A few minutes later Mipps opened the front door of the vicarage, and as he closed it gently behind the stranger, he whispered, 'Hush!'
Again in a whisper the sexton answered. 'Because the vicar is writing a sermon, and when he's scratching away with his quill all about Hell-fire and God's mercy, he don't expect a mouse to squeak. I has to keep him in a good temper when he's sermonizing, 'cos then he does it nice and tells the congregation happy things about playing on harps and talking with angels.
Otherwise he just scares us with pits o' sulphur and the like. You sit down there on that there settle, and I'll creep over and have a look at how he's getting on.' The stranger sat down on the seat indicated, which was close to the front door, while Mipps crossed the hall slowly on tiptoe.
Mipps opened the study door very cautiously and peered round. The wink which he bestowed upon his vicar inside the room was not seen by the stranger, who only saw the sexton sidle round the door and close it again very quietly.
Presently the door opened again and the stranger saw the sexton beckoning him. As he crossed the hall slowly he heard the sexton called into the study by his master, and this gave him an opportunity to draw a pistol from his right side pocket and look at it. Having glanced at it somewhat fearfully, he drew back the trigger to full cock and very carefully put it back into his pocket. He then went to the open door and looked into the study. He heard a hearty voice saying, 'Thankee, Mister Sexton. Lock up the church safely. Oh, and empty the poorbox. I forgot to do so. And do not forget to bring me back my keys.' The stranger saw a tall elegant figure in black standing just outside the garden door and talking round the corner. With a wave of his hand Doctor Syn came back into his book-lined study and bowed to the little fat stranger. He knew at a glance that he had never clapped eyes on this soberly dressed, pompous, country-looking gentleman before, and for this he was relieved.
Doctor Syn had the talent of never forgetting a face, and at least this man had never met him in the past.
'Good evening, sir,' he said heartily. 'My excellent sexton, who has just gone to empty the poor-box and lock up the church for the night, tells me that you have but now arrived by the mail coach, and that your object in visiting such a remote part of the country is in order to have words with me. Let us hope they are pleasant ones, sir. He also tells me that you are Welsh and have journeyed from North Wales for this purpose.'
'I told him I had journeyed from North Wales certainly,' replied the other, 'but I did not mention that I was Welsh. How did he know that, now?'
'If as a parson I may be permitted to quote Holy Script, perhaps because “thy speech betrayeth thee”.'
'I can speak the Welsh,' admitted the stranger, 'but I have been told that my English is, well, very English.'
'It is excellent,' said Doctor Syn. 'And if it were not for the fascinating tendency to the rising inflection at the end of each sentence, which is the idiosyncrasy of a Welshman speaking our vulgar tongue, I would say “English.
'You are Doctor Syn, of course?' asked the stranger.
'I am, sir, but you have the advantage of me.'
'I am David Davis Llewellyn Jones.'
'A Welshman certainly,' smiled Doctor Syn. 'And, of course, very proud of it.'
'Attorney-at-law, with practice in Tremadoc. And old practice, though somewhat restricted. My younger brother has a more lucrative one, for it includes the small port of Portmadoc, as well as Carnavon. His has been our family practice for generations, and in my father's lifetime it increased greatly under his care. His Tremadoc work he did not take so seriously.'
'May I say,' asked Doctor Syn, 'without seeming to pry into family affairs, that it is surely strange to leave the better practice to the younger son. I take it your brother was the favourite.'
'Not a bit of it, for I believe I was,' replied the other. 'My father was a just man, though perhaps he showed to me as his eldest child the more consideration. He offered me the choice of the two practices, the one sound and large, the other small and with no hope of growing. I chose the latter.'
'Was that foolish or noble of you?' asked the vicar.
'I should tell you that coupled to the small practice was a gamble. Yes, sir, a gamble with death, and it is on this death's gamble that—'
'But I am keeping you standing. Forgive me,' Doctor Syn pointed to the comfortable chair in front of the alcove curtain. 'Pray be seated, and then continue with your family history if it please you, though just where it touches me, I am at a loss to understand.' The Welshman bowed and sat down cautiously. The fact was that he was not used to a pistol at full cock in his pocket and felt mightily scared of it.
