Doctor Syn closed the front door and chuckled at the assurance of the Revenue man, and after reflecting how completely his play-acting had succeeded, the chuckle grew into a laugh, and when he thought that had Mr. Sheridan seen his performance he would certainly have recommended him as a comedian, his laughter grew the louder. Indeed, he was laughing so hilariously that he did not notice that Mipps had returned and was standing beside him.
The Sexton's tone was plaintive. 'You might, at least, tell me the joke. I don't see nothin' to laugh at. Least, not at a Revenue man. Funny—never liked 'em. Never saw nothin' funny in 'em, neither. And if he ain't goin' to get no rest, he ain't goin' to keep awake doin' nothin' funny under our windows.' And with this philosophical resolve Mr. Mipps went briskly to the curtains and pulled them close with an extra tug or two to show his indignation. By this time Doctor Syn's laughter had dwindled back into chuckles.
'Oh well, p'raps it was Wraight's Building Yard you was laughin' at,' pleaded Mipps, trying to get some sort of response from his master. This had the desired effect, for the Vicar raised a questioning eyebrow. Mr. Mipps knew what it asked and proceeded to explain. 'Oh, begging you pardon but anticipatin' nothin' humorous knowin' what Revenue men are, me ear didn't seem to want to get away from the key'ole. 'Mr. Mipps,' it said to me, quite jealous-like, 'you're always thinkin' of your weather eye, now pay a little attention to your weather ear.' I couldn't get it off, sir. Got paid itself out. It was burnin' fiery 'ot at the things he said about the Squire, and it positively blushed when you got on to them piebald sheep.' 'Then your sensitive ear has saved me the trouble of repeating it,' said the Vicar quietly, and then dropping his voice still lower, spoke quickly and urgently: 'You know the plans for tonight, but warn the men to keep clear of Wraight's Yard. Put sentries round to report any movement of the Dragoons.
Tell Vulture and Eagle to be in the Dry Dyke under the sea-wall in a quarter of an hour. And now we know which way the cat is likely to jump, tell Jimmie Bone when he returns as the Scarecrow from the false run to ride out again and see that the remaining Dragoons upon the Marsh are well and truly lost. I shall not need him as the Scarecrow tonight for the 'run proper'. I must do that myself. There will be too many decisions to be taken on the spur.
That's all, I think. The horses were all listed. Ah, yes. That reminds me. The Squire's stable. The horse called Stardust. See no one touches it.' It was now Mipps's turn to look quizzical. 'Oh! In case someone wants to ride it tomorrow?' 'Yes, Mr. Mipps,' replied the Vicar. 'In case someone wants to ride it tomorrow.' 'I see.' The only thing Mr. Mipps really did see at the moment was that he was thirsty, and knowing that their thirsts were usually simultaneous, he asked the Vicar hopefully if there was anything he wanted, adding as an extra hint that laughing was thirsty work. But this time, however, their thirsts did not coincide—for Mipps had certainly no taste for what the Vicar wanted.
'Water?' Mr. Mipps could hardly believe his ears.
'Yes, Mr. Mipps. Water. I asked you to fetch me a ewer of water.'
'Oh, water.' His tone conveyed that he had never heard of it, and although he went upstairs to find some, he continued to mutter question and answers during his search. ''Water?' I says. 'Yes, Mr. Mipps. Water', he says. 'Water?' says I. 'I asked you to fetch me a ewer of water.'' Mr. Mipps shuddered. 'Ernful stuff.' He was extremely glad that he had had the foresight to refill his flask with brandy. He felt in his pocket for comfort, then remembered that he had left it in the kitchen, so with a fervent hope that Mrs.
Honeyballs hadn't been at it, he decided that the only thing to do in this emergency was to go and find out if she had. By this time he had forgotten what he was looking for, so having wandered aimlessly into the Vicar's bedroom—wondering why he was upstairs and not downstairs, he looked wildly about him for assistance. 'Come up for something,' he muttered.
'Come up for wot? I dunno—brandy?' No. No. Downstairs—hope she hasn't been at it—. Now what am I 'ere for?' He had asked himself this question several times before his weather eye decided to befriend him. It came to rest upon the Vicar's washstand, where, reposing innocently in its basin, was the object of his mutual stress. Water. So before it could elude him again he seized it and hurried downstairs, with a twofold prayer that it would not finish the Vicar, and that Mrs. Honeyballs hadn't finished his brandy.
The first part of his prayer was answered when, upon handing over the bedroom ewer, Doctor Syn did not drink it. Instead, after a polite, 'Thank you, Mr. Mipps, I began to fear that perhaps my well had run dry,' he did a stranger thing. Lifting a corner of the heavy cloth that covered the refectory table, he threw the ernful contents under it. Upon the instant, Mipps understood. With a long-drawn sigh of relief he said to the Vicar: 'You did give me a fright, sir. I thought you wanted water. Silly of me. I see. Better go.
