It did not take long for the hue and cry to reach Dymchurch. Neither did it take certain 'gentlemen' long to realise that Grinsley's death was the best thing that could happen for their own safety, and in an effort to prevent him being taken alive for trial, they seized weapons and with a show of great indignation they hurried to the hill behind the Marsh. They carried firearms in self-defence they said, as Grinsley was the sort to sell his life dearly. It was a rational excuse. Dr. Syn watched the angry mob rush off upon the trail, and thinking it to be as well that someone in authority should be on the spot to restrain them, he followed the hue and cry, riding up towards Aldington on his white pony.
On the way he met Charlotte Cobtree riding towards him.
“I rode out with my father behind the Dragoons,” she said, drawing rein. “But when I saw all the people looking so grim, I had to come away. The man Grinsley is a scoundrel, but there are so many against him.”
“They have not caught him?” asked the doctor.
“No, but in time they must,” she answered. “I heard them planning to burn him out. They think they have missed him beating the Fright. But to burn a man out—why, one wouldn't do that to a fox.”
“I'm afraid this man has little reason to earn your sympathy, my dear Charlotte,” said Dr. Syn. “A fight is a fight, but what chance did he give that unfortunate riding-officer, who was but fulfilling his unpleasant duty?”
“I know, I know,” nodded Charlotte. “But he's a fugitive—and—oh, I know it's all wrong—it must be, but I always want to shield a fugitive.”
“That is your beautiful nature, Charlotte,” Dr. Syn smiled sadly. “Surely, every crime committed should be traced back to its first cause and every criminal that is condemned should be allowed credit or discredit for his past life. In Grinsley's case, I fear it would not help him, though. He has been a bad man. No, my dear, he has been mean and cruel, dishonest.”
“And yet he was once a little boy—” said Charlotte. “And I should think of him like that if I were to see him caught by all those angry people.”
“My dear Charlotte, it would be worth being a fugitive from the law if one could take shelter with you. And yet were I in such a pass, I should not take that haven for fear of disappointing you.”
“Oh, you,” she laughed, and then, growing serious, added: “But if you were a fugitive and turned away from me, I should then have real cause for disappointment. Oh yes, I should, and I can repeat your sentence that was so complimentary. It would be worth it to me, did I know you were not the saint you are; yes, it would be worth that anxiety to know that I could perhaps stand before you and shield you.”
“Thank you, Charlotte. I sometimes believe that whatever I had done or were to do, that you would still treat me with the same sweet kindness.”
“Will you remember that you have said that, please?” she asked.
“Why do you say that?” asked the doctor.
“Because I want you to remember it, of course, just as I shall. Do you know that when I think of that Mr. Bone, the highwayman, who is sometimes as hard-pressed as this Grinsley, I rather envy the many women and girls who take a hand in watching over his safety. Can't you take the highroad to please me, Doctor?”
“If I did,” chuckled the doctor, “I very believe I should lead the authorities a dance.”
“I am quite sure you would,” she laughed. “Well, you may lead me a dance now. I will ride with you to the hills. I think your presence there will make all different. There is a justice, a fairness written on your face that will shame the awful bloodlust that I saw in all those searching eyes. If they take him while you are there, they will take him at least mercifully.”
And so they rode together up to the hills.
It was easy enough to discover the whereabouts of the manhunt by the angry shouts of the mob. As Dr. Syn and Charlotte rode over a hillock that gave them a clear view of the commonland known as Aldington Fright, it was obvious that the hundreds of hunters were afraid of their quarry, for they hunted in strong parties that were scattered all over the Fright. Where the scrub grew thinly, they trampled, beating and prodding, but when they reached one of the innumerable clumps of thick bush they seemed afraid of putting themselves at a disadvantage, and so surrounded it at a safe distance, while two or three set light to the hiding-place. As the flames leapt angrily they watched for the leaping figure. But they watched in vain. When the fire had burnt low they would dash in with their clubs, scattering the smouldering sticks and prodding the ground in search of a charred body.