'You need have no fear of that chair, Mr. Jones,' smiled the vicar. 'Our squire is a heavy man and always hurls himself into it without harm.'
Doctor Syn stood behind the high-backed chair on which the cushion was balanced. The stranger took a quick glance round the room and then whispered, 'We are alone?' Syn smiled. 'As you see. These books are all genuine tomes of learning and conceal no secret doors.'
'Will that sexton of yours return?' Doctor Syn shook his head. 'I think I can safely say that he will not return.
When he has locked up the church, he has a habit of dropping the keys into his pocket, and making his way to the Ship Inn.'
'But I heard you tell him to bring back your keys,' said the Welshman.
'Ah yes, so I did, but a thirsty man has a short memory of things that keep him from his drink. If he should remember that he has my keys, he would only take them to the kitchen door and give them to my housekeeper.'
'Then you are not married?' asked the Welshman.
'No, are you?' asked the vicar.
'No. But first of all can you give me any proof that you are Doctor Syn? I assure you it is necessary.'
'The legal mind, eh?' replied the vicar, and pointed to a large volume that lay open on the writing table beside him. 'I have just been filling up the Register of Burial here. We have a funeral tomorrow.'
'Ah yes,' nodded the Welshman. 'The murdered excise officer. That man of yours told me something of it.' Syn held the book up for the other to see. 'I must not sign it, of course, till after the funeral, but you can see my signature on the previous pages. Any amount of them. You see? Christopher Syn, D.D. and now for your satisfaction, this.' He took up his quill and signed his name on a spare sheet of paper. 'You can see for yourself that it is my signature.'
'Aye, proof enough,' nodded the lawyer.
'I am glad you find it so,' returned the vicar. 'And now perhaps you will tell me the nature of your business, and what this gamble with death has got to do with me, for without wishing to appear rude I must point out that I was working when you came in.'
'And I trust you will not think me rude-mannered,' answered the lawyer, 'if I take a look outside your door. I wish to prevent our conversation being overheard by a third party at all costs.'
'I will lock the door if you wish it.' Doctor Syn strode past him, opened the door wide, saying, 'You see? An empty hall. We will now lock it.' This he did. He then went behind the Welshman's chair and, feeling behind the curtain, he took his clerical overcoat from a peg, and held it up before the lawyer. As he shook it, he said, 'There is no one inside this you see. No eavesdropper, but a heavy coat. Although it is hot weather, I keep it hanging there in case I am called out at nights to visit the sick. There is a curious malady called marsh-ague. One catches it from the damp of the misty dykes.
Well, since you are satisfied that there is no one inside it, we will hang it up again. Oh yes, and here is a spare cassock too, in the other corner. It is quite harmless, you see. Well, we will put it back behind the curtain and then shut the garden door. You see, sir, that I am more than ready to humour you.' The lawyer, who had turned round in his chair to watch the vicar hang up the garments behind the curtain, did not see Mipps holding a pistol and grinning. Doctor Syn took care of that, pulling the curtain close before crossing to the garden door.
Just as he was about to shut it, the suspicious Welshman asked, 'Any gardener working out there? Or is it too late?'
'Mipps, my good sexton, looks after my vegetable garden, orchard and lawns, but he has finished for today.'
'Has he no assistant? Small lad or anything?'
'No. Just the churchyard donkey to pull the roller. No other helps, though it is my housekeeper who picks the flowers. She lives at the far end of the vicarage, and could not overhear us if she happened to be at home which she is not, for she has gone to the village on some errands.' The vicar shut the door, and once more taking up his stand behind his chair, he peered over the top of it at the lawyer, and said, 'And now, really sir, endeavour to be brief.' The stranger cleared his throat, then, seeming to find it difficult to find the right words for a start, he shut his eyes, opened them again and stared hard at the vicar, who smiled and said, 'Well, sir?'
'It is a very peculiar business and difficult to broach.'
