing the reputation of the Tappitt family, and noting his swaggering demeanour, the dandies of the town made way for him. He pushed his way into Syn's study and bowed low.
“I am come to escort Mr. Cobtree, who acted as your second, sir, in the affair with my unfortunate uncle, to the Town Hall. I have also the honour to bring you a message from the Se—orita Almago, who would be glad to see you at your earliest convenience at White Friars.” He then turned to the ladies and gentlemen who had invaded the room. “As friends and admirers of Doctor Syn, ladies and gentlemen, I should like to state most emphatically that although naturally deploring the sudden death of my uncle, for whom I acted in the duel, the behaviour of Doctor Syn has been exemplary throughout. My uncle put such an affront upon him that, in spite of his peaceful cloth, he could not brook. I am about to inform the Mayor that no blame can possibly be attached to Doctor Syn, who fought like a gentleman.”
The generosity of this speech did much to put him in the good graces of the assembly, so that when he requested them to leave Doctor Syn to his business, they readily withdrew.
When the door had closed upon them, Syn smiled for the first time that morning.
“Oh, you'll find me well enough yet, I dare swear,” he answered easily.
“Come, let us go. We two to the Mayor, and you to the lovely Imogene. By gad, Doctor, you're a lucky man, and I wish you joy. No doubt the little minx has told you that I have been in love with her myself.”
“A man of taste could hardly help it, sir,” replied the Doctor, as he led them out by a back staircase to avoid the crowds.
This ruse, however, led Doctor Syn into a worse embarrassment, for, a number of his own students spying him, he was lifted on their shoulders and carried to St. Giles' in triumph.
“My little plan has made your friend a hero,” said Nicholas as he led Cobtree away.
“I would we were at liberty to praise his swordsmanship, rather than imaginary marksmanship. I shall never see a fight like that again. It was magnificent.”
“I can imagine it sir,” replied Nicholas. “With all his faults, my uncle was a fighter, and I would have given much to have come earlier on the scene to see him matched.” The young men were relieved to find that the Mayor was entirely on the Doctor's side. Indeed, he did not attempt to hide his profound relief that such a menace to the town's peace had died.
They then proceeded to the Chancellor's, who, although applauding his young colleague's courage, took a graver view of the situation.
“Doctor Syn has violated one of the strictest rules of the University,” he said.
“But, sir,” protested Cobtree, “he went to rescue his betrothed and a man is a man before he is a parson.”
“Oh, I know, I know,” grumbled the old man. “He was tried beyond bearing, I admit, and a young man of spirit could do little else. But what will our pompous Bishop have to say about the duties of a clergyman?”
“If he unfrocks him,” cried Tony, “his Lordship will see his own effigy burned in every quadrangle in Oxford. He had best abide by public opinion.”
“Aye, sir,” cried Nicholas, backing up the lawyer. “If friend Syn is unfrocked for this, for once you'll see the town boys behind the Gowns, and they'll be for unfrocking every parson in Oxford, the Bishop included.” And while his friends were thus arguing in his defence, Doctor Syn, having closed the doors against the boisterous crowds, found peace in his lover's arms.
“I think I am almost afraid of you,” she whispered. “I never thought to see a man fight like that. It was horrible and yet magnificent. Promise to keep me always from harm as you did last night.”
“Promise to love me always, and I will,” he answered fondly.
“I think that should be easy,” she replied. “And when my dear mother is recovered from her shock, I am going to make her consent to our immediate marriage. Something tells me that I shall always be in danger away from you.
So let it be soon, and then no separation.”
“It cannot be too soon for me,” he said.
When Tony and Nicholas returned they had much to tell. That the Mayor and Chancellor were friendly, there was little to fear from the coroner, who would hold his inquiry the next day, and also that Doctor Syn was likely to be called before the Bishop's Court.
“Suppose they unfrock me, Imogene. Will you still marry me?”
“Oh, if they only would!” she answered. “You are too adventurous for that solemn coat. I'm sure you fight much better than you preach.”
“By gad, I think she's right,” cried Nicholas.
And Tony echoed, “Yes, by God, I think she is.”
