Before taking farewell of Miss Gordon, Doctor Syn begged her to convey his felicitations to the Cobtrees and excusing himself for not accompanying her on the grounds of their family reunion, promised to visit them on the morrow. With a pat on Mister Pitt’s head, and counselling Lisette not to lose sleep over the Scarecrow, he irrevocably won the old lady’s heart by kissing her hand. Then with a bow he joined the waiting Mipps, and the chaise went on to the Court House.

Mr. Mipps, trotting to keep up with the Vicar’s long, easy strides, became as voluble as he had previously been silent, and embarked upon a long series of questions, answers, happenings, and more questions till Doctor Syn advised him to postpone verbosity as they had the evening before them, adding with an enthusiasm that might have seemed strange to an outsider, that for his part his immediate ambitions centred around a long, strong drink.

‘Well, we know where the best brandy is in Dymchurch, sir,’ suggested Mr. Mipps, as they entered the Vicarage. Panelled in ivory white, the room was of exquisite proportions. Indeed it had been specially designed and personally supervised by Doctor Syn’s friend, the great Robert Adam himself. The fireplace had a dignified mantel with bookcases in pillared alcoves on either side. A log fire burned brightly in the hearth, and the Vicar warmed himself in front of it while Mipps got bottle and glasses. Doctor Syn was glad to be home. He loved his parish and he loved his house, and he stood, glass in hand, appreciating his own taste both for fine old brandy and good furnishings. He watched Mr. Mipps lighting the huge candelabras that stood on the refectory table, and as each candle came to life some aspect of the room pleased him more. The great staircase with its sweep of fluted banisters curving into the room. The deep bow windows with diamond panes, through which twinkled innumerable lights from fishing-boats already putting out to sea, while a great painted globe of the world stood, shining and inviting, in its brass stand as if enticing him to leave home waters and once again put out for distant seas.

For one exhilarating moment he allowed his mind to cover those vast oceans which he knew so well, smiling at some remembered escapade. Strange that this Mipps, his close companion and lieutenant in those tempestuous days, should now be with him in this haven of rest, decorously lighting the candles. It was not often that he permitted himself the luxury of allowing his mind to cram on canvas and to carry him back to the enchantment of spiced islands in the tropic seas, or the heady dangers of blustering broadsides in some open fight.

But Doctor Syn was in a reflective mood — the outcome of his activities during the past week, with which he was fully satisfied. Yet when he pondered over the accomplishment of his latest enterprise he was fully aware that this had but started the overture to a new drama in his life. While his seafaring instinct had always told him, ‘No petticoats aboard’, yet, at this very moment, having stifled the sailor in him to become the parson once more, he realised upon looking round his pleasant home that it did, in very truth, lack that one thing. So it was with an almost imperceptible sigh that he dismissed the future with the past, and brought back his vagabond thoughts to the present.

‘Well, Mipps, is all according to plan tonight?’

‘Yessir,’ replied the Sexton, blowing out the taper. ‘Three cries of the curlew it is, and the “British Grenadiers”. No, I’m not anticipatin’ any trouble tonight — though since you’ve been away, sir, we’ve been sent a bran’ new box of soldiers, as pretty a troop of Dragoons as you ever did see, and who do you think is in command?’

‘I haven’t the faintest idea, Mipps.’

‘No, thought you wouldn’t, sir, so I’ll save time by telling you,’ said Mipps. ‘Major Faunce.’

Doctor Syn received this intelligence with a raised eyebrow of surprise. ‘Never the charming fellow who served with Colonel Troubridge here?’

‘No, not the charming fellow who served with Colonel Troubridge here,’ echoed Mipps. ‘His younger brother, and as like him all them years ago as two peas in a pod.’

‘Well, well, that’s very interesting,’ nodded the Vicar. ‘We must endeavour to entertain Major Secundus, as we did Major Primus.’

‘No, no, sir,’ protested Mipps. ‘Faunce is the name, sir.’

‘Yes, Mr. Mipps, I stand corrected,’ smiled the Vicar. ‘My mind seems to be playing truant tonight and at that moment I was back in the Lower Third at Canterbury School.’

To which Mipps, slightly mystified, replied, ‘Oh well, of course if you’re going back to your second childhood, p’raps you’d like me to fetch you a nice hot glass of milk before tellin’ you the rest of the news!’

‘Well then,’ continued Mipps, ‘item number two. There’s a new Revenue Officer come to Sandgate, and he’s been nosin’ round here too, though I ain’t expectin’ much trouble from him neither, for all they say he’s smart as paint. We’ll soon blister it, eh, Captain?’

‘Mr. Mipps’ — warned the Vicar.

‘Oh, sorry, sir. Quite forgot — eh, Vicar. Wants to see you alone. I don’t do. Leastways I didn’t, so he said. Still, he’ll soon know who does and who doesn’t round ’ere. But knock me up solid, I’d forgotten all about that there Kitty-run-the-street.’¹

‘I beg your pardon, Mr. Mipps. And what might that mean?’

¹ Marsh term for the common heartsease or pansy.

‘Well, sir,’ explained the Sexton, ‘someone else come nosin’ round ’ere today and wants to see you most particular. I shushed him off but back he come. Wouldn’t go away. Said he’d wait. Sat there. Missus ’Oneyballs had to dust round him. Ever such a ernful¹ young gentleman he was. Look like Will-Jill to me.’

‘Mr. Mipps, would you do me the favour of speaking in plain English?’

‘Sorry, sir. Forgot I was talking to the Lower Third. Well, since you’re so judgmatical,² ’alf past two, it was, to be exact. As fine a young dandy as ever you did see comes prancin’ up the path. I ’appen to be puttin’ a nice bit of manure into the rose-beds at the time, and not wantin’ to be disturbed, I nips into the tool’ouse, and lets Missus ’Oneyballs deal with ’im, but, blow me down, if she don’t come and find me. I give her a talkin’ to, but she says I’d better come and keep a weather eye on him, ’cos she wasn’t goin’ to be left alone with him, not with ’Oneyballs workin’ two miles away. So in I goes, and there he be. And that’s what I told you, see?’

‘Yes, Mr. Mipps,’ nodded the Vicar, ‘you have done full justice to your powers of observation. I gather from your graphic tale that someone has been here who wished to see me.’

‘Right, sir. You’ve got it, sir. First shot, sir.’ Mr. Mipps was delighted as he added, ‘And what a one you was for layin’ a gun, sir.’

‘Mr. Mipps,’ warned the Vicar again, then asked: ‘And what did you do with the young dandy?’

‘Do with him? Nothin’ I could do with him till he get so ’ungry that he stopped titherin’³ about and went back to the “Ship” to get somethin’ to take the sad look off his face. Leastways I ’opes it do, if he’s goin’ to come ’ere again, which he said he would, first thing tomorrow mornin’. Oh, blow me down, give me his card he did. Now where did I put it? Oh yes — ’ere.’ And out of the depths of his capacious pocket he produced an assortment of queer objects. Spigots for barrels, bits of tarred string, measurements for coffins, a twist of tobacco, and amongst all these slightly bedaubed with fish manure, was a card that he triumphantly handed to Doctor Syn. Which said gentleman was not at all surprised when holding the delicate piece of paste-board that had lost its elegance since morning, to find that the name engraved on it was Clarence, Viscount Cullingford.

‘Clarence,’ snorted Mr. Mipps as the Vicar read the name aloud. ‘Silly sort o’ name for a silly sort o’…’ Mr. Mipps did not finish the sentence, but added, ‘Don’t bother your ’ead about who he is or what he wants. I’ll flip