Doctor Syn listened gravely to the sexton's story and immediately ordered his white pony to be saddled.
“I must get the last proof against this Brazlett,” he said. “When a man comes to die, one cannot be too careful, and when General Troubridge tells me that Brazlett is a traitor, then I will see that his death sentence is carried out.”
“You say that you are playing a lone hand against these scoundrels in Dymchurch, and, reverend sir, I can well believe it. From the Squire to the sexton, the interest is on the side of the law-breakers. But take comfort, for if I have my will, the cream of your village will appear at the next Assizes to answer grievous charges of full proof. I know I may count on your co-operation.
You and Farmer Brazlett will be able to make a very good case for the Crown.
Frankly, I distrust your Squire.”
“Brazlett?” echoed Doctor Syn in a tone of surprise.
“Aye, you can count on him,” beamed the General. “He needs money, and we are prepared to pay it for information that will break this Scarecrow's tyranny. And by God, sir, we'll get him this time.” After the loyallest protestations, Doctor Syn returned to Dymchurch, summoned the sexton, and laid plans accordingly, which included the ordering of twelve men, well trusted and as as strong in limb and as in purpose, to be hidden before midnight between the sea-wall and the great sluice-gate.
That night Mr. Fragg was enjoying his lonely supper in the Ship Inn common room when Tolling approached him. “Excuse me, sir,” he said, “but Mr. Brazlett asked me to give you a secret message. If you will be beneath the sea-wall by the great sluice-gate at midnight he will show you the Scarecrow himself. You must not carry firearms, lest you are tempted to use them, for that, he says, would ruin all. I will be here before midnight to guide you to the spot, and let me add that I am with you and Brazlett in wishing to stamp out this scourge from the Marsh.” Mrs. Waggetts saw Tolling leave the bar—“for home", he said. A few minuted later Mr. Fragg said that since his head was humming with so much drink, he would walk out into the night before turning in. He did not return.
Mrs. Waggetts, who had taken a dislike to him from his sharp treatment of her favourite Mipps, locked up the inn and went to bed. “He can knock all night for me,” she said. “I'll not keep awake on the whim of a foreigner.” Her sleep was not disturbed, for next morning the body of the “foreigner” was found in the mud-banks of the sluice, and it was perhaps significant that not a paper was found in his pockets. Mrs. Waggetts had to search his valise to discover his name and home address. It was obvious that an inquest upon a stranger did not materially depress the community of Dymchurch, since it occurred during the festive season of Christmas. Foreigners should not drink heavily and then attempt a midnight walk, not knowing the dangers of open sluices.
Doctor Syn had other matters to depress him. He took it very badly that Hugh Brazlett, “his pattern parishioner", and as he called him, was putting up his farm for sale and leaving for London. The good Vicar headed a testimonial for him and went from house to house persuading his flock that they must give good Brazlett a substantial purse and as a token of the affection and respect with which he was held.
“There is to be the annual junketing on New Year's Eve in the tithe barn,” he said, “and the Squire has graciously consented to present Hugh Brazlett with our good thanks and wishes. Twenty-five years in the choir and altogether a devoted parishioner.” The whole village were invited to the party at the Squire's expense. Mr. Mipps was fully occupied, what with knocking up Fragg's coffin at the charge of the Customs, and directing the decorations in the barn. Holly, bay and rosemary, and the jovial mistletoe in great profusion. And what a party it was that night! There was supper and dances, games and the Mummers' Masque performed on a temporary stage erected by Mr. Mipps for the occasion. This also served for the presentation, which was handled upon the stage by the Squire in a specially made purse. Sir Antony spoke charmingly of what Brazlett and Brazlett's ancestors had done for Dymchurch, while Doctor Syn, seconding, called him good and faithful servant and wished him in the name of the parish good luck in the new sphere of life to which he had been called. “The only thing we have to complain about,” he added, “is the fact that he is leaving us, and yet perhaps when some of our young girls have done with him, his leaving will prove to be an impossibility.” Here the good Vicar clapped his hands, upon which signal the fiddler, oboe and drum began to play, and from all corners of the stage there danced on a singing chorus of girls. Each girl untied her sash and bound the embarrassed Brazlett tightly to his chair, singing: “You shall not leave us. You cannot leave us. We have tied you to the parish with the sashes of our hearts.” Poor Brazlett blushed at some of the things the girls whispered, but all was taken in good part until the diversion happened.
A great yule log was blazing on the open hearth to keep those folk warm who could not dance, and suddenly, and presumably done by some practical joker, a bucket of water was thrown down the chimney. With a mighty hiss of steam the log went out, and as the Vicar was sternly rebuking the jest and as in bad taste, a woman chanced to look up at the ceiling. She screamed and as she pointed, for she had seen two blackened hands and arms appear through a hole in the ceiling, feeling down towards the hook that held the tallow lights. Before the rest had a chance to follow her pointing fingers, these black fingers unhooked the light and dropped it, full weight, upon the floor beneath. The barn was in darkness. Women screamed and overturned the benches. Children cried and men swore. Above the uproar came the loud but calming voice of Doctor Syn, exhorting them not to panic, for he would find candles if everyone would only keep still.
Everyone obeyed. Nobody moved. The silence that ensued was only broken by some giggling girls, which Doctor Syn applauded and as a healthy sign. But these healthy sounds did not predominate, for almost immediately there arose in the darkness a scream not of this world, an unearthly sound that, arising in full strength, seemed to dwindle and gurgle down to hell. Again Doctor Syn's calming voice cried out that since many people disliked the dark, it was unfair of this joking screamer to add to their discomfort. “Whoever it was, it is a silly trick.”
“A silly trick?” echoed a ghastly raucous voice in reply. “It is no trick, reverend fool. I put out the fire for a purpose. I let crash the lights for the same purpose. My name and fifty-seven good men's names were betrayed by that cowardly villain Brazlett whom you delight to humour. But it is I, the Scarecrow, who have seen that he has paid the penalty. Now, Doctor Syn, you may light your fresh candles and look upon Smugglers' Justice. Good-bye.” At this there was a great screaming, pushing and trampling in the dark, but above it all arose still the brave calm voice of Doctor Syn calling for a tinderbox. After some considerable delay, which did not improve the hysterical tension, a light was procured, but on the first candle-flame that leapt from it, the panic broke out worse at the sight which met their terrified eyes.
Above the stage in mid air swung the sitting body of Hugh Brazlett. The four logs of the armchair to which he had been bound by the girls' sashes revolved slowly, suspended by the running noose that was round the dead man's neck. And as the growing candle-light increased against the horror of darkness, women and children—aye, and men too—cowered from the grisly sight, but too scared were they of the grim Scarecrow to venture outside the barn doors into the night.
The Scarecrow had done his work quickly and well. When the chaired body was cut down, life was extinct and the presentation purse had disappeared from his clutching fingers. When the roof was searched, they found, fixed to a beam, the pulley which had hoisted the victim to eternity, and a great hole in the plaster, hidden by a holly branch, through which the fatal rope had been dropped upon the chair. Another hole was found immediately above the hook from which had hung the chandelier.
That night, after the bells had tolled out the old year and welcomed in the next, Mipps closed the study door of the Vicarage and grinned and as Doctor Syn handed him a glass of brandy.
“It was a good thing, Vicar, you thought of that bucket of water for the fire.
Couldn't have done the murder in the firelight.” Doctor Syn smiled and as he sipped his brandy. “It is always a good thing, my good Mipps, to think of everything in an emergency. Happy New Year.”
