Discovers a Secret Doctor Syn smiled and promised Cicely that although he could not stop preaching against this rascal, he would at least modify his righteous rage, adding in a more serious tone that perhaps in the near future it might not be necessary to preach upon that vein at all, since already it was evident that the Scarecrow was showing signs of repentance, and that he, as shepherd of the flock, hoped that he might be able to lead one more stray lamb into the fold. So for the third time that evening Cicely crossed the Glebe field, but this time in company with Doctor Syn. Upon reaching the Court House, she was loth to part with him so soon, and entreated him to come in, urging that having found him she never wanted to let him go, and she also knew by the look in Papa's eye that he too was in need of moral support.
To this Doctor Syn replied that the house would sure to be in great commotion over their sudden return, and that her mother and Aunt Agatha would want to welcome their stray lambs home, in true feminine manner.
Cicely answered, smiling somewhat ruefully, that in truth she knew wwell what that meant: a deal of fussings, scoldings, twitterings and floods of tears, so that she, in trying to be a dutiful daughter, would be hard put to it to squeeze out one, so happy was she, and since by his presence their enjoyment at a thorough good cry at the family reunion would have to be somewhat modified, pray, would he not come in and help her out? But he was still firm and taking her in his arms kissed her tenderly good night, vowing that he would visit them the next morning. As a final farewell Cicely whispered:
''Tis very sad that poor old Doctor Syn is in his dotage. I do hope the dear old gentleman will not be jealous of his younger brother, for in truth I am fathoms deep in love with that—unholy trinity.' And she was gone, laughing back at him as she ran lightly across the flagstoned hall. Stopping at the steps, she turned, jerking her head in the direction of the drawing-room upstairs, whence came a babble of excited voices and a sound that meant only one thing—Maria was thoroughly enjoying herself again. With a gesture of comical despair, and an expression which said, 'There now, what did I tell you?' she allowed her happiness to express itself in the most curious, charming manner. Delicately lifting the skirt of her riding-habit, as if about to sweep him a curtsey, she suddenly executed a quaint, high-spirited little jig. Then, with a further gesture of humourous resignation, she waved to him and stumped off up the stairs.
He had watched her, enchanted, and stood for a while after she had gone, smiling at the thought of her lovely youthful grace, and he made a vow that he would sacrifice all rather than hurt a hair of her head.
Closing the front door, he looked up to the stars, stretching himself as though to reach and thank them, and breathed a vast deep sigh.
Then he strode off down the village street. So light was his step, so high his head and heart, that had any man seen him they might well have thought, 'Here must be the younger brother of the man we know,' and, indeed, he was not following Doctor Syn's usual habit of returning to the Vicarage before setting out upon one of his nightly expeditions. He certainly was not in the mood, this night, for the joggings of his churchyard pony. He laughed alooud when thinking again of her audacious offer to teach him to ride, and a great longing seized him to let the world know who he was and the things that he could do. And thus exalted, he left the village and strode out across the Marsh.
Some twenty minutes later he reached the loneliest spot—a small dilapidated cottage that the Marsh-folk shunned, for in their seafaring, superstitious minds they feared the old woman who lived there, believing her to be a witch and in the Devil's pay. In the eyes of these simple folk Doctor Syn became the more respected because he did not fear to visit her. But then the Vicar was such a very holy man.
Upon this night he was not the only one who had the courage to enter Mother Handaway's abode, for three others were there before him.
The fact that it was avoided by all God-fearing folk, and by reason of its lonely situation, cut off by intersecting dykes whose dilapidated bridges were unsafe, gave this poor hovel a value to anyone who wished to work in secret.
For many years it had served the Scarecrow well, for in a dry dyke close to the house was a well-built, underground stable, dating, some said, from the days of the Roman occupation. Its roof was the natural pasture soil and its only door was hidden beneath a stack of drying bullrushes. The inside was commodious and dry, owing to the excellent drainage system of the builders in those ancient times.