Your well ain't dry, but mine is. Least, I 'ope it ain't.' And hurrying off, he discovered that Bacchus was on his side and that the second part of his prayer had been fulfilled. Mrs. Honeyballs's weather eye had let her down.
From beneath the refectory table came the protests of a disturbed sleeper. Oaths, yawns and splutterings, and in a short while there appeared the rubicund face of the Squire, his bald head bereft of wig and folds of the tablecloth draped about him like a toga. Doctor Syn regarded him with affectionate amusement. 'Not Caesar's wife, Tony. Egad, you're more like Nero himself.' Not having heard him mixing his metaphors to the Revenue man, Sir Antony did not appreciate the allusion. Instead, he expressed his customary surprise at finding himself in this position and began as usual to find the reason, before exerting himself to get up. With the assurance of one who has just discovered a great truth, he announced: 'D'you know, I have an idea. The second bin is stronger than the first.' The excuse found and not contradicted, he crawled back under the table, found his wig and reappeared again with:
'What's the time?' 'You've had your usual hour's nap, Tony,' said Doctor Syn.
Again this appeared to surprise Sir Tony. 'The devil I have. Did I snore? D'you know I had a most remarkable dream. Dreamt I was at one of her ladyship's putting parties—on the lawn. I was partnering the Bishop's wife and she kept fouling my ball. So I tu-quo-qued her and she turned into the Scarecrow, and I found I'd got no clothes on. Damned silly when you come to think of it.' 'Well, Tony,' replied the Vicar, still regarding him with amusement, 'while you were—er, partnering the Bishop's wife, the new Revenue man paid me a social call.' 'The devil he did,' said Sir Antony, putting on his wig and slowly getting to his feet. 'Thought I heard voices. Thought it was Lady Cobtree agitatin' me to put me breeches on.' Then the full truth of what Christopher had said dawned upon him.
'What?' he shouted. 'Revenue Officer at this time of night? What did he want? Why didn't he come to me? New man, eh? Doesn't know the ropes.
Should have come to me. Suppose he thinks I can't keep order. Suppose he was criticizing my jurisdiction. Damned unfair. Mean advantage. Me, standin' there shiverin' with nothin' on.' His dream had evidently been so vivid that he was still in it, and Doctor Syn, knowing of old that his friend was like to become quarrelsome if not placated, said in all sincerity: 'Now really, Tony; you should have heard the things he said about you.' The Squire was mollified, having taken this to mean that the Revenue man had paid him compliments, which was indeed Doctor Syn's intent; and so, after saying that no doubt the Revenue man was a damned decent fellow, he sat down comfortably in the chair from which he had so ignominiously fallen, and good-naturedly resumed the conversation with: 'What was I sayin' when I slid off?' Doctor Syn explained that his last words before disappearing under the table had been to ask for another drink. The Squire received this news with as much interest as though he had delivered a pearl of wisdom, adding that he might as well have it now. Then in an attempt to pick up the threads of their interrupted discussion, said that as far as he could recollect, he was being annoyed about something.
'Now what was I being annoyed about?' he asked himself. Again, the bruises of the morning reminded him of his misfortunes, and after a lengthy grumble, in which there figured prominently the faulty bell-pull, the remains of Gabriel Creach, her ladyship's bad temper, the waste of a good day's sport, that confounded doormat bitin' his toe; and then making that ridiculous offer of a thousand guineas for the Scarecrow who won't be caught, this gave him another hint and he remembered what he was being annoyed about, and said triumphantly: 'I know. Those fumblin' old Lords of the Level askin' the Dragoons to come and catch our Scarecrow. Read it in the papers. Lots of elephants tryin' to catch an eel. Damned silly. Know perfectly well, no smugglin' in this part of the country.' Even that did not satisfy him as being the real cause; so he started again: 'No, what was I bein' annoyed about?' Another ray of hope: 'Oh, I know. That confounded highwayman, stoppin' the Dover coach with me wife's Aunt Agatha. Must have been Gentleman James because of his good manners. Damned bad manners, I call it, takin' the diamonds old girl plannin' to leave Cicely.' Cicely. At last he had found the real cause of his annoyance, as is often the case, the chief worry having been obliterated by the trifling ones, and his voice now took on a sincerely worried tone. 'That's what I was annoyed about, Christopher—Cicely and Maria.
Bad enough to have a daughter in France; all those upstarts cuttin' people's heads off all over the place—then Cicely goin' off and not sayin' where she was goin'. Said she was goin' off to stay with the Pemburys, but she didn't go there. And just when I want you most you go off preachin' in London, and only return yesterday. No, I'm worried, Christopher.' Doctor Syn urged that there was really no cause for anxiety, pointing out that Cicely was well able to take care of herself; that she had probably changed her mind about the Pemburys and had gone to stay with other friends; that probably she had written, but that the mails were unreliable.
