In the darkness of the avenue by the churchyard wall, Dr. Syn suddenly stood still. “Listen, Mipps,” he whispered. “And look.” It was easy enough to see the only light visible, for Mipps had put out the dark lantern and strapped it to his belt, and there across the churchyard was a supernatural light rising from the ground where the corpses lay. At regular intervals a shadowy wave arose from the ground against the light, and then feel with a rattling swish like hail. A dark solid shadow that cut the light in two moved. It was a man. Something in the movement roused Dr. Syn.
“By God,” he cried, “it is my enemy. At last.” The man, evidently hearing the voice, turned and then ran quickly and silently out of the light. Dr. Syn sprang forward, but Mipps and the Indian grabbed his arms and held him back.
“There is another man there,” said Mipps. “Keep your voice down, sir. We have not disturbed him. He is digging. Look. He is throwing up loose earth. It is Miss Charlotte's grave. They are for committing sacrilege.”
“Charlotte's grave?” repeated Syn, in a low, terrible voice.
“Aye, sir,” whispered Mipps. “It is someone after the rope of pearls that are buried with her. I'll lay a guinea it's that rogue Merry.”
“By God, I'll kill him; I'll strangle him in her grave,” hissed Syn. “Unhand me.” With a great effort he broke from their grip and ran towards the light.
The Indian ran too, drawing a knife from his belt. But the Indian ran past the light in a circle and dropped down amongst the rank grass on the further side of the low churchyard wall.
Mipps trotted after his master, who stood still, now looking down into the open grave. A shower of stones and earth shot up from the digger in the grave and fell upon Dr. Syn. Another spadeful appeared, but Dr. Syn did not move.
Mipps fetched up alongside him, panting. The noise alarmed the man in the grave. Mipps looked down.
It was Charlotte Cobtree's grave. There were her initials on the coffin lid, which was all but uncovered. A sharp steel bar lay upon it beside the lighted lantern. This was the instrument that would soon have prized the coffin open.
A white, perspiring face turned and looked up, alarmed at the sexton's panting. Mipps was right. It was Merry crouched over a spade, and his fear was lighted by the lantern.
Down upon him dropped Dr. Syn with a thud, and wrenched the spade away. Merry's face was beneath his knees. Mipps saw the doctor's fingers grasp the top sides of the spade's blade and then it drove down hard upon the thief's forehead.
“Don't kill him here,” cried Mipps. “It's sacrilege.”
“Aye. We'll not pollute her sweet grave,” replied Syn. “He is unconscious, and we will not be merciful to him.” Quickly he unwound his great black scarf from his throat and lashed it round Merry's jaw and neck. He then placed the spade against the grave side, and using the handle as a stirrup sprang up and gripped the top of the grave. In his other hand he held the ends of the scarf.
“You will pull and I will lift,” he said to Mipps.
It was a struggle getting the unconscious Merry from the grave, as it was also a struggle dragging him to the vicarage, but at last they dropped him on the study floor.
“How shall we kill him when he returns to consciousness?” asked Syn.
“Wait for Shuhshuhgah,” advised Mipps. “He's a fair dab at deaths. There ain't no cockroaches here, though there's mice in the panelling.”
“And rats in the dyke,” said Syn.
“Aye and mud—soft mud in the sluice-gates.” A gentle rapping on the front door interrupted them. “It will be Shuhshuhgah,” muttered Syn. “Rub more brandy on his temples. He should come round soon. I'll watch him while you admit the Indian by the back door.” Shuhshuhgah had a strange story to tell. He had found Colonel Delacourt's horse tethered to a tree beyond the churchyard. He had then followed the man's tracks across the grass of the tythe field and had located him crouched in the laurel bushes by the vicarage front door.
“He has a pistol in his hand,” said the Indian, “and its muzzle covers the door.”
“He is waiting for me,” replied Syn grimly. “Well, he shall have his shot, and the shot will kill. He does not know that I have returned, but he will soon guess it and then no doubt he will call up to my window and get me out under some pretext. This falls out very well.” Dr. Syn looked at the clock upon the wall. “Three,” he muttered. “We must alter that.” He turned the hands on to five, while Mipps wondered why he did it.
A few minutes later Merry opened his eyes, raised himself on one elbow, groaning, and looked round him.
“What is happening?” he asked, looking into the three grim faces watching him.
“I will tell you,” replied Syn. “You will see by the clock here that it is five o'clock. Beyond these closed shutters the dawn will be breaking. At three o'clock a villager aroused me with the news that someone was robbing a grave.
I sent him to wake the sexton. Meanwhile, I dressed hurriedly and discovered you at your sacrilegious work. You were about to prize open Miss Cobtree's coffin in order, I presume, to steal that rope of pearls you coveted. I seized you and in order to save you from your enemies and your own damnation, I knocked you senseless with your spade and with the sexton's help I dragged you here to safety.”
