The evening that Dr. Syn returned from his profitable little tour over the Sussex border, he dined with the Cobtrees, in order, as he put it, to learn all the gossip of Dymchurch since he had been absent.
“Well, Doctor, the most extraordinary news is this,” said the squire. “This daughter of mine here, this Charlotte, has at last, and in your absence, chosen her twenty-first birthday present from me, and you'll never guess what it is. You see, Doctor, like all the other romantic misses of the neighbourhood, she has thought fit to admire this mysterious Scarecrow, because he saved the necks of a number of Dymchurch lads. Now, although her Sirius is accounted one of the best hunters on the Marsh,—she must now have a black horse too. Why? Oh, because the Scarecrow rode a black horse, if you please. Well, I tell her, so did the murderer Grinsley.”
“And so did Mr. Bone the highwayman,” added Dr. Syn, laughing across the table at Charlotte.
“Oh, and another thing concerning which I have not yet arrived at the truth. Our Meg Clouder has gone off to Hythe only yesterday and returned married, if you please—married to some captain who lays claim to be a gentleman, but who has returned to take up his married quarters in 'The City of London'. It infuriates me to think of it, and I shall most certainly have something to say to our Meg.”
“She must have been very lonely there, you know, Squire—” began Dr. Syn.
But the squire cut him short with: “Oh, you will always find excuses for everyone, Doctor, but why couldn't the jade let us into the secret? Our Charlotte called in yester evening to take her a shawl she had worked for her, and it was: 'Oh, Miss Charlotte, what do you think I have been and done? You will not be cross with me? You will not let squire be angry?' Squire angry, if you please, as though I was a bad-tempered curmudgeon. 'But I've been and got married,' she says, 'and oh, Miss Charlotte, he's a gentleman in fine clothes and rolling in guineas.'“
“Whereupon,” added Charlotte, “out there steps the bravest looking gentleman, tall, well dressed and handsome, with the largest red beard you ever saw. I should not have been surprised had he announced that he was Clegg the pirate.”
“Instead of Captain Vicosa, known as Captain Vic, eh?” added Dr. Syn. “For I take it that in these clean-shaven days there are not two handsome adventurers with red beards in the neighbourhood, and I heard tell of such a man at the 'Mermaid Inn' last week. I wondered why the rascal set off so briskly for Dymchurch in a hired chaise.”
“You say 'adventurer' and 'rascal',” said the squire. “Do you know anything about him then?”
“Nothing at all,” replied Dr. Syn, “except that his companion, who appears to be a most undesirable colonel, has adopted that rogue Merry as his particular satellite. No doubt this Captain Vic, as they call him, heard of Meg through that very rogue.”
“Well, we will keep an eye on him, whoever he may be,” said the squire. “Let us hope for Meg's sake that he is not so bad after all, though I suspect a gentleman who marries out of his class as probably not belonging to the gentry at all.”
After telling the squire all he had heard from the Rye physician concerning the visitors at the 'Mermaid', Dr. Syn took it upon himself to visit 'The City of London', where he discovered Meg's husband already far gone in liquor, and brow-beating not only his pretty wife but everyone else in the bar-parlour.
Upon Dr. Syn refusing to accept a drink with such a bully, Captain Vic flew into a rage and damned all parsons in good round terms, which brought tears of shame into poor Meg's eyes. The vicar however stood a round of drinks to the men in the bar and proposed Meg's health and happiness; and when Captain Vic with an oath told him not to be high-handed in his bar, the doctor turned on him, saying calmly but sternly:
“I must point out to you, Captain Vic, if that is what you are pleased to call yourself, that this girl whom you have married so hurriedly, is well beloved by everyone of us here in Dymchurch, and for her sake you will do well to behave with the civility which we have been accustomed to receive in this inn—an inn, let me add, that has been re-built by loving hands who wished to show their appreciation of Meg and her gallant husband, who gave his life that others might live.”
“Gave his life for you, you mean,” retorted Captain Vic. “I heard that you were the sole survivor.”
