The Shadow of Dr Syn

‘Why, Foulkes,’ he cried, ‘’tis the first time I have known you to hang back on a bet. Or is it that you daren’t leave Town in case I cut you out with La Belle Harriet? Should it relieve your mind suppose we all promise not to call upon her till you return victorious?’

Stung by the youngster’s banter into a quick decision, Foulkes replied hotly: ‘I have yet to meet the rival that I fear will oust me in the affections of any woman, just as I have yet to meet the man whose bet I will not take. I accept your wager, Sir Harry, and if I fail I’ll double the stakes.’ An even louder cheer greeted the acceptance.

Then Sir Harry spoke. ‘You’re a brave man, Foulkes, and ’tis a sporting thing to do, but have a care. You may not get as far as Charing Cross. Then poor Harriet will have a long wait, since we all pledge we will not visit her till your return. I take it there should be some sort of time-limit?’

‘Ten days should be all I need,’ replied the Captain. ‘And I’ll set off tomorrow on the morning Mail, so you meet me here today fortnight to settle accounts. I’ll now go and convey to Harriet the reason why her salon will be deserted, though I warrant she will not mind waiting for me. Come, drinks all round, and I’ll give you a toast.’

Glasses were filled and Captain Foulkes being once more the centre of interest became his ostentatious self. He strolled over to Cullingford and put a patronising hand on his shoulder. ‘Poor Cully,’ he said. ‘You’ve had damnable luck tonight, but I’ll take your I O U and will not call upon you till tomorrow week.’

It was while the glasses were being charged that Doctor Syn took his leave of Sheridan and Kemble and was strolling past the gaming-table on his way to the door. For the first time the Captain became aware of the parson’s presence and in his growing mood of arrogance put himself in the way. ‘Zounds,’ he cried, looking Doctor Syn up and down in an insolent fashion. ‘A parson — in Crockford’s? Are you seeking the devil in cards and dice?’

‘No, sir, I have known both cards and dice all my life and I have learned that they are i

‘A neatly turned phrase, sir,’ he said. ‘Come, give the parson a glass and he shall drink my toast. Are you ready, gentlemen?’ Glasses were raised in assent and the Captain proposed: ‘Damnation to the Scarecrow, and may he not escape Bully Foulkes.’

The gentlemen drank, but when Foulkes lowered his glass he perceived that that parson’s wine was still untouched. ‘You did not drink, Parson. Did you not understand the toast? Being at Crockford’s I thought you had a London living. But perhaps your parish is so remote that you have never heard of the Scarecrow.’

‘I did not drink, sir,’ replied Doctor Syn, ‘because I thought it unseemly to drink damnation to one of my own parishioners.’

The atmosphere was tense and the gentlemen present listened in delighted silence. A parson was getting the better of Bully Foulkes, who at the moment appeared to be at a loss for words. The next move came from Doctor Syn, who continued politely: ‘I could not fail to overhear your bet, sir. Drink damnation to the rascal by all means and you will be in good company, for he has been damned by Army, Navy and Revenue alike. But all the King’s horses and all the King’s men have never succeeded in catching him. A thousand guineas. Oh, I beg your pardon. Two thousand guineas, for you doubled the stakes, is a lot of money to lose, though nothing to losing one’s life. I feel ’tis my duty to warn you — knowing something of this rascal’s methods, indeed, having been one of his victims — that although he may permit you to reach the Marshes safely, it is very doubtful whether he will see fit to let your return to London alive.’ Doctor Syn glanced round with an almost apologetic air, and then handing the glass still untasted to the Captain, he added regretfully: ‘I do hope I have not depressed you, sir. Good night — Good night,’ and before the astonished company had well recovered, the parson had left the room.

None of the gentlemen dared speak, fearing that the Bully thwarted might be in an evil mood. He broke the silence himself. ‘Who in the devil’s name was that? And what does he mean by claiming to be one of the Scarecrow’s victims?’

Sir Harry Lambton supplied the information. ‘Why, did you not know? I thought Doctor Syn was as famous as the Scarecrow. He is the Vicar of Dymchurch, and his courage in preaching against this rogue is highly spoke of. Threats do not stop him, though he has had many warnings, and on one occasion he was actually lashed to the gibbet post in company with a Bow Street Ru

‘And how have you managed to glean so much information about him?’ growled the Captain.

‘Oh, my informant is a great friend of his and one whose word you must believe in unless you are seeking lodging in the Town. ’Twas none other than the Prince of Wales himself.’

‘Yes, indeed,’ said another gentleman, emboldened by Sir Harry’s attitude and the mention of the Royal name. ‘’Tis all over the Town that the handsome snuff-box Doctor Syn carries was given him by the Pri

‘Devil take it,’ replied the disgruntled Captain. ‘I don’t know what he finds to laugh about, for I never saw a more sombre figure in my life.’

Standing at the Captain’s side, Lord Cullingford had missed nothing and he vowed that upon reaching Dymchurch he would present himself at the Vicarage and seek assistance from such a learned gentleman.

This same learned gentleman was at the moment seeking assistance elsewhere, for having made his way to the writing room he sat pe

Mr. James Bone , at the Mitre I