Doctor Syn on the High Seas - Thorndike Russell - Страница 20
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half conscious. Nicholas, who had locked the door upon his uncle’s
body, accompanied them in order to arrange with the surgeon, whom he
proposed to take back with him to Iffley. The good landlady at White
Friars was awaiting news anxiously, and was overjoyed to find the rescue
had been accomplished. The three men then left the ladies to her care,
and proceeded to the house of the questionable surgeon.
Accustomed to be called out in the night, they found no difficulty in
awakenin g him.
“It is by no means the first time that the rogue has done a dirty
piece of work at Iffley,” whispered Nicholas as they waited for him to
dress. “He’ll do whatever I ask of him, for I know enough to get the
rascal’s name struck off the Rolls.”
And so it proved. For twenty guineas he promised to arrange things
to their liking. He was perfectly willing to accompany Nicholas to
Iffley, for he was promised good wine upon arrival and so they went
their way, while Tony went back to Queen’s College w ith Doctor Syn,
where they kept vigil waiting for the dawn.
As they watched the night sky, Tony said, “I only hope that the
killing of this bully will not ruin your career, Christopher.”
“I might have killed him there,” said Syn. “At least I have not his
blood on my conscience. And I honestly think it would have gone hard
with Sommers at a trail. A jury seldom finds a murder justifiable,
though this one was, I think. I wonder what the Chancellor’s views will
be. My good Tony, how glad I shall be when we know the upshot of this
somewhat deceitful business!”
At the first paling of the sky, the two companions, muffled in heavy
cloaks, crossed the Courtyard, and let themselves through the gate with
the key which they had borrowed from the porter’s lodge some hours
before, for Doctor Syn had realized that the rousing of a sleepy porter
would occasion noise and attract attention from the students. Once in
the street, they walked briskly toward Magdalen.
On the way Tony rallied his friend upon his gloom y countenance:
“At least you are about to fight a duel, with absolute certainty of
killing your man, and the finest fighter can hardly say that.”
“I only hope this Nicholas Tappitt will not bungle things,” replied
the Doctor.
“Not he,” said Cobtre e. “He is as anxious as we are to save this
Sommers.”
“I have been wondering about his motives,” went on Syn. “He did not
strike me as a man who would take much risk for another than himself.
And I think this plot of his is to insure his own safety. A fter all, he
was in the room when the shot was fired. He was admitted by the
servants in the hall. He was known to have a hatred for his uncle, and
he had everything to gain by this death. It occurs to me that he does
not altogether trust us. Suppose we had chosen to side with the man
Sommers, our Nicholas would have been in an ugly case.”
“How could we have done that?” cried honest Tony.
“Of course we could have done no such thing, but I think he measured
us by his own character.”
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In this Doctor Syn was right, for despite his easy manner, Nicholas
realized that his situation might be dangerous. There were those on his
ship now moored in London Docks who knew he had gone in haste to Oxford
on a quarrel with his uncle, and where his own safety was concerned he
trusted no one. Doctor Syn’s cloth, and Cobtree’s legal profession, and
the fact that both were men of honour, did not weigh with him. He
imagined that anybody would commit perjury if it could be safely done.
After all, he di d not wish his uncle’s death to be too questionable, and
the duel he was staging would satisfy the public mind. They would say
that Bully Tappitt had reaped what he had sown, and that the noted
duelist, who had been a menace too long, had met just desserts.
Whatever may be said of Nicholas Tappitt—and all through his life
bad things were said of him—he did not bungle things. Hardly had
Doctor Syn and Cobtree taken their positions by the field gate when they
saw the Iffley coach approaching. They approaching. They opened the
gate in readiness, and the coachman drove his team to the centre of the
field. The surgeon alighted with his case of instruments, followed by
Nicholas with the case of pistols.
Syn and Cobtree went to aid them in the grim task of removing the
body from the coach.
“Before we have him out,” whispered Nicholas, “it would be as well if
one of you gentlemen were to take a look in the ditch yonder. That hedge
affords good shelter, and with so many strangers in Oxford for the Fair,
it is a likely spot for a homeless tramp to crawl.”
Doctor Syn immediately hurried to the spot, took a quick look round,
and then ran back with the disquieting news that two gypsies were there,
one with his head beneath a coat and the other with closed eyes and
snoring heavily. Indeed, as they listened they could hear the noise
across the meadow.
“If they do not wake before our pistol-shots,” whispered Nicholas,
“their presence will help us, and the news will fly through Oxford that
this affair of h onour was conducted regularly. Let us quickly get the
body to the grass.”
After some difficulty they managed to get the stiffened body through
the door, and laid it face upwards in the grass. Nicholas dragged away
the cloak it had been wrapped in, folded it neatly and put it on the
ground. He then brought from the coach his uncle’s brocaded coat and
waistcoat which the dead man had divested the night before, and had also
had the foresight to add a hat to this deception.
“Now, Doctor Syn,” he went on, “take this pistol and fire into the
ground when I signal. Measure fifteen paces from the body, and then
strip to your shirt. And now, Mister Surgeon, your bottle.”
The surgeon handed a vial containing blood, which Nicholas uncorked
and poured upon the dark stain that had congealed upon his uncle’s
shirt. He then poured a little on the dead man’s lips.
“This is my own blood,” he whispered to Cobtree with a smile. “I
never thought to shed it for my uncle, but we blood is essential, and
the surgeon took it from my arm this last half-hour. Aye, that looks
convincing. Now, Mr. Cobtree, take up your position as your friend’s
second. We must be quick. It’s getting light and those rascals may
awake.”
By this time Doctor Syn had taken his fifteen paces, and had placed
his hat and clothes upon the ground.
“Have you seen to the priming of the pistols?” asked Cobtree. “We
should look foolish were they to misfire.”
- 46-
“I reloaded them myself,” replied Nicholas. “They are splendid weapons
and have never been charged more carefully.”
Then, after Cobtree had taken his position by the surgeon, and the
coachman had driven away to what would appear safe distance, Nicholas
stood above his dead uncle. Since he could still hear the snoring from
the ditch, he risked speaking aloud, addressing the corpse at his feet.
“Faith, Uncle, you are living up to your reputation, and are fighting
your last duel from the wrong side of the grave.”
He then nodded to Doctor Syn. The two pistols flashed almost
simultaneously, startling the already wakening rooks from the trees
above them, and as the frightened gypsies peered over the edge of the
ditch they saw the surgeon running with his case of instruments toward
the fallen man. They saw Doctor Syn hand his pistol to his second, and
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