'I await your pleasure, sir,' replied the vicar. 'May I suggest that you plunge into it boldly. You need not mince words.'
'Then let me begin by telling you something, reverend sir, which perhaps you have never noticed.'
'That should be interesting. What?' The lawyer with a great effort spoke emphatically but quickly. 'There are some sorts of men who, once they have made up their minds to accomplish a certain thing, will go to any lengths in order to do so.'
'I think I have noticed that,' replied the vicar. 'You must not think that a country parson is never encountered with desperate men. Since I took Holy Orders many years ago, I have met more than my share, I assure you.'
'And can you tell a desperate man when you meet him?' asked the other.
'Would you for instance take me for one?'
'Why, really, sir, our acquaintance has been of the shortest, but from what I have seen of you, I think that, however desperate you were, you would be too sensible to become a menace to the community.'
The lawyer leaned forward and spoke very gravely. 'I am not so sure about that, Doctor Syn. I sincerely hope that I shall not be forced to do anything criminal, having spent my life on the right side of the law. But of late I have been driven desperate indeed. All the way from Wales, this feeling of desperation has grown, and before it takes disastrous effects, I appeal to you to save me from becoming—well, a “menace", as you say.'
'I wish you would speak plainly,' urged the doctor, growing irritated with all this rigmarole.
Suddenly there was a loud report of a gun. The Welshman sprang up from his chair crying out, 'What's that?' Doctor Syn laughed. 'A gun. A sporting gun. Our squire is giving his seventeen-year-old son a lesson in rook-shooting. I do not permit the churchyard birds to be interfered with in their rookery, partly because they are taking sanctuary in holy ground and partly because I have a likeness to the birds. They are so like black-coated parsons with their wise ways. But I have compromised with the squire by telling him young Denis may fire at the birds outside the churchyard. He has never hit one yet, I am glad to say.'
'I am indebted to him,' replied the Welshman.
Doctor Syn, noticing his right hand as fidgeting in his side-pocket asked him casually, 'In what way? Are you, too, fond of rooks?'
'I am indebted to him, reverend sir, because another shot will not attract attention, and I feared that,' whispered the lawyer tensely. He turned sideways to the doctor. His hand came out of his pocket, and the vicar saw the glint of a barrel. There was a deafening report and the study filled with smoke.
When the smoke cleared, Doctor Syn was still leaning against the tall back of the chair, with a smile upon his face, a smoking pistol in his hand.
Mipps stood beside the lawyer, with his pistol covering him.
The lawyer, with his thumb dripping blood, his pistol with broken butt lying against the foot of the bookcase, watched, with an expression of bewilderment upon his face, the cushion which Doctor Syn had thrown down so dramatically upon the floor, and which he was now with calm leisure picking up again.
Quite frankly Doctor Syn enjoyed the situation, and showed it in his smile; it was so droll.
With equal frankness, Mipps was disgusted by it. That the Welsh lawyer could have had the wicked impertinence to draw a pistol against one whom he thought to have been an unarmed parson made his own trigger finger itch to pull.
It was the lawyer who broke the silence by exclaiming peevishly, 'I knew that I should bungle the whole business! It seems, sir, that you were well prepared for me. I mean the pistol under the cushion, and the cushion jumping on to the floor just at the right time. This man, too, behind the curtain. Now how exactly did I give my secret away? I am curious to know that at least.'
'We were prepared, that is all,' explained the vicar politely. 'We did not know that you intended to gamble with death, as you called it, at my expense.
But we have a way down in this part of the world of not being taken by surprise. You must admit that I was not inhospitable. I hid my pistol beneath this cushion, so that it could give you no offence, and I hid my sexton behind that curtain, to put you at ease, by letting you jump to the conclusion that he had gone out the garden door. And now, sir, when I have attended to your finger, and Mr. Mipps has given you a glass of brandy, which is excellent, I assure you, since it was given me from the squire's cellars, and not from the free-traders, I shall ask you of your charity to satisfy my curiosity, by explaining your motive in thus wishing to murder me in cold blood. I confess that I am glad your gambling with death was not all upon your side.'