“Safety?” repeated the amazed Merry.
“Aye, safety,” went on Syn. “The villager aroused others. Just as I got you here, they arrived. A score or so of armed men, horrified at your deed and determined to have revenge. Miss Cobtree was very much beloved. I refused to give you up to be torn to pieces. I pleaded with them for mercy. All my eloquence, however, has been to no avail, for while they respect the sanctuary of the vicarage they are waiting for you—outside.”
“They'll tear me limb from limb,” cried the horrified Merry. “What can I do? What will you do?”
“I am a man of peace, Mr. Merry,” continued Syn sadly. “I am the shepherd of my flock and must save my sheep, white or black. And there is none so black that cannot be saved by repentance at last. Show me that you repent and I will show you the path to safety.”
“How can I show you?” asked Merry.
“By answering the truth to my question,” replied Syn. “And let me warn you that I know the truth, so that a lie will not avail you. Who fired the three shots on the night of the last smugglers'
'run' that killed the Scarecrow on Aldington Knoll?”
“The law can't touch us for that,” said Merry. “Death to the Scarecrow was the law's order. It was Colonel Delacourt who lies at the Mermaid Inn, his redbearded friend—the captain who married Meg—and me. They knew you were the Scarecrow. They also told me that you were the pirate, Captain Clegg.”
“And you believed them, eh?” asked Syn.
“I did. When you appeared at Miss Cobtree's funeral, we got fright, I tell you.”
“And you don't know whom you killed, eh?” asked Syn.
Merry shook his head. “No, but there's wild rumour goin' round that the Scarecrow was none other than Miss Cobtree, but no one dares say it is so.”
“And you three will do well to forget it,” went on Syn. “And yet it is quite true that you three killed that lovely girl, and to add to your crime you come tonight to rob her grave. It seems to me that it would only be justice were I to hand you over to your enemies outside.”
“But you said you'd save me,” pleaded the frightened wretch.
“Aye,” nodded Dr. Syn, “and may God forgive me if I am doing wrong.
Stand up.” Merry scrambled to his feet.
“We are of a height, we two,” he said. “Mipps, on the door there is my cassock, cloak and hat. If Merry wears them he could leave this house in perfect safety. Help him to dress.” The sexton's quick brain appreciated the situation, and he grinned behind Merry's back, as he helped him into the cassock and cloak.
“Now wrap the muffler round his face,” ordered Syn. “Put on these glasses of mine and pull the hat down. No, it needs my wig to make it perfect. Put it on, Merry.”
The disguise, they all declared, was perfect. Even Shuhshuhgah grunted his approval.
“You will get across the border to Rye,” ordered Dr. Syn. “But go by way of Burmarsh. In three minutes the sexton will follow you. Wait for him at the 'Shepherd and Crook' and return my clothes.”
“Thank you,” muttered Merry. “I have tried to serve you bad, I own. You are returning good for evil.”
“It is my duty, sir,” replied Syn coldly. “Go, Merry, and I only hope and pray that you will look upon sin—no more.” They led him into the hall and unlocked the front door. Dr. Syn handed the key to Merry. “Lock it from the outside. It will look natural. They will know you are Dr. Syn. I rather think that when you have gone out of ear-shot they will break into the house to get the robber of Miss Cobtree's grave. Go.”
They all three stepped back into the darkness while Merry opened the door, sidled round it, closed it again and fitted the key outside.
Dr. Syn took three glasses from the livery cupboard and a bottle of brandy.
He filled the glasses with a steady hand. There was sufficient light from the candles in the study as he had left the door open. He put down the bottle quickly. The three men heard the key turn in the lock from outside. They heard the key withdrawn. Dr. Syn's thin fingers picked up his glass. He looked at the brandy. He sniffed it. One would have thought he had no other interest in the world. Having sniffed it, he held it up against the shaft of light that cut across one end of the hall from the open study door. The glass was held steadily as though in toast. Suddenly there came a noise of rustling leaves, as a man leaped forward from the laurel bush. There followed a sharp cry of fear and then a sharper crack of a pistol fired. A dull moan, then a second shot—sharp— percussive. A gasp. A sound of footsteps, then a crash as of a body falling. Then running footsteps fading away into silence. And then Dr. Syn signed to the others, who picked up their glasses in lieu of “toast”. Dr. Syn remarked:
“Perfect safety. Syn's salvation.”
“Aye,” replied Mipps, smacking his lips in appreciation of the drink. “And that's as neat and as natty a little murder as ever I saw.”
“Go and see if it is a murder,” advised Syn, nodding his head towards the door.
Mipps opened it and they all filed out, and looked upon Merry's body sprawling on the garden path.