And watching from various places of vantage on the higher ground, but seeming to take no hand in the game, sat parties of Dragoons, the sun shining on their brass helmets and breastplates, and their scarlet coats showing a vivid red upon the hillocks.
All this Dr. Syn and Charlotte watched from far off.
“The soldiers seem to be leaving it all to others,” said Charlotte.
“They are ready for action though,” replied the doctor. “There's not one of them dismounted. Should Grinsley appear, you would see that the whole regiment would charge to his rescue. They know well enough that the Marsh men would sooner Grinsley was taken dead.”
“Would their vengeance go so far as to kill him without trial?” asked Charlotte.
“They are thinking more of their own safety than any vengeance,” answered the doctor. “I think none of them wish to confront Grinsley in the dock. They are telling themselves that since Grinsley deserves legal death, it is as well to give it him before he talks to the authorities.”
“You mean—they're afraid this Grinsley man will implicate them as smugglers?”
“Do you believe that any of our own Dymchurch people are in that business?”
Dr. Syn looked at Charlotte. “I would not say so for worlds to any but you or the squire, but I have every reason to fear that the majority of Dymchurch is in it up to the neck.”
“If that is so, and since you say it, I believe it, then one can only hope that this Grinsley will not be taken alive. One should not wish the worst man the further crime of suicide, but if he has taken his own life already, it will save a lot of unhappiness and disgrace amongst our poor folk.”
Now although Charlotte had already accompanied her father to the hills and had then turned her horse's head back to the Marsh in horror at what she saw, for no tender-hearted woman can endure to watch a man-hunt, yet in company with Dr. Syn she rode on round the edge of the Fright towards the first party of Dragoons. She was not only conscious of this strange perversity, but imagined, quite rightly, that her companion was too.
Charlotte had the reputation of being honestly outspoken. She was so now.
“You'll be wondering why, when I had turned from this horrible scene, I should ride back to it with you, Doctor,” she said. “I've been wondering the same thing myself, and I've just given myself the answer. It's because I have such confidence in your fairness. My father is always held to be a fair magistrate, but he is never, I think, entirely unprejudiced.”
“My dear Charlotte, what human being could claim otherwise?” objected Dr. Syn.
“I think you are the only one I ever met who could,” she answered. “I am sure that no consideration for yourself would ever lead you to deal unfairly with others. That is why I turned my horse's head. If that wretched man is caught, you will see that he is treated at least with justice.”
As they talked they had allowed their horses to walk gently on, but this conversation was interrupted by the captain of the Dragoons, who trotted away from his troop to meet them.
“So you have not yet unearthed the fox,” said Dr. Syn, as the captain drew rein and saluted.
“Not yet, sir,” replied the officer.
“But are you sure he has run to earth?” asked the doctor.
“We are sure of nothing at all, sir,” answered the captain. “The rascal may be heading for London Town this minute, and being a man of means and vast connection with rogues and thieves, he will no doubt get very effectually into some hole into which the authorities will have small chance of penetrating.”
“The last time I witnessed such a man-hunt was many years ago in Kentucky,” said Dr. Syn. “The fugitive was a renegade Indian, and the whole tribe was out after him. They were beating up just such a piece of country as the Aldington Fright.”
“I warrant these men are tame in comparison,” remarked the captain.
Dr. Syn shook his head. “On the contrary, these men are a great deal noisier. Those Indians went silently to work. They were not boisterous. They did not trample down the bushes like those fellows. They crept on silently, reading the tell-tale ground. Everything, every square foot of grass, became an informer against the miscreant. One of the braves was my good friend, and he showed me how to read the course their quarry had taken. But with these fellows crashing here and there and breaking the undergrowth with their cudgels, his skill would have been of no avail.”
“I wish we had him here nevertheless,” replied the captain.
