“You will accompany us to the vicarage, Mr. Merry, said Dr. Syn, as they turned for the builder's yard on to the high road and set their faces towards the village. “After your wait you will no doubt be glad of a drink, besides, there is the question of a punishment, if you remember.”
“There is also the question of my having something to say which you will not relish,” replied Merry, with a note of cunning triumph.
“Oh, I am convinced that anything you say will be charming,” said Dr. Syn.
“To me, but not to you,” growled Merry.
“Well, you shall say it over my brandy, Mr. Merry.”
Dr. Syn led them round to the back of the vicarage. He always went to the stable to bid good night to his fat little pony.
“I have noticed, Mr. Mipps, he said, that periodically my stable door is unlocked.”
“Really?” asked Mipps. “Well, there's always a remedy to that, sir.”
“Right, sir. First shot, sir,” laughed Mipps.
“Unfortunately, the key seems to unlock the door and then disappear, and strangely enough, every time it has happened I see a chalked cross upon the lintel of the stable. Let us see if it is there now, shall we?”
He led the way in, and approached the stall in which the fat pony was munching contentedly.
“There you are,” he said, taking the lantern from Merry. “A white cross. And if it happens as it has happened before on several occasions, to-morrow morning that chalk mark will have gone from the wood. What do you make of it?”
“What ever could one make of it, sir?” asked Mipps. “I'm sure I make nothing. Door that opens and loses its key and lets in a chalk mark? Does the key come back?”
“It has never failed yet,” answered the vicar.
“Very strange. Door opens. Key goes. Chalky cross comes. Chalky cross goes, key comes back and door's locked. No, I make nothing of that, sir.”
“I make a good deal,” growled Merry. “And so will a number of others before very long. Open stable door, eh? You'll find every stable door open to-night, not only here, not only on the Marsh, but far and away over farms and manors as far away as Tenterden. And most of 'em ain't the luck of the chalky cross neither.”
“Oh, it's lucky then, is it, that cross?” asked Dr. Syn.
“Aye. It means the party what owns that pony or that horse or that donkey or mule is favoured.”
“Favoured?” repeated Dr. Syn. “By whom?”
“By shadows. It ain't healthy to say what them shadows are, is it, Mr. Mipps?”
Mipps looked at Merry as though that gentleman was mad. “I never went to school, Mr. Merry,” he said, “'cos I run away to sea and never learnt no gibberish. Can't you speak King's English before the vicar?”
“I'll speak plain enough one of these days,” snarled Merry.
“You say that every stable door is open, eh?” asked the vicar. “It would be illuminating to verify that statement. Let us take a look at the squire's stables.”
When they reached the long grey stone building in which the squire's magnificent horses lived, they found the door unfastened, and in going in they found every stall empty, except a loose box on which they saw a white chalked cross.
Dr. Syn held the lantern over the loose-box door, and recognised Sirius, Charlotte Cobtree's favourite, on which she had ridden to the hills that very day.
“Another favoured person—Miss Charlotte,” sneered Merry. “You see all the other cattle have been taken, ladies' mounts and all. No doubt, the grooms had orders to put this one in the loose-box.”
“Orders?” queried the vicar. “From whom, pray?”
“I think Mr. Merry is hinting at smugglers,” suggested Mipps.
“I said nothing,” growled Merry.
“I said 'hint' not 'said',” replied Mipps.
“But look at these empty stalls. Every animal gone, from Maria's pony to the six coach horses. The squire's favourite hunter, too.” Dr. Syn was angry.
“Oh, they'll pay compensation, and a hard run does a horse no harm. It's good to exercise cattle. The squire won't be the loser.” Merry grinned.
“You scoundrel, what are you hinting at?” demanded the vicar fiercely. “Who will compensate whom? Speak plainly.”
“The 'shadows' who took the horses out will pay, and either the squire or his grooms will be well paid.”
“Are you calling the honour of Sir Antony Cobtree in question, you villain?” asked Syn.
“Oh, no,” replied Merry. “Honour is a question of law, therefore how can a magistrate lose his honour? He'd never be blamed. No more would his grooms. Did you notice that the yard is a mass of new straw? Them cattle was taken out silently enough, you may depend—after the grooms were gone to bed. No, there's no blame coming to them.”
“But the key—my stable key too? How did they manage that?”
“Stable keys ain't the most difficult keys to steal,” replied Merry.
“The squire must be informed of this,” exclaimed Dr. Syn. “Though it's no use locking the stable doors till the horses return. But he must be warned for the future.”
“Do you know what would happen if this door had not been unfastened?” demanded Merry. “Well, the Squire of Bilsington could answer that. He locked his stables five years back and slept with the key under his pillow, and he awoke to the smell of roast horseflesh.”