“Perfectly true,” replied Dr. Syn, “but had Abel Clouder had his way, he would have saved the whole ship's company. Being the sole survivor, however, makes it all the more my duty to see that Abel's young widow is happy, and to that end I expect you to help me, or you may find that we can force you to do this duty.”
There followed a battle of looks between them, but when Dr. Syn added that he knew something of Captain Vic's reputation in Rye, and also what he had seen of his companion, Colonel Delacourt had not predisposed his favour towards that gentleman, Captain Vic cocked his hat with a flourish and went out to cool his head upon the sea-wall.
The vicar turned to Meg and took her hand. “I am grieved for your sake that this has happened, my poor child,” he said kindly. “I hope, however, that the ill-humour of this husband of yours is due but to the drink he has taken, and that in soberer moods he may learn civility, but remember this—however much we may humour this fellow for your sake, woe betide him should the least hint be whispered of any unkindness to you, and the quicker you make him understand that, why so much the better for his health.”
And to a chorus of approval from the other men in the bar, Dr. Syn walked briskly back to the vicarage.
Here, to a late hour, he sat with Mipps, a large surveying map of Romney Marsh spread out before them, over which they pored, for all the world like two commanders planning a mighty battle. When the various dispositions of men, horses and pack ponies had been settled, Dr. Syn produced the brandy bottle, and pledged success to the greatest 'run' ever planned in the history of the Marsh smugglers.
“And if your leaders carry out these orders to the letter, I can see no flaw in the campaign, my good Master Carpenter. And now for the greatest surprise of all. We have, as you know, allowed Captain Faunce and his Dragoons to know that these preparations are being made for the night of the full moon.”
“Aye, sir,” interrupted Mipps, “and I still fail to see why we had to let 'em know. No doubt you have some good reason.”
“The very best of reasons, my good Mipps,” went on the vicar. “It is essential that the Dragoons, or at least a few of them, should be witnesses of the robbing of that coach. In order to establish the fact that Jimmie Bone is not the Scarecrow, they must see the Scarecrow rob the highwayman.”
Mipps nodded and scratched his impertinent-looking nose. “We seem to be doing a good deal for this fellow Bone, don't we, sir?”
“He will have his uses later, believe me,” replied Syn. “Your rumours about the Scarecrow put him into an awkward fix, and it pleases me to extricate him, so upon that night nothing must go wrong, and nothing left to chance. That is why, like a wise stage manager of a playhouse, I have called out the men three nights before the 'run' to rehearse in full detail.”
“And that strikes me as being one of the maddest things I ever heard tell of,” said Mipps. “Of course, you must do as you think, sir, but own up it's a bit crazy like. I mean to say—rehearsals is all right for play actors, but rehearsals for a crime against the Crown—well—oh, I say. Mad.”
“Have you forgotten Clegg's madnesses so soon, my good Mipps?” asked the doctor sadly. “It was by his craziness that he succeeded. Besides, that order you sent to the luggers in France, I took good care to amend. A good dress rehearsal is usually attended not only by the actors but by the properties. Those thousands of kegs and barrels which you ordered to be landed empty, I have taken good care shall be full. In that, we shall not be wasting our money or our time. We shall accomplish two 'runs' instead of one, that is all, and the Marsh men's profits will be doubled.”
Mipps slapped his thighs with enthusiasm and was guilty of executing one or two steps of the sailor's hornpipe. “Now, that's my old commander talking, blime if it ain't. Two 'runs', oh, my eye.”
“You need not hornpipe, Mr. Mipps. I am well aware that you have served in the Royal Navy.”
Mipps grinned. “And both nights is to go forward on the same plans, sir?”
“There is only one difference,” replied Syn. “On the first night it will be necessary for you and me to command the beach, and when the pack ponies leave the hills, the Upton brothers will fire the great beacon from Aldington Knoll, which will bring the luggers in shore. But on the second night, I shall leave you in command of the beach, and no one but the Scarecrow himself must fire the beacon.”