With these advantages, therefore, it was an admirable hiding-place for the Scarecrow's wild, black horse, Gehenna, and used as well by another gentleman whose way of business demanded secrecy. Gentleman James sheltered there when a hue-and-cry was at its height, or when the Scarecrow wished him to ride as deputy. In this way the Authorities had been fooled many times, for having seen the Scarecrow in one part of the Marsh, dumbfounded Dragoons or Preventive men, discussing their experiences the next day, would discover that this fearsome creature had also appeared some miles away at that particular time, and the rumour had grown that the Scarecrow was in truth a demon. So it appeared almost natural for this terrifying, unearthly horseman to disappear in the vicinity of this haunted spot. The smugglers took full advantage of the old woman's fearsome reputation, and saw that it was enhanced by weird shriekings in the night and oily smoke rising from the chimney-stack, thus giving encouragement to many a gruesome tale about the old woman's secret practices. The old hag's appearance was enough to quell the stoutest heart. Sharp curved nose and pointed chin guarded her one-toothed, mumbling mouth. Her evil eyes were beady and protected by straggly brows that matched the grey beard upon her chin. Her hair hung in long rats' tails, and her gnarled fingers made her hands look like claws. Half crazed, she too believed herself the witch of popular belief, for had she not conjured up the Devil in the likeness of that holy man, the Vicar of Dymchurch? And did not the Devil pay her more golden guineas than a poor parson could ever afford?p
Upon this night she sat in a corner by the fire surrounded by her clawing cats, huddled and mumbling to herself, while round a table, seated on barrels, talking and drinking, were three men.
Heaped into a pile in front of Jimmie Bone was a various assortment of the kind of trinkets that delight a feminine heart. It waas the Highwayman's habit to keep in reserve a goodly selection of such baubles, and he took great care always to have some about him as a reward for services rendered.
Though as a rule these gifts were bestowed carelessly enough, upon this occasion Mr. Bone did not seem able to make up his mind. He scratched his head, took up a ring, only to put it back in favour of a brooch or bracelet, and then thumping the table which made the whole heap jump, he cried out in his perplexity: 'S'death, I cannot tell which one would suit her best.' The other two looked up, surprised from their earnest conversation.
'Why, what troubles you, Jimmie?' asked Mr. Mipps. 'Can't you find one to your likin'? Seems to me that a wench should be well-pleased with any of 'em. Who's it for? That new one at the Red Lion in Hythe, I'll be bound.
Now bein' a sandy-'aired, I should suggest a garnet, or isn't it 'er? If you describes 'er we might be able to assist. Pedro 'ere will give you first-rate information. 'Ad to leave Spain, he did; too many se±oritas wanted to call him Papa, didn't they, me old flirt-man?' 'No, no, my excellent Mipps,' protested Pedro, in laboured English.
'The se±oritas wish me to call on their Papa.' 'Means the same thing in the end, don't it, you old Spanish bullfight? Anyway,' he went on to Jimmie Bone, 'what he don't know about what they want ain't worth tellin' to your auntie. So come, give us a look at her riggin' and we'll tell you 'ow to deck her figure'ead.'
The little Spanish sea-captain tugged excitedly at his beard, his black eyes dancing at the thought of hearing a description from Se±or Bone of the girl who was lucky enough to please him. His weatherbeaten little face, tanned to old leather and having indeed the same texture, wrinkled into a mesh of smiling expectancy. He turned his grizzled head this way and that, which made the golden rings in his ears flash in the light. He spoke with the knowledge of an expert: 'I know, I know, before you start, I know. She is like the peach against the wall ready for the—'ow you say?—ah, the pluckings.' Mr. Bone had other ideas on the subject, though he seemed as unable to describe the lady as he had been to select her present. After much humming and ha-ing and entreating them not to laugh at him, he confessed that although the lady in question was sparkling, witty and full of charm, he didn't know what colour her hair was as she wore the most enormous white wig, and that she stood no higher than the tip of his horse's nose, had a face like a bright little robin, was unmarried and well-nigh eighty.
'Well, blow me down and knock me up!' cried Mipps. 'If that ain't Miss Agatha Gordon at Squire's, I'll keel-haul myself.' 'That's the party,' cried Mr. Bone. 'As nice a little old lady as ever I robbed. But I've give back her jewels and I want to apologize with a keepsake.' Captain Pedro was too bewildered to speak. He could not understand how it was that so fine a caballero as this highwayman should be hearttroubled by an old lady of eighty. Like all foreigners, he knew, of course, that all Englishmen are mad, but he had not imagined anyone being as strange as this. He was hoping to hear more upon the matter when the door opened and Doctor Syn stood looking at them.
The effect on Mother Handaway was remarkable. She stretched out her scraggy arms straight before her with finger turned up and palms towards her master as though to ward off any curse he might think to hurl at her. By her averted frightened eyes, and lips that muttered invocations, the three men at the table knew that the old hag was in the grip of fear, waiting to hear whether the inscrutable black-clothed figure was angy with her.