'I never wished to murder you, nor could I have done,' grumbled the lawyer.
'Nothing was further from my intentions, I assure you. I merely wish to force you to accompany me to Wales in order that someone up there, more resolute, more unscrupulous than myself, may murder you. For believe me, he wants to and will, unless of course you succeed in murdering him first.'
'May I ask the name of this attentive enemy?' asked Syn.
'Tarroc Dolgenny,' replied the lawyer. 'He has made his name in North Wales, and I may add that he will make it even bigger in hell.'
'Does he pretend to know me?' asked the vicar. 'I never heard his name before, and you must own that Tarroc Dolgenny is a mouthful that one would not readily forget the taste of; but unless he has at some other time gone under another title, I do not know him.'
'He only knows you by name, Doctor Syn, and like myself took you for a medical man. Indeed, divinity in connection with you never entered our heads. I may add that he first heard of your name through me, and I wish I had never told him, since it has put me into this extremely awkward position.'
'But what is your grudge against me, then?' asked the amazed vicar. 'For you I have none. Ah, but here is the brandy. Thank you, Mr. Mipps. And I see you have procured a bandage from the same cupboard. Now sir, if you will allow me, I can ease the pain, for I know something of doctoring, as I have been a mission preacher in the wild parts of America, and to be able to heal the body is a very sure way of healing the soul too, amongst the heathen. Now after we have tied this up, and fortunately I see that it is not at all serious, since the bullet is embedded in the wooden butt of your pistol, we will then have our drink in peace, and talk.' And making a very neat job of the bandage, and signing to Mipps to bring a third glass for himself, which needless to say Mipps had every intention of doing, Doctor Syn raised his glass and said, 'The King and ourselves.' He then smiled again and added, 'And, oh yes, Tarroc Dolgenny, whoever and wherever he may be.'
'No, I'll not drink to him, save to his damnation, which is a sure toast,' replied the Welshman vehemently. Then, changing his expression to one of kindness and goodwill, he also added to the toast, 'In spite of Dolgenny I wish you long life, reverend sir.'
'Aye, aye,' chimed in Mipps, which made the Welshman add with something of an effort to conquer his personal dislike of the sexton, 'And to you also, Mr. Mipps.' He took one sip of the brandy and nodded his appreciation, and as the others drank, Doctor Syn slowly, Mipps at one gulp, he asked suddenly, 'Did you ever hear tell of a bloody field called Culloden?' Doctor Syn looked surprised, but answered gravely, 'I have reason to remember it well, sir, and with much sadness. My father was killed there, fighting upon what must now be considered the wrong side.'
'Aye, and three of his brothers killed with him,' went on the lawyer with some bitterness. 'The Bonny Prince robbed you of a father and of three good uncles too.'
'That is so,' said Doctor Syn.
'May they all rest in peace,' continued the lawyer, 'for I have heard tell that they were worthy men. Your father, Septimus Syn, was especially admired by my good father. They had much in common, those two gentlemen, for they were both clever lawyers, and they both fought for the Prince.'
'Do you mean to tell me that they met at Culloden?' asked the vicar.
The lawyer nodded. 'Aye, reverend sir, and before that too. But at the great disaster to the cause, it was the same cannon ball that killed your father which wounded my father too. Did you ever hear how very gallantly your father died?' Doctor Syn pointed to the panelling behind the lawyer's back. 'That sword which you see hanging there was his. A Dymchurch man who followed my father brought it back with him, and told my mother that he had taken it from his dead hand. So we knew he died fighting to the last.'
'When he was struck,' continued the lawyer, 'that weapon was sent flying several yards away. At that very moment the redcoats launched another attack, and though mortally wounded, Septimus Syn crawled after his sword, waved it in the air, and with his last breath cried out to those around him to advance.
The Scots line rallied under his encouragement, leaped forward and met the bayonets with their claymores, as he died. One of your uncles happened to fall dead upon the body of my wounded father, who till the day of his death, some fifteen years ago, always maintained that it was due to this that he was saved, for a party of the enemy who were killing the wounded passed him by as dead.