Mr. Mipps pulled a long face. “I must say, sir, that in a big affair like this 'ere, I prefers to ride at your side. Is this alteration absolutely necessary?”
“Of course it is,” replied Syn. “However careful these guinea runners may be with their preparations, as Mr. Bone has wisely pointed out, one must allow for delays with post horses, and until that coach arrives and puts on its skids at the top of Quarry Hill, Mr. Bone cannot hold it up, and until Mr. Bone holds it up and gets the sacks of guineas out on to the high bank on the right side of the hill going down, the Scarecrow will be powerless to rob him. Just as soon as this happens and the guineas are safely removed by the Scarecrow's men, why then the Scarecrow will gallop to Aldington hell for leather and fire the beacon. See?”
“No 'buts,' Master Carpenter. Orders are orders,” snapped Syn.
“Yessir. Orders is orders, and 'ere's my best respec's,” replied Mipps, draining his glass.
“And don't forget to keep that red-headed bridegroom of poor Meg's under your spy-glass. Remember, he is one of these double-dealing guinea runners that are employing our friend Bone.”
“I'll watch him, sir,” replied Mipps. “And at the same time I thinks we might put someone's spy-glass to watch this 'ere Colonel Delacourt at Rye. We want to know that he don't go gallivantin' after girls the same as Red-beard Vic! Suppose his wife dies and then old Waggetts dies, what he looks more like a-doin' any day, and then the colonel goes and marries Mrs. Waggetts. Not very comfortable to have a colonel in one inn and a captain in t'other. I prefers landladies to landlords when it comes to inns. They're more amenable, if you asks me, sir, to bachelors like myself.”
“I have thought of setting a watch upon this mysterious colonel already,” said Syn. “It strikes me that he'll need it when he finds that the Scarecrow has made off with his guineas, and it seems to me that the proper person to watch him will be our gallant Preventive Officer. He will want another Scarecrow to watch when he realises that he has shinned up the wrong bark after Jimmie Bone.”
This so appealed to Mr. Mipps that he executed a few more steps of the hornpipe, which were terminated by the vicar refilling his glass.
“By the way, Mipps, I notice that you are wearing your Sunday suit these days. I am glad to know that you have discarded your old coat, and I shall be glad to provide you with a new suit if you will order it. We must have you smart and ship-shape for your Sunday duty.”
“The new suit is ordered and paid for, sir,” replied Mipps. “I gets two guineas for that torn old suit of mine. We knows that women has strange notions sometimes, but Miss Charlotte wanting my old black suit what was going green, and being willin' to give two guineas for it fair give me a shock. Told me not to tell no one, but I tells my commander, of course.”
“So she wanted your old suit, did she?” asked Syn, thinking seriously.
“And what do you think she wanted it for?” went on the sexton. “Why, to put it in the copper and give it a baking, just as we did aboard the Imogene when we run into that plague of lice. Remember?”
“So she put your old suit into the boiler, did she? That's very interesting.”
“I thought it was rather silly,” replied Mipps. “It wasn't as dirty as all that. And what she wanted my old suit for and give two guineas for it beats me.”
But Dr. Syn was thinking of her new black horse, and the two purchases began to find connection in his mind. For many minutes Mipps watched his master closely, not daring to move in case he interrupted the train of thought.
At last Dr. Syn jerked himself out of his reverie.
“I was thinking, Mipps, I was thinking.”
“Never seen you look so serious since the time you marooned that 'orrible mulatto on the coral reef,” said Mipps.
“Ah,” exclaimed the doctor. “We have seen things. We have seen things.”
“That we has,” returned Mipps. “The glimpse I got of that red-bearded scoundrel of Meg's put me in mind of something. Remember a night a few years back in Jamaica when you was dining with a rich planter?”
Syn nodded. “We sold him a cargo of goods, and I went to collect the money. He told the authorities who I was, and if you and the lads hadn't fired the house, I might not be here to-day.”