He did not keep her long in this awful suspense. Though he had walked the Marsh, his soul had still been singing with the stars, and he could not find it in his heart to enjoy the power he exercised over this misguided creature, so in a quiet calm voice he said: 'You have done well, old mother, and shall be well repaid. Go to the stables, and light the lanterns there.' After uttering a wild cry of joy, she fell forward in ecstasy of genuflexions, and when she heard another kindly order—'Go. There, there.
All's well'—she chuckled in delight and, followed by the cats about her, hobbled past him through the door.
Quickly Doctor Syn closed the door behind her and with a smile of real affection lighting up his eyes went over to the table from which the three men had risen.
''Tis good to see you, Pedro,' and he took the Spanish captain's hands in both of his. 'You managed the last business so well and with such care for the valuable cargo in those barrels—oh yes, I have heard how gently they were handled—that I am reluctant to send you back again so soon to France.
Mipps will have told you that there are two prisoners to be taken to our harbour in the Somme, and there is no one who can slip through the blockade like our Pedro ù' The gratified Pedro interrupted with an emphatic: 'Ah no, my Captain, there is you. There were moments when the good Greyhound slid before the wind and first the French and then the English battleships let drive at her that Pedro thought, 'What will the Captain do now? Will he tack here or there? Hold his fire or answer them?' Ah yes—your Pedro needed you. But your luck held with me—and home we got.' 'Would that I could have been with you, Pedro,' said Doctor Syn. 'The call of the sea remains as strong as ever. You did well, my friend. Was the cargo—troublesome? I got your message.' 'Ah—the bookmarks. 'Tis good, our system of the post at the bookshop. I would I wrote such good letters as our young boy Jacques. I speak—he write, and he deliver it.' Thumping himself on the chest, he spat out in disgust: 'Bah—Pedro! Unlettered, ignorant Spanish pig. Bah!' 'You have a good deal of courage which makes up for your lack of letters, my good little Pedro.'
'Just as my weather ear makes up for me lack of inches, eh?' said Mr.
Mipps meaningly. Then, seeing that the others had not understood, except, of course, the Vicar, Mipps explained: 'Another of the Captain's little jokes.
Gentleman James is lucky. Can't be called a dwarf. Though I wouldn't mind so much being a little man and someone was to put me in a barrel—full one, mind you, not empty. And that reminds me, talkin' of barrels. Had a message from Vulture. Them coopered Dragoons got to Sandgate lovely. Says he popped them other two you didn't want to ride over the Marsh with into barrels as well. Oh, and he found two more lurkin' about he didn't like, to which he did ditto, just to make up the nice round half-dozen for Mr. Hyde.
Left 'em in a row on the doorstep. I'd like to give my weather eye a treat when he opens 'em. You're askin for trouble with Mr. Hyde. He'll be Mr.
Seek now.'
At which they laughed heartily. 'Ah,' cried Pedro. 'I do not think his cargo please him as mine please me. At least, the half of it. That miss—a brave one. Rough or smooth—all same to her. When all was well and as you told me, Captain, I let them out between the decks. The tall one—she clapped me on the back and say, 'Good Pedro. Why did you not let me out before? I heard the guns, I could have helped you man them.' But the little one'—the thought made Pedro hold up his hands and flap them in disgust.
'She scream at me as though it were my fault. She say, 'You let me out. You stop the boat and let me off.' Had it not been for orders, Pedro might well have say, 'Go then, miss. The water, it is deep and wet, but if you wish, 'op it.' Alles. Pouf!' The noise conveyed what he meant. That he was extremely glad to be rid of her.
Doctor Syn looked at his fob watch, and said it was some ten minutes short of midnight and time to be saddling up.
'You will ride with Mipps to the beach, Pedro,' he said, 'and the luggers will take you off during the run, and put you aboard the Greyhound.
She's off Dungeness, is she not? Mipps, saddle Gehenna now, while I have word with James here.' Mipps nodded, and with an 'Aye-aye, sir,' took Pedro by the arm and the two little men went off together, their back views very similar.
'Well, Jimmie, what news?' asked Doctor Syn as they went to the fire and sat down in the chimney-seat.
'If it's personal news you mean, then James ain't got much to tell you, for them bloody red-robins—beg pardon, Vicar—them nice Bow Street Runners, is remarkably quiet. Expectin' them to jump any time now, so if you don't hear from me you'll know I'm taking my vacation at Slippery's this time. The false run went off according to plan. 'British Grenadiers', eh? I made the Dragoons dance to a different tune. 'Over the Border Away, Away.' I took 'em across the Kent Ditch and got 'em lost in Sussex. 'Well and truly lost', you said, and well and truly lost they are. We turned the signposts, so if they do happen to get out they'll go trotting back into Sussex again.' The two men laughed heartily at this. Then Jimmie Bone slapped hand to knee and exclaimed: 'Zounds—talking of finding and losing—no news I said, and here I am with some in my pocket.' And he drew out the wallet he had taken in Quarry Hill from Captain Foulkes.
