The Shadow of Dr Syn - Thorndike Russell - Страница 29
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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 heart-troubled 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 —’
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.
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