“Perhaps his task would not have been so hopeless,” went on the doctor. “They seem to have concentrated on the thick undergrowth. Now, I should say my Indian would first take pains to read the signs along that hedge. You see, it runs from Grinsey's farm right down to the high road. If there is anything to read—yes—I should say it would be there.”
Mechanically, he touched up his pony and trotted off towards the hedge in question. Mechanically, Charlotte and the captain followed.
“Sir Antony, who has ridden into the woods there with a party of my men, told me that you had turned home in horror, Miss Cobtree,” said the captain.
“I did not want to see a man torn to pieces,” answered Charlotte.
Charlotte felt herself blushing. Did this Dragoon guess that she had enjoyed riding with the vicar.
“I changed my mind for a good reason, sir,” she explained, laughing. “I realised that the wild fury of these men would be restrained in the presence of Dr. Syn. He has a way of enforcing his wishes. Also, I had not realised that you would be here to keep order with such a strong force.”
“From what some of my men have overheard,” went on the Dragoon, looking sideways at his fair companion, “it seems that your Dymchurch men have given oath that Grinsley shall not be taken alive.”
“He committed a cold-blooded murder, didn't he?” returned Charlotte. “The sort of useless crime that enrages honest men.”
“Do you think that is the motive driving all these men to give up their day's work, Miss Cobtree?” asked the Dragoon. “I wish I could think so, but it occurs to me that they are not so disinterested. Look at the way they are beating through that clump of thicket. If Grinsley is there, he would be bound to kill one of them before being taken, and yet they court that risk. Why? Isn't it because they fear more to see Grinsley in the dock? Isn't it that they are mightily afraid of Grinsley putting them into the dock beside him?”
“You think they are implicated in the smuggling business, Captain Faunce?” she asked.
“Miss Cobtree, please believe me when I tell you that assisting the Custom Officers to catch smugglers is not only a distasteful duty to me, but to my men. It is one thing to charge an enemy in the field, for that is why we join the Colours, but quite another to assist in putting halters round the necks of our fellow-country-men. Perhaps I fail in my duty by trying not to notice things, but really the people about here are so misguided that it is difficult even to pretend that one is blind to what is so obviously going on.”
“I should hate to think that any of the Dymchurch men were implicated,” said Charlotte. “The villagers are like a family to us Cobtrees. If the men-folk are guilty, I shudder to think of the misery it will bring on their women and children.”
“But, my dear Miss Cobtree,” went on Captain Faunce, “by what I have tried not to notice and even endeavoured to forget, I assure you it is not the men who are alone to blame. Not only by encouragement, but by actual help and in some cases initiative, the women and children are in it too.”
This conversation was becoming painful to Charlotte. She genuinely loved the people of her village. From the well-to-do farmers to the humblest fisher-folk she was known, loved and respected, and there were few houses indeed upon the Marsh into which she was not welcomed. What she would have said to this statement of the captain she did not know, for as she was trying to find the right answer for the good of the community, Dr. Syn, who was riding some little way ahead, suddenly put up his hand and drew the pony's rein.
“Our good parson has found something,” said the Dragoon, checking his charger. Charlotte drew rein beside him. “He's dismounting.”
Dr. Syn with the rein over his arm peered down at the roots of the thick-grown hedge. He then dropped the rein and walked on slowly, looking up and down the hedge. The pony left to his own resources nibbled at the grass and stepped into the circle of the hanging reins, which after a little became a dangerous entanglement. Charlotte slipped from her horse, handed the reins to the captain and ran towards the pony. She soothed the fat little white beast and lifted his forelegs in turn. Dr. Syn turned and looked at her as she freed the pony.
“Thank you, my dear,” he said. “It was careless of me to leave the reins dangling. But I have found what I was looking for.”
“And what is that?” asked the Dragoon who had ridden slowly towards them, leading Charlotte's horse.