'There's something here that I think you ought to have,' he said. 'You see, I've had a good deal of experience with gentlemen's wallets, and this one sort of puzzled me. 'Here,' says I, 'is a good one. Hand made. Beautiful stitching. Gold initial and made of Russian leather.' There it was in my hand, empty—although it didn't feel empty. A nice exciting crackling of paper.
'James,' I said, 'you may have stumbled on this gentleman's emergency note,' so I turns it over and has a good look, and there at the top was a different stitching. So, Gentleman James being curious, I ripped out the stitching and inside here was this.' He drew from behind the outer leather a thin folded paper, covered with writing, which he handed over to Doctor Syn.
'You can read the language—I can't. But I can read a name, even in French. And that's why I thought you'd better have it.' Doctor Syn turned to the name, and gave a long low whistle of astonishment. Then quickly reading the letter through he looked up at the highwayman, and his voice was grave. ''Tis good that you have such a sensitive touch, Jimmie. Here's a stupendous piece of news indeed, though for a time I've had an inkling that something was afoot. I'll deal with it, James.
As you have gathered, it is a letter written by none other than Robespierre himself to a Monsieur Barsard. For the present I must urge you to keep even that knowledge to yourself. All I can tell you other than this is that he proposes ù'
Upon that instant the nearby hooting of an owl was heard, and the door opened. Doctor Syn quickly replaced the letter in the wallet, which he put in his pocket, as a figure entered the room. Masked and hooded, it was terrible to behold. One might have expected its voice to be sepulchral. Instead came, surprisingly enough, the plaintive, muffled voice of Mr. Mipps. 'Oh, me mask. Don't fit,' he complained. 'Give Pedro mine. This didn't fit him neither, but it'll give me cruel headache, sure as coffin nails. Owls is on. 'Ear 'em? Ain't you ready? 'Orses are. Why, blow me down! Ain't you chose your present yet? Ain't you been lingy? Better be quiddy.' Mr. Bone made a rush for the table and quickly sorted out some half a dozen trinkets, and turning, begged Doctor Syn to give him his advice, telling him that he meant to make a personal apology to Miss Gordon with one of them, and which did he think suitable?p
With a nod of approval for his gentlemanly thought, Doctor Syn began to make his choice from the articles when Mr. Mipps, who was at the table inspecting some of the others, cried, 'Knock me up solid—'ere's the very thing and you've been and gone and missed it!' He held out for them to see a brooch, a dog's head carved out of crystal, painted, and set in gold looking remarkably life-like.
'Why, yes,' cried Doctor Syn, ''tis indeed the very thing. For though it is not a poodle, it is at least a white dog and bears a faint resemblance to Mister Pitt.' 'Poodle,' repeated Mipps. 'Is that what you calls 'em? A old-fangled name for a new-fangled dog. Looks more like one of them clipped yew hedges to me.' Mr. Bone, admitting he had been dense, besought Doctor Syn to give it to her when convenient, to which Doctor Syn replied he would do so the very first thing in the morning, with her own as well. Then, as Jimmie Bone had already been out once that night and ridden hard, he bade him go to rest, adding that he would be informed of the next run, which probably, he said, would not be for a week.
The warning cries of the owl becme more insistent as Doctor Syn leapt into the dry dyke and through the secret door.
Three minutes later three wild mounted figures dashed from the stable, topped the dyke and galloped seawards, whence came the twinkle of innumerable lights as the 'flashers' sent their message round the Marsh.
Thus did Pedro say good-bye to his master upon the beach at Littlestone, where a lugger, divested of its cargo, signalled him to board.
The diminutive Spanish captain, mounted now upon the shoulders of an enormous fisherman waiting to carry him out waist deep to the departing vessel, was almost as tall as the gaunt figure astride Gehenna.
In this curious position the two men clasped hands and the Scarecrow whispered: 'When you reach the Somme and hand your prisoners over to Duloge, bid him from me to watch for a certain Monsieur Barsard. And now, farewell, my little Pedro.' Standing at the edge of the sea, horse and man motionless, one dark shadow looking bronze against the merging silver of the sea and sky, Doctor Syn watched the lugger till it was almost out of sight, and wondered if his good friend Duloge would meet with one Barsard.
