On the same evening Dr. Syn, happening to dine at the Court House in company with several gentlemen of influence upon the Marsh, encountered the captain of Dragoons who had ridden down to consult the squire as to the possibility of the murderer having taken hiding in Dymchurch. This notion Sir Antony most vehemently pooh-poohed. Since he felt quite assured that smuggling did not go on in Dymchurch while he was the magistrate, he asked why should his good tenants have any truck with an unpopular 'receiver' in the hills. If Grinsley had dealings with the coast, he maintained it was with the Sussex gangs. Dr. Syn supported him in agreeing that it was no use seeking for the murderer in Dymchurch.
The Dragoon, thinking otherwise, said nothing more on the subject, but no sooner had the ladies left the table than Sennacharib Pepper, under the influence of the squire's good wine, reopened the discussion by affirming that Dymchurch, for all its outward tranquility, was not all it seemed, as on his many night visits across the Marsh to relieve the sick, he had met suspicious processions of men, horses and pack ponies and had recognised several Dymchurch men. “But my calling is sacred. Like the parson I have to keep my mouth shut. I am horrified at what I have seen naturally, but my duty in no way urges me to be an assistant hangman.”
Dr. Syn quietly remarked that his spiritual duties also entailed a good deal of crossing the Marsh at night in order to minister to the dying, but he stoutly affirmed that he had never seen anything of a suspicious nature.
“Well, I hope most sincerely that I have the spiritual doctor's luck,” laughed the Dragoon. “I don't want to arrest your Dymchurch parishioners. Indeed, for my own part I am quite in sympathy with poor men getting good drink from France for nothing.”
“Not quite the sentiments for a gentleman holding His Majesty's commission I venture to suggest, sir,” snapped Dr. Pepper.
“Damme, sir,” laughed the Dragoon, “a soldier may hold as many erroneous sentiments as he pleases so long as they do not react against his orders. If I were to meet a cavalcade such as you describe, I should use my command to send them to the Assizes, but I could still hold my private opinion of the lawyers who forward them on to the scaffold. I have no desire to send fellow countrymen to their death.”
“You'd feel happier fighting the French, sir?” suggested Dr. Syn.
“I' faith, that's so,” nodded the Dragoon. “Or this Grinsley rascal. You see that I have laid my pistols over yonder”—and he indicated the ledge of the great chimney-piece. “They are both primed. I never leave them on my saddle for fear they might be tampered with. No, sir, I obey orders and keep 'em in sight, and I shall have no compunction in letting that murderer have both barrels. But I should not care to shoot down a poor Dymchurch lad because he happened to carry a keg of contraband.”
“No need to shoot him, sir,” said Dr. Pepper. “Send him to trial. He breaks the law and must be tried by the law. Thank God the laws of England are fair enough. It is the only way to stop this 'happening to carry a keg'.”
“And how about that excellent brandy you gave me the other day, Sennacharib?” laughed the squire.
“It was a gift, sir, from a patient,” returned the physician.
“So you told me, but how did he get it, do you suppose? Leaving his stable door open?” The squire gave the captain of Dragoons a wink.
“I did not inquire where he purchased it,” said Pepper. “It was a gift to me. My conscience was quite clear.”
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 to-night from Lloyd's about the wreck of the City of London,” he said. “At last they are in touch with the cargo owners in America and ask for the ship's papers which you had from the captain. If you will let me have them to-morrow, I will see that they are posted by the Hythe mail. By the way, I wish we could cure Sennacharib of riding his hobby-horse in front of strangers. Of course smuggling goes on, but I will always shut my eyes to the fact that any of our people are implicated. I tell you his remarks have made that Dragoon officer suspicious. No doubt he suspects the lot of us.”
“Well, Tony, we've heard the captain's sentiments, so I don't think he'll be getting any of our lads into trouble, and he would hardly come here and drink your wine if he intended to arrest you.”
“Does Mr. Mipps ever talk to you about smugglers?” asked the squire. “If anything goes on I should say he would ferret it out.”
“I think so too, did he consider it his business,” replied Dr. Syn. “But no, Mr. Mipps has come to anchor in a haven after his own heart. He is a sensible fellow, and very loyal to both of us who have helped him to his anchorage.”
