“Our highwayman is a game fighter, my dear,” said the doctor to Charlotte, who had left the horses to Merry and had come closer, “but he has learned in too easy a school. Strength he has, but no knowledge. Get some water from the dyke in my hat while I raise his head.” He sank his voice to a whisper so that Merry should not hear, and added: “We must get him away before that party of Dragoons catch sight of him.”
Charlotte took the doctor's hat and kneeling beside the dyke, filled it with water, while the doctor gently removed the blood-stained mask from the unconscious man.
It was then that Merry saw the distant Dragoons and determined to gain the hundred guineas for the taking of Mr. Bone. He leapt on to Charlotte's horse and galloped to the dyke, plunged down into the water and climbed the opposite bank, and before the others had realised his purpose he was away at full speed.
“Quick, Charlotte,” ordered the doctor, “the man is none so badly hurt, but that rogue is for putting his neck in a halter. Ah, he's coming round.”
Indeed, as soon as the water was splashed on to his face, the highwayman opened his eyes.
“Well, it's hands up, Mr. Parson, and I own when I'm beat.” He twisted his lips into a smile. “You saved the lady her pearls, and it serves me right for having threatened to take 'em. But had you got to take off my mask?”
“Your face is safe as far as we are concerned,” replied the doctor. “We shall only remember you as a masked man who refused to uncover. And the sooner you get on to your horse the better, for the gentleman you deprived of the guinea has ridden off to put the Dragoons on your trail. He was off before we could stop him.”
The highwayman struggled to a sitting position and looked at the distant rider.
“Aye, and the curse of it is, that the old witch who lives yonder will no longer give me stable room,” he muttered. “I'll confess that for more than a year I have found her place handy. Well, it will have to be riding then, I reckon, and before those soldiers come out from the trees.”
“Wait till that scoundrel disappears, and I will see to it that the old woman gives you safe hiding.” Dr. Syn recovered his wig and adjusted it.
“She's mad, sir,” answered the highwayman. “Said she could no longer see to me or my horse. Nor could she take my money, because she'd seen the devil himself who had forbidden her any other service.”
“If the parson cannot override the devil, he is no use at his job,” laughed the doctor. “Look, Merry is already behind the trees. Let me mount your horse, and do you get up behind me, and I will undertake your safety. Charlotte, do you mount the pony and troy over by the bridge, and when the Dragoons ride up, let me do the talking.”
He sprang into the saddle, but the highwayman's horse, trained only to obey his master, plunged and reared in indignation, till Mr. Bone quietened him.
“You ride as well, Master Parson, as you fight, and you deserve a better mount than yonder fat pony,” he said. “As to your fighting power, my faith, but my head is still spinning. I have never been so punished in my life.”
“Hold on to me,” urged Dr. Syn. “And there's need of haste. Can you stand a gallop?”
“I have ridden so full of Bow Street runners' lead that my horse was lamed with the weight of it,” laughed Mr. Bone.
“Then hang on,” replied Dr. Syn, and he urged the horse down into the dyke, not caring to risk his legs with such a jump. “We can leap the others, but not this,” he said, as they plunged through the water up to their thighs, and climbed the further bank. Then he set the horse to the gallop.
Charlotte watched them as she led the pony along the dyke to the nearest brick bridge, and she realised that Syn was the best rider on the Marsh, and the discovery made her understand many things that had long puzzled her. However, she was to be puzzled a good deal more before she reached home, but once more her love gave her the solving of the riddle, which she found only seemed to make her love him the more.
When she reached Mother Handaway's cottage she was met by the old witch, and was most astonished at her words.
“Oh, Miss Cobtree,” whispered the old lady, “never come and visit me more. I say this to repay you for all the kindness you have shown to an old witch whom everybody shuns. But never come here again, and oh, above all, never have dealings with the vicar of Dymchurch. You do not understand, but I tell you he is the devil. What has happened to the real vicar I cannot tell, but the devil is going up and down the Marsh in the likeness of him. He'll know I've told you, dearie, but I'll endure his wrath out of love of you.”
“You are talking nonsense, Mother,” replied Charlotte, who was amused at the old woman's wild fancy. “Why, I love Dr. Syn. He is my godfather, but for all that, I am going to marry him, when he asks me.”
“Aye, he'll ask you. The devil will use any wile to get a soul in his clutch. But shun him, my dear. Keep clear of the church when he is there, for the foul fiend can be honey-tongued to a pretty girl. I know, who am his servant. I practiced the black devilry from a child and I have seen manifestations, and he even promised to visit me in a flesh form, and now I am his stable-woman. I feed his great black beast of a horse and I must call him the Scarecrow, he tells me. But he has provided for me. I may have guineas by the bag that are minted in hell for all that they bear the royal spade and head.”