“Do you mean to say that these scoundrels burnt his stables?” exclaimed Syn, horrified. “They dared?”
“I mean to say that they'll dare anything,” replied Merry. “There's some in this traffic who mean business, and not in it just for the fun of it, like many.”
“I think I'll go round and have a look at some other stables,” said Mipps.
“Not yet,” replied Dr. Syn. “I want you both in my study for a few minutes.”
“Oh well, certainly, sir, but I don't like to think all this going on, any more than you do, sir. We don't want to see any of our parishioners feedin' the churchyard rooks.”
“Don't worry on that score. It won't happen yet,” replied Merry. “The squire will look after the good name of his Marsh men. How long he'll be able to do it, though, depends on various circumstances that it's no business of mine to talk about.”
“And yet you said that you wished to make a statement,” remarked Dr. Syn.
“Yes, over a drink which I can well do with,” replied Merry.
“Come along, then, both of you.” And the doctor led the way to the vicarage.
From a corner cupboard in his study the vicar produced glasses and a bottle.
“Draw up a chair, Mr. Merry, and dry yourself by the fire,” he said cheerily. “Oh, and please take off your heavy coat.”
“I'll keep it on,” replied Merry.
“No. No, indeed, you shall do nothing of the sort. It is wet.”
Having poured out three glasses of neat brandy, Dr. Syn, who had thrown off his own top-coat, crossed to Merry and politely but firmly drew off his sullen guest's wrap-rascal.
“There, this can be drying while you drink,” he said, placing it over the back of a high chair close to the fire. “Pick up your glasses and drink.”
Both men did not need a second invitation, for they were wet to the bone. Mipps, with a 'best respects' swallowed his cheerfully at a draught, while Merry, with a grunt, drank his slowly.
His drink, however, was doomed to be interrupted, for suddenly seeing that Dr. Syn's hand was deep in the pocket of the drying coat, Merry slammed his glass down on the table, and with an oath took a step towards the vicar.
His threatening attitude was arrested by the vicar whipping from the pocket he was searching an ugly sharp knife.
“A very formidable weapon, Mr. Merry, as I live,” remarked the vicar. “Mr. Mipps, I take it that a carpenter can always find service for a good blade. Put this amongst your tools.”
“You leave it where it is,” exploded Merry. “I bought it. What right have you to rob me of it?”
“The right of a good citizen in defending the next wreck on Dymchurch Wall, my friend,” replied Dr. Syn. “You were told distinctly enough that you were not to provide yourself with a weapon when I robbed you of the knife that committed murder. Oh, you need not start like that. I'll be honest with you. Mr. Mipps knows all about Captain Ransom's death. You see, he is my confidential servant is Mr. Mipps—”
“That's right,” nodded the gratified Mipps, as Syn filled his glass.
“And,” continued the vicar, replenishing Merry's glass, “I thought it best that in case of any accident happening to me, that you should not be free to laugh at your deliverance from the murder charge. Now, what is it you have to say?”
“Why,” replied Merry firmly, as the brandy gave him courage, “I have broken three of your high-handed orders. First, I have approached Meg Clouder—yes, and with an offer of marriage. What though she refuses, she won't always. She's lonely, and a woman only has to be besieged long enough. Secondly, I have carried that knife for my own protection, and I tell you there's reasons enough for me being on my guard against a good number of these Dymchurch hypocrites, and lastly, I've disobeyed you again to-night. Do you guess how?”
“Of course I do,” said Syn with a tolerant smile. “You left your post at Josiah Wraight's, as I knew you would, and you saw me take these from the figure-head, and put them in my pocket. I wanted you to see me do it. That's why I took you along.”
“Why did you want me to see?” asked Merry. “I can bring an unpleasant charge against you if I have any more of your high-handed nonsense.”
This threat the vicar ignored and contented himself with answering the question. “I told you that you deserved a punishment. Do you know anything about pearls? I suppose not.” He took the string of pearls from his coat pocket. “Well, let me assure you that these are so god that they could be sold in London for several thousands of pounds. I wanted you to realise that had you murdered me as well as the captain you would have got away with these as well as my sea-chest full of gold, not to mention the little matter of the captain's money belt. You managed the business very badly that night.”
“I wouldn't have known that there was pearls inside that figure-head,” argued Merry.
“Oh yes, you would, for their hiding place was revealed in the captain's log-book which you threw aside as useless.”
“Very well then, I am no longer your slave to be ordered about just as pleases you,” returned Merry. “Accuse me of murder, if you like, and you'll not be a very creditable witness. They'll want to know why you kept your mouth shut so long about it, and when I tell them about the pearls, there will be your motive, especially when I say that I saw you kill the captain, and have kept my mouth shut out of charity. Mind you, I'm not above coming to terms. Every man for himself in this world. Give me the pearls and we'll say no more about it.”