Your other two uncles were shot during the retreat.'
'You are better informed of all this than I,' replied the doctor, 'for all I knew was that my father died honourably with that sword in his hand. Though a man of peace myself, I keep that blade not only bright but sharp in my good father's honour. With me it went to the Americas, where in spite of my cloth I was often glad of such a weapon. I thank you, sir, for this information, and we will fill our glasses once more to drink to our fathers, though not perhaps to the cause for which they fought.' Mipps readily refilled the glasses, including his own, and when they had drunk the doctor set down his glass and said, 'But now, sir, taking it for granted that you have not undertaken this long journey of yours to improve my knowledge of our family histories, I am eager to understand why you should come here to force me up north in order that a man you hate should murder me.'
'I am coming to that explanation, sir,' replied the lawyer, once more sitting down in the chair facing the window. 'It is a long and curious story, sir, but I will endeavour to keep it as brief as possible.'
As Doctor Syn was about to sit down too, he noticed that his housekeeper was passing the window on her return from the village, and this put him in mind of supper.
'I fear, sir,' he said, 'that you must be very hungry after your long coach ride, and I know that you have not yet supped.'
'I shall eat later at the inn, sir,' replied the lawyer. 'I was told that I could have something cold with hot punch at any hour I liked. Though I have no desire to detain you from your food, I must own that I should like to explain myself before taking leave of you, so that you may have the night to consider what I propose. I promise you that I will not weary you. On the contrary I think what I have to say will awaken your very liveliest interests.' The vicar nodded. 'Your cold supper at the inn can easily be cancelled by Mr. Mipps. Take another glass of brandy, my good Mipps, and then tell my housekeeper that I shall have a hungry guest to sup with me, and will she lay two covers as soon as possible. Perhaps you will lend her a hand before carrying the message to the “Ship", where no doubt you can eat your supper while we are eating ours.' Mipps looked at the stranger doubtfully, and then picked up the damaged pistol. 'Shall I see first if the gentleman from Wales has any more artillery in his other pockets, sir?'
'Have no fear of me, Mister Sexton,' said the lawyer.
'Caution ain't fear, sir,' replied Mipps.
'And believe me, I never intended to murder your master,' added the lawyer.
'And “Opportunity's a fine thing” is a good proverb,' snapped the sexton.
'There, there,' laughed Doctor Syn, 'if I can take this gentleman's word that his pistol was only to threaten, why, so must you. You can call round later and give me any news of the parish. By the way, have you heard any more from Mother Handaway?'
'Slight improvement, sir,' replied the sexton solemnly. 'Doctor Pepper has seen her and has given her something to make her sleep well tonight, but he asked me to say that he would be pleased if you could visit her tomorrow at the usual hour, as your conversing of the scriptures gives her more relief than his physics.'
'Tomorrow will suit me better, for I can now give longer time to Mr. Jones here. Thank you, Mr. Mipps.' Doctor Syn waved his hand towards the door. Just as Mipps was opening it, he added, 'And I am sure Mr. Jones would urge it just as much as I do, that we do not say a word about this pistol business. Mrs. Fowey is extremely attached to me, and if you mention it and she did not grasp Mr. Jones's motive, she might either spoil his supper with bad cooking or even poison.'
'If you say so, sir, then not a word will be uttered by me.' Saying which, Mipps sidled round the door and was about to close it, when he popped his head round again and said to the Welshman, 'If so be you was to gain confidence, me being away this time really, and starts threatening again, let me tell you, sir, that the ways of the Marsh are tricky, all beset with deep dykes where strangers can be lost and cut off. We Marshmen knows the ways of them, and we also is very fond of our vicar's safety and dignity. Good evening, sir, and I have given you the warning of the Marsh.'
'Be off with you,' laughed the doctor, and then as the door closed he said to the Welshman, 'a droll character, sir!'
'Very droll, certainly,' agreed the lawyer. 'But faithful, I should imagine. A one man's servant, eh?'
