On the same evening Dr. Syn dined at the Court House in company with several gentlemen of influence upon the Marsh.
When the company broke up, Dr. Syn remained in the library, as the squire had something to say to him in private.
“The mail brought down a letter tonight from Lloyds about the wreck of the City of London,” he said. “At last they are in touch with the cargo owners in America and ask me for the ship's papers which you had from the captain. If you will let me have them tomorrow, I will see that they are posted by the Hythe mail.” On his return to the vicarage, Dr. Syn found Mipps awaiting him for orders.
Syn smiled. “You had better seek out Merry and send him here before he goes to bed. I am not altogether satisfied with one or two things I have heard about him.” So the sexton departed in search of Merry, and Dr. Syn unlocked a cabinet and took from it the ship's papers which the squire had asked for. He filled a pipe of tobacco, poured himself out a generous allowance of brandy and seated in his high-back chair, began to read through the log-book of the ill-fated ship.
On the last page Dr. Syn read with astonishment:
This is the last will and testament of me, Mervin Ransom, Master and Owner of the brig, City of London, trading between New England and Port of London who having no kith and kin to my knowledge, bequeath what I possess to be divided equally amongst all and sundry persons, with no respect of rank or class, who may be voyaging upon the said brig at the time of my decease.
The brig shall be broken up be it that she survive me, and her materials sold, the money divided as stated. I will not risk my brig having another master. She has known only one, the man Mervin Ransom who built her. The figure alone shall not be broken up, but let it be taken to some worthy shipyard or boatbuilder's and be left there for a memorial. But before carrying this into effect let my beneficiaries take care for themselves to remove the let-in block between the shoulder-blades. It is caulked in securely and hidden by the folds of the cloak worn by old Gog the London Giant. In the cavity thus revealed will be found a string of pearls. As a young man I collected them myself, matching them carefully. They were plentiful enough in those days if a man cared to fare far and adventure a little. These I would not sell, but collected them for her who I hoped would marry me on my return. My return was postponed a long time, but when at last I made home she was dead. I kept my gift in the body of the figure-head—a gift to my ship. Perhaps in years to come these stones will adorn the neck of a beautiful woman. I pray God that her mind is beautiful too, for she for whom they were meant was perfect in beauty. But let the brig be broken up. This is the solemn adjuration of Mervin Ransom. Signed in the presence of my 1st and 2nd Mates, who herewith affix their marks.
Dr. Syn read the names and date. He was the sole survivor of the brig. The captain and crew were all dead. The pearls were his. The first thing to do was to discover if they were still there.
As he read the extraordinary document through again there came a knocking at the door. He got up, went across the hall and opened the door, admitting Mr. Merry.
“Mipps said you wanted me,” he growled sullenly.
“You will accompany me to Wraight's yard with a dark lantern. Where is Mipps?”
“He left the 'Ship' on his way to Meg Clouder's tavern.”
“Go and fetch him. Was Josiah Wraight with Mipps?”
“He left the 'Ship' before Mipps. He was going home to bed.”
“All the better. Very much more convenient for what we have to do. We will give him half an hour to get to bed. You may go to 'The City of London' and call Mr. Mipps from the door. When he joins you, you will tell him that I want him to bring his bag of tools.”
“It is raining. It is blowing half a gale,” grumbled Merry.
“It was blowing a full gale when you murdered the captain of the brig,” replied Syn.
Merry slouched off into the night.
In less than half an hour he was back again with Mr. Mipps. They found Dr.
Syn waiting for them in his heavy black riding-coat, his face muffled in a scarf and his three-cornered hat pulled low on to his forehead.
“I brought the bag o' tools, sir,” said Mipps, “but what's the game, sir?”
“We are going to pay our respects to Gog, the figure-head of the City of London.” So the three adventurers braved the weather towards the avenue of trees outside Wraight's yard. There was little fear of disturbing old Josiah, who slept on the other side of the house adjoining his yard, but Dr. Syn took the precaution of placing Merry on that side, while he and Mipps took one of the many ladders from the shed and mounted it alongside the figure-head which had been fixed upon the corner of the roof.
When they stood behind it, Syn took the dark lantern and opened the shutter.