“Give you the captain's pearls?” repeated the doctor in amazement. “Now, why ever should I do that?”
“Because I want them,” replied Merry promptly. “I don't know so much as a practised thief like yourself about pearls, but I can see they're good, and I'll take your word for it as to their worth. I want Meg Clouder, and it seems to me that any woman would marry the devil himself if he dangled a gift like that in his wooing. So hand 'em over, Mister Parson Thief.”
“I take it you can read, Mr. Merry?” asked the vicar pleasantly.
“Oh, I can read and write too, as you'll find if you force me to send a statement to the authorities,” said Merry.
“Very well then. Read this. No. I cannot allow you to touch it. The documentary evidence is too valuable to be destroyed and I must show it to the squire before I present these pearls to his daughter. It is her twenty-first birthday to-morrow, Mr. Merry, and I am quite sure that the captain you murdered would approve of my bestowing his legacy to me in that direction. Perhaps I will read it for you.”
And removing the book from the table on which he had placed it, Dr. Syn read to Merry and the delighted Mipps every word of Mervin Ransom's pathetic testament.
“And now, Mr. Merry, that you can see I am no thief except perhaps in the matter of robbing you of your knife, which I should advise you to keep to yourself, I further recommend one more glass of brandy and then home to bed.” Saying which, he refilled all glasses and pronounced the toast: “To our mutual understanding in the future.”
Whereupon Merry was handed his coat and dismissed, while the favoured sexton was detained to drink another glass.
“You have clipped a vulture's wings to-night, Vicar,” chuckled Mipps.
“I believe so,” replied Dr. Syn, “but there is one thing that worries me, and I venture to suspect that the unmitigated rogue who has just left us will do what he can to increase that worry.”
“I am worried about many good people for whom I have a great affection,” replied the vicar, “and I worry because they are living in a neighbourhood in which stable doors are, upon occasion, left open at nights. Keep your eyes open, Mr. Mipps, and let me know what is going on. Perhaps you know something already. Come, sit down here before the fire, light that old pipe of yours and let us hear.”
Mr. Mipps looked exceedingly down in the mouth at this suggestion, which was strange, for as a rule there was nothing he enjoyed more than sitting up late with the vicar and, in his company, chuckling about old times. Besides, Dr. Syn's liquor was very choice.
“You hesitate, my good fellow,” exclaimed the vicar. “Is it possible that you have no wish to discuss the question of smuggling with your old friend?”
Mipps put on a quizzical look and scratched his head. “You see, sir, we can discuss it any of these nights and perhaps get no further. But to-night now, we have seen the stable doors open, and perhaps that means that something of the kind is actually afoot. Let me get out and about then without any more delay, and to-morrow, no doubt, I'll have a good deal of information to tell you.”
Dr. Syn seemed to think this a happy notion and dismissed his sexton with one more drink.
Mr. Mipps repaired as fast as his legs would carry him to the parlour of the 'Ship Inn', where he was welcomed by Mrs. Waggetts and the company.
Seeing that Merry was drinking by himself in a far corner, Mipps approached him and in a tone low enough to ensure not being overheard said: “The vicar told me to find you out. He says: 'You tell Merry from me,' he says, 'to forget about them stable doors.' And if ever a Dymchurch lad gets put in the dock for assisting with a keg or two through information laid by you, he says: 'You tell him from me that he'll be put in the dock at the next Assizes,' he says, 'for bloody murder. Aye, bloody murder,' he says, so don't forget it, and I'll send you over a brandy to help you to remember.”
All of which, though not the truth, seemed to Mipps to meet the case when leading with a scoundrel like Merry, for since the Dragoons were known to be up in the hills scouring after Grinsley, the ingenious little sexton had seen a wonderful opportunity for a safe 'run' upon the Marsh, and as the usual signals had been passed a fully-loaded lugger was already lying outside the bay waiting for the final signal to put in for a landing.
But Mipps, having laid all his plans, saw that not a whisper went round the 'Ship' parlour of the intended 'run', for the Preventive man might have set Merry to get information. So he went from group to group, keeping the conversation to the topic of the murder. Where was Grinsley? What had become of his horse?
“I'll lay a guinea he's still on Aldington Fright,” he said. “For all the burning and the beating they give it, he knows that wild common and the soldiers don't. Besides, ain't he well mounted? Well, it don't take a man like him much navigation to steer clear of a few lumbering Dragoons. I'd like to see him caught though, for getting the district a bad name.”
When he had finished with the 'Ship', he repaired to 'The City of London', following the same policy of discussing the Grinsley affair, and he then repeated the same at the 'Ocean Inn', for outside this tavern on the bank of the great sluice the rendezvous had been fixed.