'Exactly,' nodded Syn. 'We have both been deeply indebted to one another more times than I can say.' The vicar's mind wandered back to the days they had spent in the Caribbean Seas. Picture after picture; adventurous and terrible situations, in which either he was saving Mipps, or Mipps was rescuing him; Indians, pirates, and huge seas.
The Welshman set his glass down beside him, and the movement brought the vicar back to his present obligations.
'I declare your remark sent me into a daydream, or rather a series of day nightmares, for my servant and I have seen strange things in our time. But it occurs to me that, instead of discussing my sexton, we had better take another drink to whet our appetites, since my housekeeper gets vastly offended if justice is not done to what she prepares. Now I have a very excellent sherry that I should like you to try.'
'Sherry is good, when it is good,' replied the lawyer.
Doctor Syn strode to the door to fetch the drink in question, but as he opened it he perceived Mipps carrying a tray with three glasses and a bottle of sherry, for he had anticipated the vicar's wish. The latter crossed the hall to meet him.
'Supper will be served in five minutes, sir.' Then, sinking his voice to a whisper, he said, 'I brought three glasses, sir, in case you needed an excuse to ask me in as a watch-dog. And shall I stand behind his chair at supper?' The vicar grinned and touched the third glass. 'You may take that away with you and fill it with rum, which I warrant you prefer. There is little danger in this man, and none that I cannot frustrate.'
'Well, if you thinks you can frustrate, whatever that means,' whispered Mipps, 'I'll go and frustrate a noggin or so of rum, which I prefers to wine.' As he took away the third glass Mipps told himself that for once he would have preferred to listen to whatever the Welshman had to say, rather than taste the joy of rum. He thought that the vicar was being over-confident; he himself could not abide the fat little lawyer. It was also annoying that his tongue had been tied about the matter. His cronies at the 'Ship' would expect a good yarn with full details, and he was not in the position to give it to them. However, he was inventive. There was nothing against telling them some tale about the stranger out of his own head. But he would keep it mysterious. And so after telling Mrs. Fowey, the housekeeper, to keep her ears open, and if the stranger did not behave himself to come over to the 'Ship' and he would deal with it, he trotted away to that pleasant house of call.
Meanwhile, Doctor Syn, having re-entered the study armed with the tray, poured out two glasses and toasted the Welshman with, 'Here's to our good fathers, who died for the master they loved. Our Bonny Prince had many good servants, just as I have one.'
'Aye, no doubt they thought so too when they went north,' replied the Welshman. 'I'll drink to your father, but I amend the toast by saying that they died for their own honour at the end and not so much for the Bonny Prince. Did you ever hear, now, what they took north with them besides their loyalty and their swords?'
'If you mean what most of them took—money. Aye, my old uncle, Solomon Syn, the attorney at Romney, told my other that he begrudged the sum that should have come to us, which my father carried with him in the Prince's cause, for since the cause was lost, he considered the money wasted. When my mother asked him how much had been taken, Uncle Solomon told her that she had best be ignorant of that, since it might get our goods distrained by the English Government. So we never knew, but my father being a careful man, we conjectured it would be no great hole in our fortunes that he would make. We knew my father to be well supplied, but he kept money matters to himself and to Uncle Solomon.'
'Aye, he would have the knack. He was a lawyer,' nodded the Welshman.
'He was Clerk to the Court House here, and managed the estate of Sir Charles Cobtree, as well as making collection of Marsh cotts for the maintenance of the wall. He knew money matters well. None better.'
'Aye, that he did,' agreed the lawyer. 'My father too. Now, what sum would you guess that he took north with him? This is no idle curiosity on my part, for I know.'
'Some four or five hundred pounds perhaps,' guessed Syn.
'He took a vast sum, reverend sir. Make your hundreds thousands and you have it. Five thousand pounds! The Prince allowed himself to be influenced, and sometimes very foolishly. Now this was a case in point. He should never have let your father and my father think they had been slighted, for that money and other sums as big might have put him on the English throne.'
'But do you mean the Prince slighted them?' asked the vicar.