“Just a bundle of clothes—that's all,” replied the doctor. He plunged both his hands into the thickness of the hedge and after a deal of tugging brought out a green riding coat tied around with a white cravat. This he laid down on the grass and untied. The coat, a good one with brass buttons, was wrapped around a red waistcoat and a hunting cap.
“The clothes that Grinsley was wearing when he committed the crime,” ejaculated the Dragoon.
“Exactly,” replied the doctor.
“But why did you expect to find them hidden in the hedge?” asked the captain.
“I thought it most probable that Grinsley would get rid of such tell-tale garments, when I read your posted description,” said Dr. Syn. “But I did not expect to find them here till I rode along this hedge and looked into Grinsley's turnip patch. You can see over the hedge yourself, Captain, from your exalted position. Take a look, and you'll own that I should have been dense indeed had I not picked up the clue.”
The Dragoon rose in his stirrups and looked across the turnip field in question, but instead of showing any enlightenment from what he saw, he merely shook his head.
“Well then, sir, unless your clue has moved away, I confess to my denseness,” he said.
“It certainly could not have moved away,” replied the vicar, “and it is certainly conspicuous enough. But what would be denseness in me, is not so with you, for you are not of these parts and therefore the landmarks are not so familiar.”
“Let me see if I can guess it,” said Charlotte, going to her horse to mount. Dr. Syn helped her to the saddle and she looked across the turnip field.
“Why someone has taken the scarecrow's clothes,” she said. “Look, Captain, those sticks in the centre of the field with the black gloves hanging.”
“Exactly,” laughed Dr. Syn. “There was an old long black coat and waistcoat and a black three-cornered hat. That was all Grinsley required. He hides his conspicuous clothes in the nearest spot, which is obviously the hedge and puts on the scarecrow's over his own riding breeches and boots. Isn't that convincing, Captain?”
“Convincing enough to alter his description on the murder posters,” replied the captain. “I'll ride over with this news to the Custom's officer. He's on the other side of the common. Thank you, sir. Thank you, Miss Cobtree,” and he galloped away across the rough ground behind the beaters.
By this time one or two fires had been started, to burn down the thickest of the scrub and at the sight of it Charlotte Cobtree cried out in horror.
“Don't alarm yourself,” said Dr. Syn, “I would wager a good deal that Grinsley is not above ground at all, so that these fires will not burn him out.”
“Do you think he's dead?” asked Charlotte.
Dr. Syn shook his head. “No, but I think he is a clever scoundrel. I put myself in his place and ask myself what I should do under the circumstances.”
“And what would you do?” asked Charlotte with a smile.
“I should say to myself: Here is a squadron of Dragoons. Here are some two hundred men hunting me with them. Amongst these men are very many who want to catch me before the Dragoons lay hands on me and hand me over to civil law. These people will kill me out of hand just as mercilessly as I killed the riding-officer. They will kill me to prevent my informing against them. Therefore, if I hide in one of our many and famous 'hides' and if they search for me there—places utterly impossible to discover unless one holds the secret, to unearth me there is going to be as dangerous to them as though I were speaking in the dock. I should guess that the Dragoons wished me to be taken alive, and I should therefore conjecture, quite rightly as we have seen for ourselves, that each posse of men should be watched by a small party of soldiers. That is why, Charlotte, I believe Grinsley is abiding his time to escape from one of the smugglers' 'hides' up in these hills.”
And this seemed likely enough to be the truth of the case, for after burning scrub, and surrounding it, and then beating through it, after closing in through the spinney near the farm, searching the woods for some miles, the only clue as to Grinsley's activities was the bundle of clothes discovered by Dr. Syn.
Indeed, as he and Charlotte rode back into Dymchurch they saw Mr. Mipps reading an addition to the murder poster that was stuck to the gibbet post by the Court House. They reined in their mounts and read over his shoulder:
“Believed to be wearing a ragged black suit taken from a scarecrow. Riding a black horse without saddle.”