The Squire, always influenced by what Christopher said, was only too eager to be cheered up, and so saying that Christopher was probably right, he asked for a drink.
Thinking that his old friend had already drunk more than was good for him, Doctor Syn said he was extremely sorry but that he couldn't oblige, adding apologetically: 'We made rather a night of it, you know. Even my small cellar will need replenishing.' The Squire was most upset at this and asked him why the devil he had not said so before. 'Here we've been sittin' about, talkin' and shiverin'
' All his old grievances came back with a rush and he sneezed violently, announcing, as though it were a Christopher's fault: 'There, I knew I'd catch a cold on that lawn.' There was only one thing for it. They must go home and open another bin. And in order to carry out this excellent idea he went with all possible haste to the front door, and, flinging it open, found that his way was impeded, for there on the doorstep were two large casks. Annoyed at not being able to get out, but equally mystified as to why such things should be outside the door instead of in their proper place, he reminded Christopher that he had said there was nothing in his cellar.
Doctor Syn remarked that there was nothing in his cellar but there certainly seemed to be something on his doorstep, which gave the Squire a brilliant idea.
'I say, Christopher,' he whispered. 'P'raps they've left them. You know who I mean. They.' Then, not liking to admit to the possibility of their existence, he mouthed the word 'Smugglers'.
An even better thought then struck him. 'Come on, Christopher. Let's bring 'em in.' Doctor Syn, however, seemed doubtful, suggesting that this was a matter for the Revenue man, at which Sir Antony was highly indignant, saying that he didn't like the Revenue man anyway, and that he would handle this himself, and that it was a very good thing, since they could have a drink now, and wouldn't have to wait till they got home.
So, telling Doctor Syn in his best judicial manner to report this to him in the morning, he set to work pushing and pulling at one of the barrels, speculating the while as to its contents.
'Hope it's not rum,' he grunted; 'don't like rum. Her Ladyship can always tell.' After a deal of struggling, in which Mr. Mipps had been summoned to assist, both barrels were successfully man£uvred into the room, and at the Squire's orders the door was closed to prevent anyone 'pryin' in while he was investigatin'!' Heated from his exertions, he could hardly wait to tap the barrels, and Mr. Mipps having conveniently produced a spigot with the necessary implements, he was delightedly setting to work when he noticed some roughly chalked writing on the side of the casks.
'Hallo, who's been chalkin' on our barrels?' he cried.
'Looks as if they are your barrels, sir,' said Mr. Mipps, who was on his hands and knees peering at the writing. 'This one says 'For our Parson with C.O.M.P.S. from Scarecrow'. What does this one say?' Mr. Mipps crawled round to the other. ''For our S.Q.U.I.R.T.' Squirt? 'Ope that don't mean you, sir.' Preferring to receive the insult with the barrel rather than without it, the Squire replied indignantly that of course it meant him. 'Bad spellin'—that's all,' and added that it was a waste of time standing about spelling when they might be drinking, and that for his part he was going to open his right away.' At that moment there was a loud knocking on the door while from outside came what were obviously noises of the military. 'Confound it, Christopher,' grumbled the Squire, his thirst thwarted, 'why can't you have your callers at the proper time?'
Mr. Mipps, already at the spy-hole, whispered dramatically: 'It's the Dragoons, sir.' Sir Antony, fearing that the Law might cheat him of his drink, asked Mr. Mipps to tell them to go away. 'Never asked 'em here. Tell 'em to go home.' This seemed easy enough till the full horror of the situation dawned upon him. Here he was, the Chief Magistrate, receiving smuggled goods.
' 'I think we had better find out what they want, Tony,' said Doctor Syn calmly. 'The door, Mr. Mipps.' Sir Antony, nearly crying with vexation, endeavoured to disguise his own barrel by draping himself round it, then finding that he was still holding the spigot, he endeavoured to hide such incriminating evidence, trying first one pocket, then another, and finally sticking it up his waistcoat, where it bulged most uncomfortably. By this time the door was open and Major Faunce and his Sergeant had come in.
'I beg your pardon, sir,' said the Major, addressing Doctor Syn, 'but I was told I should find Mr. Hyde at your house.' Doctor Syn greeted the soldier pleasantly and told him that Mr. Hyde had been gone for some little time. Then seeing that both the soldiers were caked in mud, he asked innocently if they had been fighting. To which the Major replied that 'paddling' would be a better description. He sounded and looked most aggrieved, explaining that they had been up to their necks in mud; in and out dykes halfway round Kent, and that he was positive monkey business had been going on with the signposts; that he had lost his men all but two, in this confounded mist, and hadn't seen a sign of any smuggling; and it was all the fault of that meddling fool of a Revenue man sending them off on a wild-goose chase. He then apologized for his outburst, adding that that was why he wanted a few words with Nicholas Hyde.