“Oh, he hadn't caught you. You've got out of worse traps than that without help.”
“Maybe, but you saved me nevertheless,” returned Syn. “But what put that in your mind? Meg's husband did you say?”
“Aye, sir. That there planter had red hair, and I never sailed yet with a red-haired man that I've took to. Something unnatural about red hair in a man, I says.”
“He was a tall handsome fellow too, was that planter,” added Syn.
It was Mipps' turn to nod. “Bit queer if it was the same, only growed a beard, for I tell you, I don't like the sound of this Captain Vic.”
“It would be very queer, Mipps,” replied Syn thoughtfully. “I am sorry enough for poor Meg as it is, without wishing your idea a fact.”
“But if it is a fact, eh? Oh, well, we'd have to kill him, that's all. Couldn't have him strollin' about. But my! How he would bleed. Not that a bit of blood would notice round there now. He's turned Meg's cellar into a slaughter-house. He was cutting a pig's throat in it last night with one of the butcher boys. I heard the screams from my coffin shop, when I was at work on old man Waggetts' coffin.”
“But Waggetts is alive. What are you talking of?” demanded the vicar.
“Dr. Pepper told me he couldn't last long, so being matey with 'em, I thought I'd get his box knocked up so as he could see what a treat I'm making for him. Best pine and brass knobs. Mrs. W. said 'Spare no expense.' I think old Waggetts will be delighted.”
“I have yet to meet the man who could be delighted at the sight of his own coffin, Mr. Mipps,” replied Syn.
“Oh, I think he'll like it,” went on Mipps. “He ought to. Well, as I was saying, when I first heard the screams, I jumped, thinking maybe it was Waggetts who had gone and his ghost was 'owling at me. Then I goes out and locates the screams, and thinkin' it was that captain murderin' poor Meg, I creeps to the rescue and sees that red-bearded 'orror sticking a pig in the cellar. Not a pleasant night's recreation for a young bride, I thinks.”
“Captain Vic seems to be asking us to remove him. Well, we shall see. And in the meanwhile, keep a close eye on him.”
“I'll do a creep that way now and see what he's up to.”
“Are you going home then?” asked the vicar.
“I'm going to harness up the donkey and ride to Aldington while it's dark. The boys there are building the beacon to-night, and I want to make sure they will build two.”
“Very wise. Very wise,” replied Dr. Syn. “You're a good lieutenant, Mipps. Make it clear to the lads of Aldington that the success of both 'runs' depends upon their beacons. They must be able to be picked up five miles at sea, and make it clear that the Uptons fire the first and the Scarecrow himself the second. Where are you meeting them?”
“At the Walnut Tree,” said Mipps. “We set out from there to the Knoll.”
“Aye, aye, sir. The old blunderbuss there in the corner,” replied the sexton. “She throws as good a broadside as a King's frigate.”
“Well, I think there is little danger of interruption,” said the vicar. “It's a wild, eerie spot is Aldington Knoll.”
“And could tell a wild, eerified tale too, if it had a tongue in its head,” grinned the sexton.
Leaving the vicarage, Mipps did one of his 'creeps' beneath the sea-wall, and producing a brace and bit from his tool-bag, he proceeded to open up a peep-hole through the cellar door of 'The City of London.' He knew there was little danger of his being overheard while that heavy snoring kept regular in the cellar. When the tool gave place to his eye, the sight which it fell on disgusted him.
The cellar was lighted with a wax dip stuck in a bottle. Hanging in the centre from a hook in the ceiling was the body of a pig, while sprawled out beneath it lay the drunken body of Captain Vic, surrounded with empty bottles.
“A dead pig and a drunk one,” muttered Mipps, as he walked away towards the coffin shop, saddled his donkey and with his blunderbuss at the ready jogged away over the winding Marsh roads towards the distant hill of Aldington, where the white chalk shone out in a pale reflection towards the beacon on the mast of the old Varne Lightship in the Channel fairway.
