THE SCARECROW RIDES (33 page)

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.

“You mean Clegg the pirate?”

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.

“Why that?” asked Dr. Syn.

“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.”

“Ghost?” he repeated.

“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.”

“Your heroes?” he repeated.

“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.

After that they rode in silence to the village.

Captain Faunce was piqued. The fact that he had failed to arrest the
highwayman was annoying, especially when he became convinced that the
notorious Bone was also the mysterious Scarecrow by whose daring his
prisoners had escaped from his guards.

From what he gathered of the character of Merry, he at first
suspected that this slippery rascal had purposely led him a wild goose
chase. Merry, however, stoutly denied that he had ever been in the pay
of the highwayman, and described in full detail the manner of Dr. Syn's
fight, which made the reverend gentleman the popular hero of the Marsh.
That the vicar of Dymchurch should have stood up to and punished a
well-known fighter in defence of Miss Cobtree's pearls was an heroic
effort that lost nothing in the telling.

True, it somewhat damaged the glamorous reputation of the
highwayman, but against this was the rumour being spread on all sides
and believed in by the Dragoon captain, that Mr. Bone had at least
saved the smugglers necks. Mr. Mipps, who was responsible for the
rumour, saw to it that it spread, and spread well.

Amongst others who believed in it was the Preventive Officer. For
some time past he had had his suspicions that he could put his hand
upon the highwayman, but he did not think it his duty to arrest him,
since a gentleman of the road had nothing to do with the Customs.
Moreover, he was not the man to earn a hundred guineas on a man's head,
when the man had a popular reputation amongst the poor. Mr. Bone spent
his money lavishly when he was in funds, and saw to it that the poor
benefited by the rich man's loss. Besides, it was widely hinted at in
all the taverns of the Marsh that were Jimmie Bone to be arrested on
information received, it would be short shift for the informer.

This knowledge frightened Merry, and he told as much to Dr. Syn, who
took such a serious view of it that he persuaded Merry to slip over
into Sussex till Romney Marsh became safer. This plan suited Dr. Syn,
for as he mentioned to Mipps: “There is enough to do regarding a
certain business without that rascal hanging about the vicarage with
his eyes open.”

So Merry departed for Rye, and through a kindly recommendation from
the vicar of Dymchurch, he was given odd jobs in the 'Mermaid Tavern'.

There was no one more pleased at his going than Meg Clouder, for as
she told Dr. Syn: “Of late he has taken to watching my windows, and to
following me if I go across the Marsh. The mere fact of your forbidding
him to speak to me, makes his passion for me the more frightening.”

“Well, well, you are safe enough from him, I promise you,” replied
Dr. Syn. “He will trouble this village no more, for his attempt to get
that highwayman arrested has put him into some danger with Mr. Bone's
friends.”

Unlike Merry, however, the Preventive Officer was without fear, and
no sooner was he convinced that Jimmie Bone had offended against the
Customs than he set to watching for the gentleman, who sometimes spent
so lavishly at one or the other of the taverns. But Mr. Bone was taking
no chances until the tell-tale cuts inflicted by Dr. Syn's knuckles
should have healed. Meanwhile, his friends informed him that the
Preventive Officer was on the prowl.

“I can tell you one thing,” said Captain Faunce to the Customs
officer, “these fellows whoever they are, have won the first round
against me, and won it handsomely, I'll admit. But they'll not be so
sensible as to lie low for long. There'll soon be a cargo run again,
and then we will not be hoodwinked. Success goes to such rascals'
heads. Keep your eyes and ears open, Mr. Customs.”

As the weeks went by, however, the Preventive man realised that the
smugglers were still lying very quiet, and yet his experience told him
that all the time secret preparations were going forward. So he waited
and watched. Word had already been circulated through the channels
known to Mipps that small runs were not worth the risk, and that as
soon as their new leader, the Scarecrow, had satisfied himself that all
was ready, the cargoes would be more than profitable. Promises of great
wealth, with small risk, if all was done according to schedule,
heartened those whose love and money was in the game.

Dr. Syn worked hard. Ostensibly at his parochial work. It was
generally believed that when the flag was flying outside the little
white hut on the sea-wall, that the vicar was preparing his next sermon
within, so that no one would disturb him.

True, the top of the locker which served as a seat in this cabin was
duly packed with ecclesiastical tomes, whose scholarly value warranted
the fine old steel lock which the Upton brothers had fixed to it. But
if truth were known, Dr. Syn gave little time to his sermons. Not
wishing to appear brilliant, his discourses gave him no trouble, and
when he was supposedly penning them, he would in reality be working out
some new and ingenious method of fooling the Customs. Every vessel at
the smugglers' command was drawn to scale by one of the Wraight men and
given to Mipps, who undertook to pass them on to the Scarecrow. Then
the plans would be returned with all sorts of contrivances added in the
way of 'hides'. If the Scarecrow was really Jimmie Bone, then the
highwayman astonished old Josiah Wraight with his expert knowledge of
ships and boats. Besides which, the draughtsmanship was so uncommonly
neat and accurate, and displayed practical knowledge of what could or
could not be done at sea. Every available space was utilised on every
available vessel and then most cunningly concealed. The smacks—a whole
fleet of them—were provided with temporary casings capable of holding
quantities of kegs and fitted two feet below the water line down to the
keel. It was impossible for the Customs officers to detect this fraud
while the vessels were afloat, since there was no communication between
the concealments and the interior in which the Preventive man searched.

The Upton brothers were expert cabinet-makers, and there was no
suspicion that everything was not just in the way of business when they
were found engaged upon a particularly intricate piece of dove-tailing
or lock. Mipps was able to work at many things amongst his coffin
planks, and the Wraight's yards and sheds had ever been busy with
hammerings and screwings. Carpenters and joiners found plenty of
employment during that period when Captain Faunce thought the smugglers
were lying 'uncommon quiet'.

And wherever the plans of the knowledgeable Scarecrow were
faithfully reproduced from scale, then that vessel for which the trick
had been designed, could confidently invite inspection from the Customs
without fear of discovery.

Methods of sinking tubs through the ship's bottom, false scuttles,
hollowed beams, dove-tailed to the solid ones, ropes that ran through
leaden pipes concealed in false stanchions, bowsprits and stays
hollowed and lead lined, winged lockers in the prow, or a spare
bulkhead between the fore and aft, and a hundred other practical
devices suited to the particular requirements of each vessel concerned.
All these and more Dr. Syn planned and drafted in the little white hut
upon the sea-wall, and when the flag flew from the pole, even Charlotte
respected his need for privacy and did not disturb him.