“And where is this fierce black horse of his?” asked Charlotte, resolved to humour her.
“In the hidden stable. It is a pit built of stone behind the cow barn. It was made by the smugglers years ago, and my grandmother showed me the secret. Its roof is covered with growing grass. I once saved Jim Bone, the highwayman, by giving him shelter there, and ever since he has used it when the chase was hot. I told him that now he could not use it again, when suddenly the devil appears as he said he would, in the likeness of Dr. Syn. He has stowed him away there. Oh, there's room enough for ten horses. And there's no one could find the door. Ah, those smugglers, they knew things in those days.”
“They still do, so they say,” laughed Charlotte.
Dr. Syn agreed that they had been cunning fellows who built the door which he had just fastened behind him. It stood in the steep side of a dry dyke and when closed looked nothing else but a great heap of dried bulrush reeds.
Satisfied that all was well, and that in Jimmie Bone he had now a faithful and useful colleague, he walked along the dyke and climbed up it at the side of the cottage.
“You see, my dear Charlotte,” he said, with a smile, “a parson must do what he can for all his flock. Now, these gallant Dragoons that are cantering towards us are not my parishioners, and as to the rascal Merry—why, our masked friend is worth a score of such, and he happens to be in the greater need at the moment. Therefore he has my help. It is the lost sheep that the shepherd seeks.”
The Dragoons drew up on the highroad, while Captain Faunce, led by Merry still mounted on Charlotte's horse, and followed by two troopers, came galloping across the fields, jumping the dykes, till they reached the three figures grouped around the white pony.
“You've never let him go, sir?” cried Merry, as he looked in vain for the sight of his capture. “You'll have lost me a hundred guineas.”
Dr. Syn smiled. “And what are a hundred guineas compared to the safe keeping of Miss Cobtree's pearls? I confess I was mightily glad to see the last of him. And let me add that if you have lamed Miss Cobtree's horse, there will be trouble for you. Good evening, Captain Faunce. If you wish to reach the Sussex border before this masked gentleman of the road, who may or may not be the famous James Bone, I should recommend a cross-country gallop as quick as possible.”
“This man tells me that you gave him a lathering,” he replied.
“I learned in a scientific school, that is all, sir,” laughed Dr. Syn. “Besides, he had the double disadvantage of not wishing to remove his mask, and of not fighting for what was honest. Miss Cobtree's pearls were in danger, so what else could I do, God forgive me, but fight?”
“I take it then that you can only identify his clothes and figure. You did not see his face?”
“I told you he would not remove his mask, but I should imagine that he will be marked where I drew the blood through it. True, my knuckles are torn, but not seriously.”
“Might as well chase highwaymen as smugglers,” laughed the captain. “It's all in the day's work, and a gallop will do the horses no harm. Hand over Miss Cobtree's horse—you, and get up behind Trooper Harker. We'll need you to identify his clothes and horse.”
The wretched Merry was only too glad to obey. The chances of his hundred guinea reward were not quite spoiled, and he was none too eager to be left with Dr. Syn.
“I'll lay you a guinea you will not catch him this side of the border,” said Dr. Syn, shaking his head.
“Perhaps not, since he's well mounted and knows the country,” answered the Dragoon. “But I'll lay you a guinea that we do catch him over the border—aye, and bring him back, too, in spite of the Sussex magistrates. At all events, his horse will be commandeered for our regiment, and from what I hear, he rides a noble animal.”
“Is that him over there?” said Dr. Syn, shading his eyes. “Surely there is a black speck riding straight into the setting sun.”
The others looked in the direction.
“Your eyes are stronger than mine then. The sun blinds mine.”
“Oh, but surely—surely,” went on the doctor. “It seems impossible, though, that he could have ridden such a distance in the time.”
“We'll show him that the Army can ride, too,” laughed the captain. “Come along, men. If I lose that horse, I lose a guinea too, for the doctor's offertory.”
Rising in his stirrups, he signalled his distant troopers with his arm, who after some sharp incomprehensible orders from a junior officer, started off into a canter along the highroad, while Captain Faunce, followed by the two troopers, one of whom carried Merry as a passenger, galloped across country in the direction supposed to have been taken by the redoubtable Bone.
“Did I not tell you he was the devil in disguise?” whispered Mother Handaway to Charlotte. “Avoid him, my dear, if you value your soul. Oh, don't look at me like that with laughter in your eyes, as though you thought me mad. I tell you, he said so himself when he rode to me in the storm on his wild black horse. 'I am the devil,' he said, 'but you may call me Scarecrow. I come to rule the Marsh,' he says, 'and you will keep my horse.' It is an animal from hell, my dear. 'I shall send you a messenger from time to time. He will appear as the sexton of Dymchurch, for I shall be going up and down myself as Dr. Syn, the preacher.' Tell no one, dear, lest he strike us dead, but you are young and pretty and have been good to me. But I cannot have you visit me any more. Avoid me for your own safety, but, above all, avoid him, the devil.”
