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Vicarage, when he was dining with you, how difficult it was to get things settled quick-like at the Admiralty? We’ll
get time, with luck.”
Before Mipps left his master to take over the watch, they discussed their plans in full detail. Mipps raised two
objections.
“Even to save time, Vicar,” he said, “it’s madness for Doctor Syn to ride Gehe
should never be associated with you. Gehe
the secluded road, as you must, someone is sure to notice you.”
Doctor Syn shook his head. “I ca
Besides, he has nothing so fast or so strong as Gehe
should be noticed, as you say. No, I shall drop you at Ashford before dawn and then ride up on the Dover road. It
will be faster going, and the turnpike keepers are well used to fast-mounted messengers riding on the King’s
business between Dover and London. And there is one man I can trust to hide Gehe
the Mitre I
he betrayed us. Besides, old Bubukles makes too much profit from us to do any such piece of stupidity. Any by the
way, Mipps, I have always found that the truth is safer than a lie. In case the Squire takes it into his head to ride
over to the Mermaid I
coaching office for the down mail. I will write it now, telling him that I have to visit the Archbishop at Lambeth.
Fortunately His grace is there, and I shall make the confirmation candidates at Rye my excuse for being in London.
Now help me to finish this bottle and then on deck with you. I know that you can snatch some sleep upon the
coach.”
The bottle finished, Mipps left his master chuckling over his letter to the Squire of Dymchurch.
Now Captain Blain, billeted at the Vicarage as the guest of Doctor Syn, was most anxious to see his host come
back from Rye, since during the night of his departure he had been awakened by the noise of horsemen. Cautiously
peering through the shutters, he had seen the Scarecrow himself, with some half-dozen Nightriders. He had seen
one of them dismount and write with a piece of chalk upon the stable door. Determining if possible to wing the
Scarecrow, he had crossed to his bed to snatch his loaded pistol from under the pillow, but as he returned to open the
shutters and the casement a shot had struck one of the diamond-shaped panes, and by the time he had recovered
from his rage and his surprise, he saw the Phantom Horseman riding away into the Marsh. Groping his way
downstairs, he had found a lantern and had gone out to examine the writing upon the stable door. Signed with the
Crude sketch of a Scarecrow, the chalk message read, “Friday, low, tide.”
He was glad he had crept from the house, because the next morning the chalk message had disappeared. So upon
that Tuesday he told the Bos’n that the men would have no night duty till Friday. Clever as he had proved himself,
Captain Blain never suspected that the message had been written for his benefit, and his alone. Anyway there were
no revenue men out upon the Tuesday night when the lugger ran ashore at Littlestone, was met by the
Highwayman, impersonating the Scarecrow, and all the valuable cargo of good brandy was landed safely and carried
across the Marsh on pack-ponies to the ‘hides’ upon Lympne Hill.
Half an hour after the last keg had been safely stowed, and the pack-ponies had been dispersed to their various
stables, Gehe
underground stable, adjacent to Old Mother Handaway’s hovel and farmyard, in the lonely centre of the Marshland.
The Scarecrow changed from his fantastic rage into the elegant black clericals of Doctor Syn. Hellspite similarly
became once more the respectably dressed servant, Mipps, who had helped the Highwayman to attack loaded
holsters and saddle-bags to Gehe
which he was to post by the down mail from Ashford for the Squire, declared himself ready for the road. The great
horse was led out of the stable. The door was secured behind them, and the Doctor leapt into the saddle, Mipps
scrambling up behind him.
Bending down from the saddle, Doctor Syn gripped the Highwayman’s hand and whispered: “See that further
hints of a great run reach Captain Blain and the Kings’s men for Friday. But there will be no run of course. It may
take some days to run Handgrove to earth.”
“I hope you may get him, sir, replied Jimmie Bone, “alive or dead.”
“ If he lives we shall get him alive,” said Doctor Syn, “and after see him dead. Our luck will hold good. Within the
last twenty-four hours we have crossed the Cha
and run a good cargo of contraband. And now we ride on the track of the rascal, and I doubt not that we shall pull
him down. Good-bye.”
Despite his double load, Gehe
It was still night when Mipps slid from Gehe
Ashford.
The Doctor Syn rode hard. With his hat pulled well down over his eyes, and a black scarf hiding his chin, no one
would have thought that this magnificently mounted gentleman in the black, well-cut riding coat, was a country
parson. His rapid progress was misunderstood, for at every turnpike he would bend low in the saddle and whisper to
the keeper: “There are French spies abroad. I ride on the King’s business. Should any question you, as to whether I
have passed on this black horse, you will shake your head. You are, I take it, loyal enough to welcome and bury
King George’s secrets with one of his guinea spades? You have not seen me pass, eh?”
The turnpike keepers only wished that such messengers could ride upon the King’s business every day.
Gehe
hour later the Vicar of Dymchurch sat in the waiting-room of the Admiralty in Whitehall, having requested an
interview with Admiral Troubridge.
Having the profoundest respect for the brave parson who had from every pulpit of the Romney Marsh, publicly
attacked the crime of smuggling, the old sea-dog did not keep him waiting. In fact, he was delighted to see him.
“We are desolated, my dear Admiral,” said the parson, “that you have left Dover for the Admiralty. I fear that
your successor will not be interested enough to back me up against these smugglers that give our Marsh villages so
bad a name. Had you remained in our vicinity, I think that between us we might have got the better of them. But I
fear I tire you. You have now greater responsibilities, and ca
“On the contrary, Reverend Sir,” beamed the Admiral, “I always asked you for information when I was at Dover,
and I take it you have called upon me now to give me some. I shall welcome it and you, for I am still resolved to
catch this Scarecrow of the Marsh.”
“I fear, sir,” replied Doctor Syn, “that my purpose in London is to call upon His Grace of Canterbury at Lambeth.
I shall have to repot to His Grace that since your leaving us the Scarecrow has been more daring than ever. I fear