“There you are now, Master Carpenter,” whispered Dr. Syn with a grim smile. “You see that line? It is as neat a piece of caulking as ever I saw, and it seems a pity to unpick it. It's got to be done, though, and quickly. The trees are creaking loud enough to drown any sound, but do it as quietly as possible. Get busy, Master Carpenter.”
“Right, Vicar,” grinned the mystified Mipps.
Syn held the light while Mipps, selecting a sharp tool suitable for the purpose, began uncaulking the tight seam of oakum.
“Drive in a gimlet and pull,” said Syn.
Mipps found a gimlet, screwed it into the loosened block, and then pulled it out. Syn put his hand into the cavity and drew out a string of pearls.
“Listen,” cautioned Mipps. “I heard a man gasp for breath. It's Merry watching. He knows what you have found.”
“I intended he should.” Dr. Syn dropped the string of pearls into his side pocket and descended the ladder, followed by Mipps who, after putting the ladder back in the shed, went in search of Merry, who had quickly hurried back to his post.
“You will accompany us to the vicarage, Mr. Merry,” said Dr. Syn, as they turned from the builder's yard on to the high road and set their faces towards the village. “After your wait you will no doubt be glad of a drink.”
“There is also the question of my having something to say which you will not relish,” replied Merry, with a note of cunning triumph.
“Well, you shall say it over my brandy, Mr. Merry.”
Dr. Syn led them round to the back of the vicarage. He always went to the stable to bid good night to his fat little pony.
“I have noticed, Mr. Mipps,” he said, “that periodically my stable door is unlocked.”
“Really?” asked Mipps. “Well, there's always a remedy to that, sir.”
“Right, sir. First shot, sir,” laughed Mipps.
“Unfortunately, the key seems to unlock the door and then disappear, and strangely enough, every time it has happened I see a chalked cross upon the lintel of the stable. Let us see if it is there now, shall we?” He led the way in, approached the stall in which the fat pony was munching contentedly.
“There you are,” he said, taking the lantern from Merry. “A white cross.
And if it happens, as it has happened before on several occasions, tomorrow morning that chalk will have gone from the wood. What do you make of it?”
“Whatever could one make of it, sir?” asked Mipps.
“I make a good deal,” growled Merry. “And so will a number of others before very long. You'll find every stable door open tonight, not only here, not only on the Marsh, but far and away over farms and manors as far away as Tenterden. And most of 'em ain't the luck of the chalky cross neither.”
“Oh, it's lucky, then, is it, that cross?” asked Dr. Syn.
“Aye. It means that party what own that pony or that horse or that donkey or mule is favoured.”
“You say that every stable door is open, eh?” asked the vicar. “It would be illuminating to verify that statement. Let us take a look at the squire's stables.”
When they reached the long grey stone building in which the squire's magnificent horses lived, they found the door unfastened, and on going in they found every stall empty, except a loose box on which they saw a white chalked cross.
Dr. Syn held the lantern over the loose-box door, and recognized Sirius, Charlotte Cobtree's favourite, on which she had ridden to the hills that very day.
“Another favoured person—Miss Charlotte,” sneered Merry. “You see all the other cattle have been taken.”
“The squire must be informed of this!” exclaimed Dr. Syn.
“I think I'll go round and have a look at some other stables,” said Mipps.
“Not yet,” replied Dr. Syn. “I want you both in my study for a few minutes.”
“Oh, well, certainly, sir; but I don't like to think all this is going on, any more than you do, sir. We don't want to see any of our parishioners feedin' the churchyard rooks.”
“Don't worry on that score. It won't happen yet,” replied Merry. “The Squire will look after the good name of his Marshmen.”
“You said that you wished to make a statement,” remarked Dr. Syn.
“Yes, over a drink which I can well do with,” replied Merry.
“Come along then, both of you.” And the doctor led the way to the vicarage.
From a corner cupboard in his study the vicar produced glasses and a bottle.
“Draw up a chair, Mr. Merry, and dry yourself by the fire,” he said cheerily.
“Oh, and please take off your heavy coat.”
“I'll keep it on,” replied Merry.
“No. No. Indeed, you shall do nothing of the sort. It is wet.”
Having poured out three glasses of neat brandy, Dr. Syn, who had thrown off his own top-coat, crossed to Merry and politely but firmly drew off his sullen guest's wrap-rascal.