But Charlotte, looking at Dr. Syn as he jumped on to the pony's back in order to get a better view of the pursuit, thought that if this amazing parson were indeed the devil, she would be very well contented to serve him.
On the ride back she put some of her thoughts into words.
“I am glad our friend, Mr. Bone, is safe. I am glad, too, that you saved him. You had certainly punished him enough.”
“For wanting to rob you of your pearls?” he laughed. “Oh no, not half enough. He deserved a good hanging.”
“But you forgave him,” she answered, “and I think I know the reason, for you and I have much in common. We both respect adventurers.”
“Well, there is always something attractive about a man who takes great risks, even though they may be taken against law and order.”
“Do you believe that our highwayman played the Scarecrow last night in order to help Grinsley?”
“Oh, where did you get that idea?”
“From your henchman, Mipps, of course. I get all my gossip from him.”
“I am very fond of that old fellow, as you know, but I find that he can invent a piece of gossip with as great an ease as he can afterwards believe in it. For instance, he most firmly believes that poor old Mother Handaway, who is quite mad, has dealings with the devil.”
“Then you think I should not take Mipps and his wild yarns too seriously?” she laughed.
“Certainly not. He is an old sea-dog. Very superstitious. As for his yarns—well, he loves spinning them. Now why should Mr. Jimmie Bone concern himself with trying to save Grinsley at the risk of his own neck?”
“Because he was the better adventurer,” she answered promptly. “Just as you, being a greater adventurer than Mr. Bone, have risked a lot to save his life. I have a feeling that we are to hear more of this Scarecrow whoever he may be. Take it from me that his black horse will ride the Marsh just as the highwayman's will be seen again upon the roads.”
“You will be adding another adventurous rascal to your romantic list soon,” he laughed.
Dr. Syn smiled and laughed. “He at least seems to have disappeared. My correspondents in America have now ceased to mention him.”
“And it is a long time since you have spoken to him, too,” she pouted. “You know how his adventures thrilled me when you first spoke of them to my father. Now when I want to talk of him I have to put my head close with Mr. Mipps.”
“And what has Mipps to say of Clegg these days, my dear, for you may take it from me that the rascal is dead?”
Charlotte shook her head. “Only to the authorities. And I am glad he is dead to them.”
“You are a strange, romantic girl, Charlotte,” said Dr. Syn. “I wonder now why I was stupid enough to put Clegg into your birthday thoughts. The fellow is not worthy of such a place, I assure you.”
“You know he is,” replied Charlotte hotly. “Besides, it was not your remark of him that put him in my thoughts. It was this.”
With her gloved hand she drew from the bosom of her riding coat the red velvet sachet.
“When you first gave it to me this morning, I wondered where I had seen it before,” she replied steadily. “I knew that its colour was familiar. That it reminded me of something—and then I remembered. It was the colour worn by my romantic ghost.”
“On the night of your return, as I went to call Mrs. Lovell to Meg's bedside, I saw the vision of a romantic figure reflected in the pier glass of your room. The door of the powder closet was open, you see.”
“That was nothing. It was my farewell to vanity. You see, I was not always a practising parson in America. I went there to seek revenge, God forgive me, and not to carry on God's work. That came later.”
“You cut this then from that gay coat?”
“I did. Perhaps, Charlotte, I had better destroy the coat. It is in my sea-chest.”
“It would be better,” she answered simply. “I know now why you do not talk any more of the pirate Clegg.”
Dr. Syn said nothing. She went on: “It was Mipps who talked to me about Clegg the other day. He most loyally described him as a thick-set man, but when I said that did not sound as romantic as one could wish, he cried out: 'Ah, but you should have seen him in battle, calmly stalking the poop deck in his red velvet, and the cannon balls flying round him as thick as the tattooings on his own arms and chest.”
Dr. Syn recognised the description as his old enemy, Nick Tappitt, but he only sighed and said: “Ah, so the red velvet reminded you of Clegg, eh?”
“Doctor, when you are ready to tell me all your secrets, then I shall be ready to marry you. I could protect you if I knew everything. And remember, I have added to my heroes the Scarecrow who saved the villagers last night.”
“There are three of them now—Clegg the pirate, the Scarecrow smuggler, and Dr. Syn the fighting preacher.”
“Perhaps some day, Charlotte, I may be weak enough to tell you all.”
“I shall wait till you do,” she answered.
