The COURAGEOUS EXPLOITS OF DOCTOR SYN - Thorndike Russell - Страница 15

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“Yes sir. Shall I take the order to Mister Rowton, sir?’

“No. Take me to him. I’ll make it clear to him. Have the prisoner put aboard at once. Rowton’s in my cabin?:’

“No, Captain Blain. Admiral Troubridge has been ashore for two nights and Mister Rowton is preparing the

quarters for Admiral Chesham.”

“Very well. Get the prisoner aboard.”

Syn closed the door of the Admiral’s cabin behind him, and called a very drunk officer asprawl across a chart

table to attention.

“Mister Rowton,” he said sharply, “I shall have you suspended for this. I come unexpectedly to escort the

prisoner Hart back to shore trial, and I find you drunk on Admiral’s liquor. Get to bed and you’ll hear that

tomorrow which will surprise you.”

Suddenly the drink seemed to drop from Rowton’s eyes. “What’s all this? “Just a minute. Who the hell are

you? You’re like Blain, but I’ve served under that devil for years, and you ain’t him. Who are you?”

Syn strode towards him, saying, “An officer whom no subordinate shall insult.”

With a terrific blow on his chin Rowton went down on the cabin floor. There was a knock at the door and young

Osmund announced, “Prisoner’s being taken aboard, sir.”

“Mister Rowton has fallen over drunk. When I’ve sailed come back here, pour a bucket of water over him and

let him sleep. And take example. Don’t drink on duty if you wish to get on in the Service.”

“Yes sir. Thank you, sir,” replied Osmund.

On deck Syn saw Hart being hustled below on the cutter. Leaning over the side he called, “Got the Admiral’s

flag there?”

“Yes sir,” replied Mipps. “Shall I bring it aboard.”

“Throw her up.”

The rolled flag fell on the deck. “Do you know how to break a flag, Mister Osmund?”

“Yes sir.”

“Then let’s see you run up Admiral Chesham’s.”

“He’s not aboard, you know, sir.”

“Obey orders, and don’t try to teach me regulations,” snarled Syn. “If the new Admiral wishes his colours to be

seen in the morning as though he were aboard, that’s his look-out and mine, not yours.”

As Syn stood once more on the cutter he saw the black bundle mounting to the peak, and then with a convulsive

twitch break out into t he breeze. “You strike that at Admiral Chesham’s orders, and see that Mister Rowton does

not tamper with it.”

The next morning there was fine to-do when the Scarecrow’s flag was seen waving above the flagship. There

was more to-do when the cutter was discovered run on Dymchurch sands with all her brass guns, fourteen in all,

shining below the water, and a hue and cry for Fred Hart who was shipped over to France that night for internment

in the Scarecrow’s secret port.

Meanwhile the Captain’s uniform and wig were brought to his room neatly brushed and powdered, and doctor

Syn, in the clothes that Mipps had brought to him from the hidden stable, went out before breakfast to give comfort

to Mrs. Hart.

“I will see that you join your husband as soon as you are well enough to cross the Channel,” he said. “He is alive

and well, having escaped from the jaws of death through the skill of the mysterious Scarecrow. How I came to this

information I may not say, and for the sake of your husband’s safety we must not speak of it. But you see, my

daughter, it was as I thought. My dream was a visitation from God.”

As to Captain Blain, he had a lot to puzzle him, and he vowed to be revenged upon the Scarecrow.

4

THE SCARECROW RIDES TO THE HOUNDS

That the Prince of Wales should invite himself to reside for a day or so at Lympne Castle was a great feather in the

cap of Sir Henry Pembury, Lord of Lympne. That His Royal Highness should express the wish to hunt with the

Romney Marsh Pack was perhaps a greater feather in the cap of Sir Antony Cobtree, Squire of Dymchurch-underthe-Wall. Chief Magistrate of the Marshes, and Master of the Hounds. That Doctor Syn should be invited to meet

the Prince in order to pronounce grace at the Hunt Dinner, was only right and proper, since he was Dean of

Peculiars, and consequently the head cleric of the district.

On his fat white pony the reverend gentleman jogged his way from Dymchurch Vicarage, and mounted the hill to

the castle, in order to accept the invitation personally, and to learn details of the Royal visit. He was attended as

usual by his henchman, sexton Mipps, perched upon the donkey that pulled the churchyard roller. Although the

stone roller was not on this occasion attached to the sexton’s mount, they could not have proceeded slower if it had

been, for it was never the custom of the Vicar to urge his lazy pony to any speed beyond a walk. Besides, Lympne

hill is a steep climb for a man or beast.

As Doctor Syn gazed at the majestic walls he began to chuckle.

Mipps, wishing to know what was passing in his master’s mind, asked, “Notice something funny, sir?”

“No, my good Mipps,” replied the Vicar. “Do you?”

Mipps shook his head. “No, sir. Not me. This ‘venerable pile’, as the guide-book calls it, always gives me the

dejections.”

“Then why did you ask if I noticed something funny?”

“ ‘Cos you let out a out-loud sort of giggle,” explained Mipps.

The Vicar smiled. “Did I? Well, perhaps I did. A certain thought amused me, that’s all.”

“I don’t think it will be all at all,” contradicted the Sexton. “In all the long years I’ve served you, sir, it generally

means disaster to someone when you starts chuckling to yourself.”

“My thoughts were comparatively harmless, Mipps, I assure you. I was thinking ahead a day or so, and of the

great doings there will be when the Prince arriv es. I’ll wager the gentry for miles around are agog to know whether

old Pembury will remember to invite them to the festivites.”

“Aye, sir,” nodded Mipps, “and from what one hears tell of the first gentleman of Europe, old Pembury would do

well to leave out most of ‘em. The Prince don’t like nothing dull. If it was me giving the party to him, so to speak,

I’d beat up the countryside for buxom wenches, and fill the old place with laughing chambermaids.”

“I fear, Mipps, that Sir Henry has neither your daring nor quick appreciation of humanity. Indeed I do not envy

him his task of selection. He is bound to make enemies. Indeed to my knowledge he has made a very formidable

one already. A man of some standing, too, who will no doubt be giving Sir Henry a rap over the knuckles for his

neglect. As a matter of fact it was the thought of that coming rap that made me chuckle but now.”

Mipps pulled up his donkey with a jerk. Doctor Syn’s pony stopped walking, too. Doctor Syn was smiling, but a

look of horror had spread over the Sexton’s face. “You don’t never mean–—?”

The unfinished question was checked by the Vicar’s nod.

“But it’s madness,” explained the sexton. “It’s worse than madness. It’s—well, it’s”

“Impertinent audacity,” completed Doctor Syn. “Now come, Mipps, when during our long association have you

begrudged me a little harmless amusement? Let me put my case to you before I enter the castle. You know the

policy I have followed when the Hunt meets at Dymchurch? I attend on this ridiculous but charming pony. I am an

old parson, is it not so? I must play the part I am. And yet all the time can you tell me of a better horseman on

Romney Marsh? Include my good Squire Tony Cobtree, and the youngest of the hunting gentry, and add our good

friend Jimmie Bone, whose good riding has saved his neck for years when holding up His Majesty’s mails on the

highway. Cannot Doctor Syn ride harder than them all? You know he can. But no. If I am seen outstripping and

overjumping them all it is possible that my horsemanship will be compared to the best rider of the Marsh. The

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