“Well I'll take your word for it,” laughed the squire. “But when I look at him I cannot help feeling that there's a mischievous devil laughing underneath that look of injured innocence.”
“It amuses him to create such an impression, I verily believe,” replied Dr. Syn, joining in the laughter.
On his return to the vicarage, Dr. Syn found Mipps awaiting him for orders. A funeral had to be arranged, and as Mipps put it: “That's not all the trouble, 'cos it's never death but it's birth, and there's a christening.” When these matters were settled satisfactorily, Mipps asked whether any news of Grinsley's whereabouts had been delivered at the Court House.
Dr. Syn told him 'no', but that the Dragoon had thought him to be hiding in Dymchurch.
“That's the sort of silly thing a Dragoon would say,” replied Mipps. “Dymchurch? Why there ain't a Dymchurch lad who wouldn't cut his throat for that cold-blooded murder. My opinion is that he's done himself in and cheated the undertaker. We'll find his bones one day up in the woods.”
“A man takes his life as a last resort, and Grinsley is not cornered yet,” replied the doctor. “He knows the roads to London are watched, and he has many a safe hiding-place around Aldington in which to lie snug. He can get to his own house at night for food and drink and no one the wiser, and in the meanwhile he'll try to get across the Channel. The Dragoon officer now agrees with me. He has ridden back to the hills post his men. After to-day's drive which ended so unsatisfactorily, Grinsley may become over confident and betray himself.”
“Then the Dragoon's gone back to the hills and given up his Dymchurch search?” asked Mipps.
Dr. Syn nodded, and as he nodded it seemed to him that his sexton looked relieved.
Mipps picked up his old three-cornered hat, and proceeded to light his lantern.
“Where are you going? The 'Ship Inn' to-night, 'The City of London' or the 'Ocean'?” asked the vicar.
“Well I thought I might have just one at each,” replied the sexton. “I likes to see that the boys are all behaving themselves.”
“Quite right,” returned Syn, with a smile. “Well, don't forget to behave yourself and remember to take just one.”
“Just one?” repeated Mipps, sadly depressed.
“At each. That makes three—” explained the vicar. “Before now I have drawn a tun barrel of inspiration from three drinks.”
“Ah, but they probably was drinks,” argued Mipps. “There was drinks out there.”
“There were,” corrected Syn. “And they are none so bad hereabouts, my friend. So be careful.”
“Three it shall be, Vicar,” replied the sexton.
“But you might make it more if you care to linger a little at 'The City of London',” went on the vicar. “I have reason to believe that Mr. Merry has broken his parole. In fact that he has taken to visiting Meg's bar at night. Just learn from Mrs. Clouder whether this is so, and if it is find out whether he has behaved himself. I will not have that nice young woman plagued by that fellow.”
“Perhaps I'd better wait there a bit and see if he sneaks in eh?” suggested Mipps. “Then he'll blame me for telling you, and not Meg Clouder.”
Syn smiled. “You had better seek him out and send him here before he goes to bed. I am not altogether satisfied with one or two things I have heard about friend Merry.”
So the sexton departed in search of Merry and many drinks, since he now had the excuse, and Dr. Syn unlocked a cabinet and took from it the ship's papers which the squire had asked for.
In the past, Dr. Syn had had a good deal to do with ship's papers. He had never had the truth of them called in question, although he had often gone to the pains of re-writing them to suit his turn. But that was in the days when he was following his enemy on the high seas, and incidentally amassing a fortune at other ships' expense. All that was behind him. All that must be forgotten, and yet sometimes the thrill of those years glowed again in his veins. He thought of his ship—his Imogene. He once more passed the quarter-deck with the wind whistling through the rigging, all sails unfurled in a half gale, everything carrying on to the last rope yarn. He would draw in his breath till his lungs were full and would laugh at a half-dozen well-remembered typhoons now lashed in one, with the good ship racing through it as though the devil himself were at her helm. The devil? Yes, the devil of the seas. Captain Clegg himself, tall and elegant, holding his wild crew by the magic of his own daring. Impossible to forget it all the time, for he was still in his prime and hungered for adventure.