For some minutes after Mipps had left the vicarage, Dr. Syn thought of the open stable doors and was worried. It would be a lamentable thing, he told himself, were any of the Dymchurch men to be involved in smuggling with the Dragoons in the neighbourhood. Suppose the offence were too flagrant for the squire in his capacity as magistrate to hush up? Well, Mipps would gain information, no doubt. Suppose Mipps were implicated himself? It would be quite in his nature to dabble in such adventures. A leopard cannot change his spots. Yes, the vicar was worried about those stable doors. Who were these smugglers? No doubt, he knew a number of them personally. Of course he did, and his heart warmed towards them at the thought of those white crosses. They had more affection for him than for the squire. The little white pony had been excused. And yet the little fellow would have been useful. It was perfectly fit, and could carry tubs with the best. Its white colour would not matter to the smugglers, for one morning Sennacharib Pepper's light grey mare had been found in his stable bedaubed with black paint to make her the more invisible. No, he was favoured by the smugglers, whoever they were, and they had shown their respect by leaving the white pony, when they were not above borrowing the physician's only mount.
But what made his heart warm towards them even more, was the fact that they had left Charlotte Cobtree's magnificent animal when they had swept the rest from the squire's stables. Thus he fell to thinking of Charlotte. The next day was her twenty-first birthday, and he would give her Captain Ransom's legacy. There was every excuse for such a gift. Was he not her godfather? Was she not the very woman to fulfil Captain Ransom's wish? And the pearls were worthy to be given to a queen.
Dr. Syn found pleasure in thinking out how he would present them. He went to his sea-chest and drew out the scarlet velvet coat that he had discarded for ever. With his scissors he cut off the two gold-embroidered pocket flaps, and these he sewed together with needle and thread from his old sea days housewife. He then removed enough gold braid from the coat to form the letters 'C.C.' and when he had dropped the pearls into their velvet pocket and locked them for the night in his sea-chest, he felt he had spent a good hour, before going up to bed.
His labour of affection had banished all worry about the smugglers.
Worry was the last thing that entered Mr. Mipps' head as he saw the kegs being carried ashore from the lugger. He was safe. He had two men watching the Preventive man's lodgings, who would stop any informer reaching him, and if he were to issue forth on his own initiative, they were to play informers themselves and lead him in the other direction towards Hythe, while the landing was in reality taking place on Knockholt beach.
But one man did worry. Captain Faunce went from patrol to patrol up in the region of Aldington. Not a sign of Grinsley. On reaching the last patrol at Bonnington and receiving the same dispiriting report, he bade the Bonnington party fall in behind the visiting patrol and then re-visiting every picket and patrol he had posted, he once more reached Aldington Fright, and further swelling his force with the troopers he had left there, he took the whole regiment behind him, and as though he had some definite plan in his head, which he afterwards confessed he had not, he trotted off towards the Knole. Dismounting, he climbed the hill with only a sergeant attending him.
Beneath them was stretched out the whole map of the Marsh. It was difficult at first to see just where marsh joined beach and beach the sea, for clouds of mist drove along beneath them. For some minutes, they watched the white vapours rushing along over the flat surface. Mist clouds that seemed to rise from the white ribbons of dyke water and joining others in their mad and windy stampede. In the distance they could hear the grinding of the waves and now and then the sea would show through a blown rift of these ground clouds.
It was during one of these wild whirlings of the mist that the sergeant broke the silence with: “See that, sir?”
“Why, a ship, a boat. There again, sir. See over there.”
Faunce nodded. “No doubt it's the Sandgate Revenue cutter.”
“Or a smuggling lugger from France,” suggested the sergeant.
“From France, eh? And near in shore. See, there's a boat putting off. Damn this mist. It's covered again. Sergeant, what if our man is in hiding on the Marsh after all, in spite of the Dymchurch squire's incredulity? What better way of escape would the rascal get, eh? He's no doubt got many friends across the water with whom he has traded. It's worth trying, anyway, and it will do the village of Dymchurch no harm to hear our horses ride through their street. We'll gallop down through Newchurch and have a look at the boat, if she hasn't gone when we get there.”
“If it's Grinsley,” said the sergeant, “you may be sure we'll be in time, for he'd let the boat wait for him rather than him wait for the boat.”
“Yes, there's something in that, Sergeant. Come along and let's get to horse.”
And thus it was that the full regiment of Dragoons rode hell for leather across the Marsh upon this misty, windy night.
In the meantime, Mr. Mipps, now knee-deep in the waves, encouraging the unloading of the kegs, now up on the windswept beach superintending the loading of the horses, saw his dreams of yet another run being successfully terminated.
And back in the vicarage Dr. Syn slept peacefully, dreaming of Charlotte Cobtree and pearls.