'Well I suppose not, not wilfully,' went on the lawyer. 'But they took themselves at their own valuation. Though the Prince never knew about the money they had brought, he lost it, because he did not make enough to-do about our fathers. And what did they do? Why, collected others of the same breed— gentlemen who had brought swords and wealth—and persuaded them that the commands were only given to those who flattered the Prince. This was no doubt true, and our lawyer fathers took a strange attitude. Fight for the Prince they would, since honour demanded that of them as they had passed their word. But there was no obligation, they said, to pay in the money they had never mentioned nor promised. When the Prince was in Edinburgh, our two fathers had discovered a sound banker who could be trusted to keep their counsel, was scrupulously honest with other people's money, respected English Law as well as Scotch, and seldom criticized his client's wishes. Till they saw what the Prince intended to do for them in the way of promotion and honour, they placed their money, five thousand each, in the banker's hands. Your father's three brothers brought five thousand between them. It was easy to get them to follow suit. Two other disgruntled gentlemen were also found who were ready to bide their time and see what the Prince would do. The Prince did nothing. They demanded interviews, but were fobbed off by those around his royal pretended majesty. Once they got word with the Prince, but he was surrounded by his satellites even then, and so the money he would have welcomed and paid for with empty titles was never mentioned. The Prince tried hard to hide his boredom with these amateur soldiers who expected to lead regiments, when they had only a few personal followers. But there was money enough to equip their regiments had the Prince but known. Now, Doctor Syn, what do you suppose they actually did with that money?'
'I have not the faintest conception,' replied the doctor. 'Had they left it where it was in that bank, the banker, if he were as honest as you say, would have traced in each case the man who owned the money, or, if he were dead, his next of kin.' The Welshman shook his head. 'No, for they saved him that immediate trouble. Remember, reverend sir, that all your family under arms were of the legal profession. My father too. They drew up the contract with the banker at a good fair rate. Tell me, did you ever hear of a Neapolitan banker called Nicholas Lorenzo Tonti?' Before Doctor Syn could reply, his sedate old, acid-faced housekeeper, Mrs. Fowey, tapped at the door, then entered and announced that supper was served in the dining-room.
'One more glass of sherry, sir,' cried Syn, 'and then we will drink a bottle with our meal.'
They drank in silence, Doctor Syn thinking deeply, and the lawyer desirous only of continuing his story. When they had set down their glasses, Doctor Syn said, 'This way.' As the Welshman followed his host across the hall towards the candle-lit room, the doctor turned round and, clapping both hands on his guest's shoulders, cried, 'I see where you are driving! They formed a Tontine!' The lawyer nodded. 'They did. And a good one too. But what do you know of Tontines?'
'I'll tell you that, when you tell me what you think of my wine,' laughed the vicar. 'This way.' It was obvious to Doctor Syn that Mipps must have warned the housekeeper to keep an eye upon the guest. Never one to hide resentment, she showed only too plainly her entire disapproval of the Welshman. She carried from the side table the plateful of cold game pie which the vicar carved, and handed it to the lawyer at arm's length. This was not lost upon Doctor Syn, and fearing she might become really unmannerly, he said, 'Thank you, Mrs. Fowey. We need not worry you any further.' With an audible sniff of disapproval, Mrs. Fowey departed for the kitchen, while Doctor Syn poured out the wine. The lawyer was for continuing his narrative, but his host forbade, saying that it would keep very well till the port or brandy, but must not delay the appeasing of this guest's appetite.
When the table was finally cleared and both gentlemen were becoming mellow over their wine, Doctor Syn repeated, 'And so they formed a Tontine? As I said before.'
'And as I said before,' said the lawyer, 'what do you know of Tontines?'
'Oh, I know all about them,' replied the vicar, 'for my father often spoke of that Neapolitan banker who introduced his system into France during the last century. A legacy left amongst several persons in such a way that, as any one dies, his share goes to the survivors till the last alive inherits all.'
'Ably put,' nodded the lawyer. 'You are will-informed. And so was the Edinburgh banker I mentioned, as regards investments. That twenty-five thousand pounds as invested by our warrior fathers, your uncles and two other companions of arms, has already trebled itself. There is, in fact, the sum of approximately seventy-five thousand waiting to be claimed by the surviving son of the founders, and there are only two men left alive with a claim—myself and yourself. All the rest are dead.'