It was perhaps this old love of the sea and ships that made him turn to his fireplace with the brig's log-book in his hand. He filled a pipe of tobacco, poured himself out a generous allowance of brandy and seated in his high-backed chair, he began to read through the doings of the ill-fated ship. As he read, the captain seemed to stand before him. An honest fellow, that captain. Dr. Syn had taken a great respect for the man, and he regretted his ghastly end. That the man had helped him to save his sea-chest and had, like himself, endured that ghastly swim and unconscious battering upon the sea-wall only to be assassinated by that cowardly vulture, Merry, gave the vicar a loathing for that deed, and he had vowed over and over again that the captain's death would be well avenged by the time he had finished with the rogue.
The plain straight-forwardness of the log-book entries brought the captain very near to him, and in affection the vicar read on till the last entry. 'And now the after hold is blazing fiercely. We must abandon ship, and with very little hope. My ship's company have all done their duty, but none more so than our one passenger, Parson Syn, who was indeed, first aloft to clear the rigging. He worked like a sailor born and a parson. We escaped Dungeness by his knowledge of the coast. Driving now into a bay towards a sea-wall. It is certain disaster to the ship, and may God have mercy on our souls.”
Mechanically Dr. Syn turned over the pages—blank pages now that might have been filled with entries of good sailing and profitable returns. It was well that he did so, for on the last page of all was another entry of the dead captain, and it was his Last Will and Testament. 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 boat-builder'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 be beautiful too, for she for whom they were meant was perfect in beauty. But let the brig be broken up. That 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 in they were still there.
As he read the extraordinary document through again there came a knocking at his door. Dr. Syn glanced at the clock. It was half-past ten; Mrs. Fowey would have gone to bed. He got up, went across the hall and opened the door, admitting Mr. Merry.
“Mipps said you wanted me,” he growled sullenly.
“You met him in 'The City of London', eh?” asked the vicar.
“No, I didn't then,” replied Merry hotly. “I met him at the 'Ship'. I was talking to Mrs. Waggetts.”
“But you have been to 'The City of London' lately?” asked Syn.
“Well, I had to meet a man there one night last week. It was not my fault.”
“You should have come to me for permission first,” said Syn sternly. “Avoid it in future, Mr. Merry, and we shall be the better friends. And for your punishment—”
“Punishment?” flashed out Merry. “For just going in to find a man—”
“Which was a breach of discipline, my friend, and that does not suit me. For punishment, 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.”
“But you said I was not to go there.”
“Not without permission, which I now give you. 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. You will say I want to see him in half-an-hour, and you will wait outside for him. 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.
“Will you never stop reminding me of that?”
“Not while you are disobedient. Go. And remember. No drinking at Meg's tavern. And don't forget the bag of tools.”
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?”
“A little adventuring, Mr. Sexton. Just we three. Mr. Merry will watch for us and warn us if anyone wakes at Josiah Wraight's, while you and I climb up on to the roof of his shed.”
“And what are we going to do that for?” asked Mipps.
“We are going to pay our respects to old 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. He had almost completed the circle when he put his spare hand over the lantern.
“Why, that skunk Merry. He's left his post. He's watchin' us,” whispered Mipps.
“I rather hoped he would. That's why I brought him along. I assure you, the results of this night's work on the roof here will plague him past all bearing. Get on with it.”
“Oh, then that's all right,” answered Mipps. “So long as it annoys him and not you, enough said. There, sir, it's uncorked.”
“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.
“Look out it ain't a snake or something,” cautioned Mipps.
“"Keep easy in your mind. I've got it, and it's what I expected. Look!” By the lantern light Syn drew out of the cavity a string of pearls. Both men knew something of stones, and it was obvious to both that the pearls were exquisitely matched and highly priced.
“And how in the name of Captain Clegg did you know they was here?” whispered Mipps. “Was our captain of the brig one of the Jolly Brethren?”
Dr. Syn shook his head. He was still holding the pearl string against the lantern's light.
“Listen,” cautioned Mipps. “I heard a man gasp for breath. It's Merry watching. He knows what you have found.”
“I intended he should. Let us take him back with us to the vicarage and give him the drink I refused him at 'The City of London'.”
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.
