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An hour or so later Doctor Syn was busily engaged upon parochial accounts in the library, when Mr. Mipps disturbed him again with, ‘Beg pardon, sir, he’s ’ere again. That there Will-Jill. Looking a bit subdued like — not that I don’t wonder — but he’s ever so pleasant — and asked most polite to see you. The fright you give him must have done him good. Oh, beg your pardon, sir,’ this upon noticing the Vicar’s warning look. ‘Shall I show him in, sir?’
1 Lively.
‘Yes, indeed, Mr. Mipps. I shall be delighted to make his acquaintance. I somehow thought that he might pay me a visit.’
And so Lord Cullingford, tired, yet with a new look of determination, entered the library and introduced himself to the Vicar.
‘I must ask your pardon, sir,’ he said, ‘for thrusting myself upon you like this, uninvited, but I did not wish to return to London without fulfilling the idea with which I set out. The reason of my visit this morning, however, differs from my original intention. I came now, sir, simply to pay my respect. Happening to be at Crockford’s on the night when you confronted a certain gentleman of my acquaintance, I vowed that I would come to you for assistance, for I had set myself what I now know to be a herculean task — to catch or kill the Scarecrow. Oh, pray do not laugh at me, sir,’ for Doctor Syn was regarding him with a kindly quizzical air, ‘for I was in dire distress and most damnably in need of the Government reward.’ He plunged into a full description of allthat had happened to him since he left the Ship I
Doctor Syn had listened to this frank confession with mixed feelings — sympathy for the misguided but engaging lad who might indeed have been his own son, and admiration for the purpose he displayed, and was thankful that he had indeed been able to effect this transformation. Humbled a little by the knowledge of his own secret life, he determined to help this youngster further. So with the greatest tact he persuaded Lord Cullingham to accept a loan of some few hundred guineas, laughingly telling him that there was life in the old Vicar yet, and as he was liable to be here for a number of years, would be delighted to see him whenever his lordship cared to call.
So half an hour later Aunt Agatha, having taken Lisette to see the wonders of the sea-wall of Marsh, passed a young man coming from the direction of the Vicarage, who raised his hat with a flourish and gave them a sweeping bow. She remarked to her maid that he must be in very good spirits for she never did see such a well-set-up young man, adding however that as men went, she still had a penchant for that naughty highwayman. She was further reminded of the said gentleman when, upon walking slowly back through the village, MisterPitt making almost as complete an investigation of it as Mrs. Honeyballs, the local coach went by in great style, horn blowing gaily. But Aunt Agatha’s musical ear was slightly confused, for though the tune it played was undoubtedly ‘those same dratted Grenadiers’, it somehow merged into one of her own Scottish songs — a popular Jacobite air.
Descending the grand staircase on her way down to luncheon, she remarked to Lady Caroline that she was in good appetite, having thoroughly enjoyed her morning perambulation, but it amazed her to observe that, though having such bracing air, Dymchurch seemed a very sleepy place in the daytime, and she hoped that Sir Antony’s tenants were not keeping late hours.
Then, strangely enough, as she passed into the dining-room, she found herself humming, quite loudly, that lively tune, ‘The Girl I Left Behind Me’.
Chapter 8
The Squire Sums Up
Sir Antony’s worst fears were justified. His day was ‘decidedly aggravatin’.’ To begin with, no sooner had he finished his breakfast when old Doctor Se
Well — there it was. He had been hanged by the neck until he was dead, by some person or persons unknown — to wit — the Scarecrow, which the jury found on one was able to do anything about, since the Army, the Navy, the Revernue and Bow Street Ru
Sir Anthony Cobtree, in his summing-up, found there was so little to say upon the subject, that he had to try and spin things out, to make it sound better, and becoming thus gravelled for lack of matter, he discovered that in order to make some sort of impression, he had, after a lengthy, pompous oration, involved himself most damnably. In order to get out of this difficulty with what little dignity he had left, he had, therefore, quite without meaning it, pledged himself to a further thousand guineas, out of his own purse, over and above the Government’s proclaimed reward, ‘to any who shall rid us of this