Doctor Syn was most sympathetic, and remarking that the Major certainly seemed to have had a trying evening, asked him if he would care for a drink, while the Squire, who had been endeavouring, behind the Major's back, to hide both himself and his barrel beneath the window curtain, and indeed had nearly succeeded, inwardly cursed Christopher for a forgetful fool, and made frantic signals in protest.
'Thank 'ee, Parson,' returned the Major, cheering up at the prospect of good drinking in pleasant company. 'Very civil of you.' 'You look as if you could do with something stronger than Marsh water, eh, Sergeant?' laughed the Vicar.
Major Faunce, thus relaxed, took a glance round the room, and perceiving the Squire in the shadow by the bow window, advanced to greet him, catching sight of the barrels as he went.
'Good evening, Squire,' he said, bowing formally, to which the Squire could not respond owing to the stiffness of his waistcoat. Perhaps it was the Squire's embarrassment which prompted Major Faunce to give closer inspection to the barrels, and upon reading the chalked inscriptions he became grave.
'So, gentlemen, I see that you have had other visitors here tonight besides Mr. Hyde and ourselves, and we sent off to the other side of the country—misled on purpose, I see. Nice little plot.' He warmed to the subject as he recollected the discomfort to which the Revenue man's stupidity had put them. But on second thought, was it stupidity? Duplicity might be the better word. Possibly Mr. Hyde was not averse to a noggin of smuggled brandy and a bag of guineas as a bribe, and he'd be in good company, too.
Perhaps they were all in it, against him. So he said aloud: 'I'm afraid this looks mighty suspicious, Parson.' The Squire seemed a trifle over-anxious to explain, and as always when he tried to use his best official tone, he became involved and ended up lamely that he was going out when the barrels bumped into him and he couldn't leave 'em there doin' nothin'.
This time, however, Doctor Syn helped him out and tried to straighten the matter, saying: 'I assure you, Major Faunce, we know nothing about it.
We have had a quiet evening here discussing parochial affairs, and as the Squire has just told you, we found them in the doorway. Naturally, as Lord of the Level, he wished to make an investigation at once, and ù' 'Much to your surprise you discover they are addressed to you!' interrupted the Major.
Doctor Syn replied that that was exactly what he was about to say, adding: 'So you see, Major, we are jsut as much in the dark about it as you are.' But the soldier, by now thoroughly suspicious, pursued the subject still further. 'But you didn't intend to remain in the dark as to what was in 'em, eh?' At this the Squire lost patience and exploded: 'Well, dammit, man, what did you expect us to do—stand and look at 'em? It's got my name on it.
Read it yourself. A gift's a gift. That's Law.' 'A bribe more like, and that's not Law,' parried the Major.
After so many years together in wild adventure, there had sprung up between Mipps and his master a system of signalling that had become almost thought-reading. During the above altercation this had been put into silent action, which resulted in the most innocent-seeming interruption from Mr.
Mipps: 'Beggin' your pardon, sirs, for interruptin', but the Vicar asked me to remind him about Mrs. Wooley's complaint.' The Vicar thanked Mr. Mipps warmly, as indeed he had forgotten all about it. He begged the gentlemen to excuse him, but he must ride out and give the old woman a few words of cheer and keep her in good spirits.
'Then,' said Major Faunce, intending not to lose sight of any possible clue, 'you'll not object to my sending a couple of my men with you, to see that her taste in spirits is not barrels of smuggled brandy?' Doctor Syn replied almost gratefully: 'Not at all, Major Faunce. On the contrary, I enjoy company on a long ride, and no doubt the poor old body will give them a glass of her parsnip wine for their trouble.' Mr. Mipps helped him on with his long coat, and the Vicar thanked him, adding an extra benediction on his good servant for reminding him of his duties. Then turning to the Major he requested: 'Pray, Major Faunce, do not fail to let me know what spirit those barrels contain. I must preach a very strong sermon against it next Sunday,' and with the pleasantest of smiles he went out to mount his fat white pony, whilst the Sergeant gave instructions to the two troopers that Doctor Syn was to be escorted across the Marsh and watched, adding that in his opinion the Major had gone a bit too far, being suspicious of a poor old gentleman what was only doing his duty.
Indeed, the Major was at that moment thinking the same thing himself and feeling a trifle ashamed for having entertained the slightest suspicions about such a good and kindly soul as the Vicar of Dymchurch. If, however, he too had been able to read thoughts, he might have taken even stronger measures.