“There, this can be drying while you drink,” he said placing it over the back of a high chair close to the fire. “Pick up your glasses and drink.” Both men did not need a second invitation, for they were wet to the bone.
Mipps, with a “best respects,” swallowed his cheerfully at a draught, while Merry, with a grunt, drank his slowly.
His drink, however, was doomed to be interrupted, for suddenly seeing that Dr. Syn's hand was deep in the pocket of the drying coat, Merry slammed his glass down on the table and, with an oath took a step towards the vicar.
His threatening attitude was arrested by the vicar whipping from the pocket he was searching an ugly sharp knife.
“A very formidable weapon, Mr. Merry, as I live,” remarked the vicar. “Mr. Mipps, I take it that a carpenter can always find service for a good blade. Put this amongst your tools.”
“You leave it where it is,” exploded Merry. “I bought it. What right have you to rob me of it?”
“The right of a good citizen in defending the next wreck on Dymchurch Wall, my friend,” replied Dr. Syn. “You were told distinctly enough that you were not to provide yourself with a weapon when I robbed you of the knife that committed murder. Oh, you need not start like that. Mr. Mipps knows all about Captain Ransom's death.
“I thought it best that it case of any accident happening to me, that you should not be free to laugh at your deliverance from the murder charge. Now, what is it you have to say?”
“Why,” replied Merry firmly, as the brandy gave him courage, “I have broken three of your high-handed orders. First, I have approached Meg Clouder —yes, and with an offer of marriage. What though she refuses, she won't always. Secondly, I have carried that knife for my own protection, and I tell you there's reasons enough for me being on my guard against a good number of these Dymchurch hypocrites, and lastly, I've disobeyed you again tonight. Do you guess how?”
“Of course I do,” said Syn, with a tolerant smile. “You left your post at Josiah Wraight's, as I knew you would, and you saw me take these from the figure-head, and put them in my pocket. I wanted you to see me do it. That's why I took you along.”
“Why did you want me to see you?” asked Merry. “I can bring an unpleasant charge against you if I have any more of your high-handed nonsense.”
This threat the vicar ignored and contented himself with answering the question. “Do you know anything about pearls? I suppose not.” He took the string of pearls from his coat pocket. “Well, let me assure you that these are so good that they could be sold in London for several thousands of pounds. I wanted you to realize that had you murdered me as well as the captain you would have got away with these as well as my sea-chest full of gold, not to mention the little matter of the captain's money-belt. You managed the business very badly that night.”
“I wouldn't have known that there were pearls inside the figure-head,” argued Merry.
“Oh yes you would, for their hiding-place was revealed in the captain's logbook which you threw aside as useless.”
“Very well, then, I am no longer your slave to be ordered about just as it pleases you,” returned Merry. “Accuse me of murder, if you like, and you'll not be a very creditable witness. They'll want to know why you kept your mouth shut so long about it, and when I tell them about the pearls, there will be your motive, especially when I say that I saw you kill the captain, and have kept my mouth shut out of charity. Mind you, I'm not above coming to terms. Every man for himself in this world. Give me the pearls and we'll say no more about it.”
“Give you the captain's pearls?” repeated the doctor in amazement. “Now, why ever should I do that?”
“Because,” replied Merry promptly, “I want Meg Clouder, and it seems to me that any woman would marry the devil himself if he dangled a gift like that in his wooing. So hand 'em over, Mister Parson Thief.”
“I take it you can read, Mr. Merry?” asked the vicar pleasantly.
“Oh, I can read and write too, as you'll find if you force me to send a statement to the authorities,” said Merry.
“Very well, then. Read this. No, I cannot allow you to touch it. The documentary evidence is too valuable to be destroyed, and I must show it to the squire before I present these pearls to his daughter. It is her twenty-first birthday tomorrow, Mr. Merry, and I am quite sure that the captain you murdered would approve of my bestowing his legacy to me in that direction.
Perhaps I will read it for you.” And removing the book from the table on which he had placed it, Dr. Syn read to Merry and the delighted Mipps every word of Mervin Ransom's pathetic testament.
