At the inquiry, which was duly held at the Court House, Doctor Syn gave a simple evidence, but failed to say anything about the Sunday suit, or any other thing that might point suspicion towards Craigen. Mrs. Evenden did not appear, for, as Doctor Syn pointed out, it would be too cruel to expect her.
Craigen, however, made up for her absence by giving his evidence in a storm of sobs. In fact his obvious distress went greatly in his favour. His brothers-in-law, he said, were the best of good men, and though by their death he certainly stood to gain ownership of the family fishing boat, he would that he could forgo such fortune to have his brothers-in-law alive again. In any case he declared that he would see that his sister received full share of all his profits from fishing.
Doctor Syn chuckled at heart to hear Craigen thus playing the good man, and especially since the authorities decided that the murders had indeed been committed by the Scarecrow. Amongst others who attended the proceedings was General Troubridge, who was delighted that the elusive Scarecrow had implicated himself so seriously, and he urged that the Marshes should be scoured till the miscreant was hanged. It was not till after dinner at the Squire's, however, that Doctor Syn got a chance of any private conversation with him.
“I take it, General,” he whispered, “that you are still as anxious as I have ever been to rid the countryside of this Scarecrow.”
“More than ever now,” returned the General. “I grant that the writing on those papers is different to the other scrawled notes we have seen of the rascal's penmanship. But your beadle is right in affirming that any murderer must first disguise his writing.”
“I do not quite see that,” replied Doctor Syn. “Why would he wish to disguise writing that he put his name so boldly upon?”
“Ah,” replied the General knowingly. “The ways of criminals are very irresponsible. I have not the slightest doubt but that the Scarecrow did murder these men. Indeed, I will go so far as to say that I shall order my men to shoot him on sight, rather than run the risk of taking him prisoner and letting him do another miraculous escape.”
“Your attitude delights me,” whispered the Vicar. “We are going to get him this time, I think, sir. Read this.” Doctor Syn handed the General a letter which was obviously written in the up-and-down hand of the Scarecrow. It read:
Doctor Syn, you are becoming a menace to me, but I have no desire to kill a man of God, who is trusted by the worst characters on Romney Marsh. I would rather bargain with you, and you shall find that my bargaining will greatly benefit your parish. I therefore propose to lay my propositions before you in confidence and in your Vicarage on Tuesday night, when I shall call upon you at midnight. There is no need to add that any treachery upon your part, which I do not look for, will be met with the direst reprisals against your Church and happiness. In any case you will listen to what I have to say if you are the sensible man I take you to be. —The Scarecrow.
When Doctor Syn unfolded his plan of dealing with this extraordinary situation, the General was so delighted that he detailed Major Faunce and a picked troop of Dragoons to put themselves under order of the Vicar of Dymchurch.
Thus it was that after the most careful preparation between Major Faunce, the Vicar and the sexton, Tuesday night at a quarter before twelve of the clock saw three men in the sheltered study of Doctor Syn. These three were the Vicar, the sexton and Craigen.
Now Craigen had for the last few days drunk himself into a glorious state of self-congratulation at the clever way in which he had hoodwinked judge and jury. But there was one thing which disturbed any feeling of security, and that was the mysterious disappearance of John's blood-stained suit.
In spite of his long spell of drinking since the inquiry, he remembered vividly that he had put it safely in the cupboard ceiling. Who then had taken it? It was in the hope of discovering this danger that had induced him to obey the Vicar's urgent request for him to visit him on that Tuesday night. Mipps had told him that his life was in danger, but that the good Vicar, whose province it was to look after the blackest sheep, was desirous of saving him. Thus it was that Craigen listened to the true version of his crimes, while Doctor Syn talked on with a pistol in his right hand and a gilt button in his left.
“I picked this up in the cabin of the Evenden boat,” he said. “You deceived the Judge and jury, but not me, my friend. I recognized the button. I saw the three rings cut from the ladder, and God showed me what had happened. You dressed yourself in John's clothes so that no blood should stain your own. You wait for Edmond in the darkness. As he falls you stab, knowing that John would be accused since you had spread the lie about their quarrel. Then your cunning plan miscarries. Hardly had you raised yourself from your first victim, but the next falls in upon you. John, rushing to the rescue, is also a victim of your knife, and while crouching over your second prey you conceive the thought of implicating the Scarecrow. Fool. The Scarecrow is a criminal who never makes mistakes. You do. You should have noticed this button. You should not have allowed me to give you Doctor Pepper's sleeping draught, for as soon as you were asleep I searched and found these.” With his foot Doctor Syn lifted the lid of the iron chest and Craigen stared with horror at the blood-stained suit.
This discovery unnerved Craigen. “Hide them!” he whispered hoarsely.
Doctor Syn let the heavy lid fall back with a clang, and as if in echo there came a sharp knocking at the front door.
“See who it is, Mipps,” ordered Syn.
Mipps returned with disquieting news for Craigen.
“It's a party of them Night-riders sent by the Scarecrow, Vicar. They wants to hang Craigen on the gallows in front of the Court House.”
“Did you admit he was here?” asked Syn fearfully.
“No,” replied Mipps. “But I said the Scarecrow was, and searching the house. He'll be coming out soon to search the stables, I says, and his orders is that you're to lie hid till Craigen appears.”
“Why did you say that?” asked the Vicar.
“Because, sir,” went on Mipps, “I remembered our old scarecrow in the turnip patch. Because I has also a dislike of seeing a man, even Craigen here, wriggling for life on our gallows. It's too near the churchyard where I works.
Because the garden being full of men waiting for Craigen, the only way he can get away to his boat is to dress in the scarecrow's rags.” Craigen looked at Mipps in adoration, so that Doctor Syn, who had rehearsed Mipps in this very speech, was able to wink his amusement before adding: “Get the rags, then, while Craigen signs this confession of his crime.
And mark this, Craigen. If ever you return to this Marsh you shall hang.” After dressing in the rags, Craigen signed and gladly accepted a purse of guineas to help him on his way. Then they let him out of the front door, closed it and waited. They heard his step on the gravel. A sharp word of command, and then a crackle of musketry. A fall, a rush of feet and then a knocking at the door. Mipps opened the door, and the Vicar walked out wearily. “Well?” he asked.
“The Scarecrow is dead,” replied Major Faunce.
“And so would we have been if the Vicar hadn't given him a purse of guineas,” said Mipps.
“Which I have great pleasure in restoring, reverend sir,” replied the Major.
“May I add that you have played a brave part tonight in trapping this rascal for us.”
“Are you quite sure he is dead?” asked Doctor Syn nervously.
“Be easy, sir,” laughed the soldier. “I believe every shot went home. You may sleep soundly while we carry the body to Dover Castle to be hung in chains.” But Doctor Syn did not sleep. No sooner had the Dragoons ridden away with Craigen's body stretched on an empty cannon carriage brought for the purpose, than the Vicar was riding on his pony towards the secret stable on the Marsh in which was kept the Scarecrow's horse Gehenna. Clad once more in his Scarecrow's rags, he turned to Mipps, who had preceded him, and said, “Come to me tomorrow and hear how the Dragoons witnessed the Scarecrow's resurrection.” Then he galloped away towards Dover.
On the brow of the hill above Dover Town the Dragoons had halted, for a gust of wind had blown the sacking from the corpse. As they adjusted it a raucous voice cried out from the darkness: “You may kill my body but you'll never stop the Scarecrow's ghost from riding Romney Marsh. So to our next merry meeting, my valiant Dragoons.” And then with a ringing of hoofs and diabolical yells the great black spectre of the Scarecrow thundered past them and vanished in the night.