'Good heavens. And was that the reason you thought to kill me? A motive certainly, Doctor Syn laughed.
The Welshman looked nettled. 'No, no,' he answered testily, 'I have told you I had no intention of doing so, and you must take my word for it. But the man who persuaded me to threaten your life in order that I might get you to accompany me to Wales, ah now, he will murder you if he gets the chance, and then murder me too.'
'And supposing he did,' asked Doctor Syn, 'what possible claim would he have on the money?'
'The right of a husband over the property of his wife,' replied the lawyer.
'And unless I can beat him by law, which I fear I shall not do, he will marry my heiress in order to get that property.'
'You stated that you were unmarried,' remarked Syn. 'Then this heiress.
'My niece. My only sister's child. She is an orphan and I am her guardian.
The most beautiful girl in Wales. Her name is Ann Sudden. Her father, a Cheshire man, appointed head of the customs for the North Wales ports, was killed by the same man who wants to kill you.'
'Do you know that?' demanded the vicar.
'In my mind, yes; but I have no proofs. Tarroc Dolgenny is not the sort of man to leave a clue against him.'
'And how was your brother-in-law killed?' asked the vicar.
'Disappeared after a visit to Dolgenny's estate. My sister, her husband, and daughter, had supped with him. He took them home to my sister's house in a phaeton which he drove himself. There was no room for my brother-in-law, so he said he would walk the short cut across the sands. There was a moon and the tide was out. He knew the safe path, and none better, but his hat came floating into the harbour the next day.'
'And he was drowned?' asked the vicar.
'It was generally agreed that he had been caught in the quicksands,' replied the lawyer. 'That is probably true, for the quicksands on Tremadoc Bay take a heavy toll of life. At low tide when there is but a river running through the yellow-floored estuary, it is only the few that can pass safely, for the devil in the sand shifts quickly from tide to tide, and what is safe walking one day is deadly the next. It is well named the Devil's Larder, and there is a devil in human shape who supplies much food for it. Yes, reverend sir, Tarroc Dolgenny, who murders his enemies and throws their bodies into the Devil's Larder!'
'Where he wants to throw us in order that he may claim the Tontine of our fathers?' Doctor Syn began to chuckle. 'Shall we play a hand against this devil? You say he sent you down here to threaten me?' The lawyer nodded gravely. 'He told me to seek you out, when I heard from the Edinburgh banker that the son of one of our fathers' companions was dead. This left us two.'
'But why did not the banker try to find me?' asked Syn.
'He wrote a year or so ago to Lydd, where Solomon Syn, your guardian, lived. The banker gave no reason, and was informed that you had gone to America and were believed to be dead. The banker insisted upon some proof of this, so I decided to travel down to see if I could find anything, for you were the only bar to my good fortune. When Dolgenny heard of my purpose, he said, “If he is alive, kill him.” When I protested, he said, “Then bring him up here on some pretext and I will.” A dangerous man, Doctor Syn. He lives in a castle that is built in the estuary on a rising ridge that is well-wooded. Here he supports a band of men, who are said to make great livings as smugglers. A desperate lot of rascals, who at his command would never shrink from murdering his enemies. Perhaps my brother-in-law stumbled upon some proof of this the night he was murdered. My poor sister did not survive her husband more than a few months. Since her death Dolgenny has pestered my niece to marry him. I could wish he had never heard of the Tontine, since it has made him all the more determined to marry poor Ann. Both she and her mother were impressed by him at first, but now Ann realizes what he is. Well, she is safe enough while I am away, for she is staying at my brother's house, and there is no necessity for her to leave the grounds, which are extensive. Indeed I urged her not to, and she promised. He would not hesitate to force her into marriage if he saw the chance. A dangerous man!'
'My legal friend,' replied the doctor with a smile, 'I might be dangerous too. In fact, I rather think I shall be if I ever meet this man. And a smuggler, you say? Oh, how reprehensible!'