“And now, Mr. Merry, that you can see I am no thief except perhaps in the matter of robbing you of your knife, which I should advise you to keep to yourself, I further recommend one more glass of brandy and then home to bed.” Saying which, he refilled all glasses and pronounced the toast: “To our mutual understanding in the future.”
Whereupon Merry was handed his coat and dismissed, while the favoured sexton was detained to drink another glass.
“You have clipped a vulture's wings tonight, Vicar,” chuckled Mipps.
“I believe so,” replied Dr. Syn; “but there is one thing that worries me, and I venture to suspect that the unmitigated rogue who has just left us will do what he can to increase that worry.”
“I am worried about many good people for whom I have a great affection,” replied the vicar, “and I worry because they are living in a neighbourhood in which stable doors are, upon occasion, left open at nights. Keep your eyes open, Mr. Mipps, and let me know what is going on. Perhaps you know something already. You hesitate, my good fellow. Is it possible that you have no wish to discuss the question of smuggling with your old friend?”
Mipps put on a quizzical look and scratched his head. “You see, sir, we can discuss it any of these nights and perhaps get no further. But tonight now, we have seen the stable doors open, and perhaps that means that something of the kind is actually afoot. Let me get out and about then without any more delay, and tomorrow, no doubt, I'll have a good deal of information to tell you.” Dr. Syn seemed to think this a happy notion, and dismissed his sexton with one more drink.
Mr. Mipps repaired as fast as his legs would carry him to the parlour of the “Ship Inn", where he was welcomed by Mrs. Waggetts and the company.
Since the Dragoons were known to be up in the hills scouring after Grinsley, the ingenious little sexton had seen a wonderful opportunity for a safe “run” upon the Marsh, and as the usual signals had been passed, a fully loaded lugger was already lying outside the bay waiting for the final signal to put in for a landing.
For some time after Mipps had left the vicarage, Dr. Syn found pleasure in thinking out how he would present the pearls to Charlotte. He went to his seachest and drew out the scarlet velvet coat that he had discarded for ever. With his scissors he cut off the two gold-embroidered pocket flaps, and these he sewed together with needle and thread from his old sea-days' housewife. He then removed enough gold braid from the coat to form the letters 'C.C.' and when he had dropped the pearls into their velvet pocket and locked them for the night in his sea-chest, he felt he had spent a good hour before going up to bed.
His labour of affection had banished all worry about the smugglers.
Worry was the last thing that entered Mr. Mipps's head as he saw the kegs being carried ashore from the lugger. He was safe. He had two men watching the Preventive man's lodgings, who would stop any informer reaching him, and if he were to issue forth on his own initiative, they were to play informers themselves and lead him in the other direction toward Hythe, while the landing was in reality taking place on Knockholt beach.
But one man did worry. Captain Faunce went from patrol to patrol up in the region of Aldington. Not a sign of Grinsley. Dismounting at Aldington Knoll he climbed the hill with a sergeant attending him.
Beneath them was stretched out the whole map of the Marsh. It was difficult at first to see just where marsh joined beach and beach the sea, for clouds of mist drove along beneath them. For some minutes, they watched the white vapours rushing along over the flat surface. Mist clouds that seemed to rise from the white ribbons of dyke water and joining others in their mad and windy stampede. In the distance they could hear the grinding of the waves, and now and then the sea would show through a blown rift of these ground clouds.
It was during one of these wild whirlings of the mist that the sergeant broke silence with: “See that, sir?”
“Why, a ship, a boat. There again, sir. See over there.” Faunce nodded. “No doubt it's the Sandgate Revenue cutter.”
“Or a smuggling lugger from France,” suggested the sergeant.
“From France, eh? And near in shore. See, there's a boat putting off.
Sergeant, what if our man is hiding in the Marsh after all, in spite of the Dymchurch squire's incredulity? He's no doubt got many friends across the water with whom he has traded.”
“Come along and let's get to horse.” And thus it was that the full regiment of Dragoons rode hell for leather across the Marsh upon this misty, windy night.
In the meantime, Mr. Mipps, now knee-deep in the waves, encouraging the unloading of the kegs, now up on the windswept beach superintending the loading of the horses, saw his dreams of yet another run being successfully terminated.
And back in the vicarage Dr. Syn slept peacefully, dreaming of Charlotte Cobtree and pearls.
