Mixing hunting phrases with official language he soon succeeded in sending the villagers about their business, and the errant Thomas, crimson to the ears, was ordered to attend on his master immediately.

Having somewhat mollified his feelings, he was yet fully aware that he was certaily in for a ‘damned dull, deucedly aggravatin’ day, findin’ out the identity of this impertinent corpse and probin’ the pros and cons, to say nothing of Caroline’s tantrums ’cos of what he’d done on the trumpet, while me wife’s Aunt Agatha will be accusin’ me of ill-treatin’ that snappin’, yappin’, doormat of a dog’. Apart from these trifling but upsetting irritations, there was the sincere anxiety about his daughters: Maria, married to a Frenchman in Paris, with the Terror raging, and Cicely having disappeared without a word. Thanking God that Doctor Syn was back again from London, Sir Antony Cobtree at least promised himself a pleasant evening. So, cheered by this prospect, he determined to make sure of it, and crossing to his escritoire he sat down and penned without any further ado the following — noting as he wrote the date that thirteen never had been his lucky number.

Nov. 13 ^th . The Court House, Dymchurch.

My Dear Christopher,

I hear from me wife’s Aunt Agatha that you are returned from London for which Heaven be praised. I shall be infernally busy all day, at the Court House. The reason of this you will know by now, and I’ll wager it’s the Scarecrow’s work. Since morning and afternoon are like to prove irritating (and to say truth, I cannot abide them prattlin’ women no longer), I intended dining with you tonight at the Vicarage where we shall be free of ’em. I will send over by hand of Thomas as much wine as I think we can conveniently consume, for I find myself in a mood to forget my troubles in the arms of Bacchus, and I have but recently opened a very special bin which I think will be to your taste, so have the goodness my dear fellow to postpone whatever else you might have thought to do, let the parish go hang for once and forgive me for thus inviting myself but I have the necessity to see you.

Affect. Yours, Tony.

Which somewhat unscholarly letter made Doctor Syn smile, when within the hour it was handed to him with his morning chocolate. He thought affectionately of this great warm-hearted overgrown schoolboy. Dear old Tony had not altered one iota since the far-off days when they had been fellow students together at Queen’s College, Oxford. In fact Tony was unalterable, living out the same heritage as his ancestors before him. His world was bounded by London and Romney Marsh, for with typical insularity he had never asked for more, content to belong to that solid support of the country classed landed English gentry. Christopher knew himself to be entirely opposite — the type of Englishman who has to see the far, waste places of the world. And he fell to thinking what this simple old friend of his would think should he ever discover what manner of life his old College friend had lived or what he would do should he ever learn the truth.

His reverie was broken by Mr. Mipps coming in to his room for the so-called parochial orders of the day. ‘There now,’ he exclaimed upon seeing the Vicar’s untasted chocolate, ‘what did I say to Mrs. Honeyballs? “Mrs. Honeyballs,” I says, “’ush your bucket and don’t disturb the Vicar after his long tedious journey”,’ whereupon Mr. Mipps favoured the Vicar with a slow wink, whisked away the cold chocolate, moved two books from the shelf beside the bed, thus disclosing a neatly concealed bottle of brandy, remarking to the Vicar, ‘Now ’ere is something that will do you good after a tirin’ journey. What a ride it was! Oh, did you ’ave a good night? I do ’ope you weren’t disturbed with all them goings on. Village is fair buzzin’ with it all. Oh, and of course, you don’t know the latest news. There’s a nice new corpse ’angin’ on the gibbet. Scarecrow again, they says. Have to be careful, you know, sir — “preachin’” all them sermons against him. He’s gettin’ a bit above hisself. Shouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t try and get you and me next. Wouldn’t we look ernful on a broadsheet? Vicar and Sexton found dangling together.’ Which last remark sent Mr. Mipps into uncontrollable giggles resulting in a fit of the hiccups, so that Doctor Syn had to pass the brandy-bottle for his relief. Which in truth was exactly what Mipps meant him to do.

‘When you have recovered, Mr. Mipps, perhaps you will pass me back the bottle and discuss parochial affairs.’

‘Yes, sir — hic — parochial affairs. Real parochial affairs — or er?’

‘Yes, Mr. Mipps, we’ll discuss that too.’

‘Oh — that’s what I wanted to know. First of all — it’s them “British Grenadiers” again today followed by “The Girl I Left Behind Me”. The word is bein’ passed as usual. Coaches playin’ ’em both voyages, up and down. Next, please? Oh, Jimmie Bone — messages from him this mornin’ — says he forgot to ask you last night — if you’ll be needing him to ride as the Scarecrow for you tonight.’

‘Tell him to stand by till we know which way the cat’s goin’ to jump.’

‘Oh, don’t we know? Suppose we don’t. Oh, talking of cats. That there Revenue man. Been seen prowlin’ through Hythe. Ought to be here any minute now. Oh, talkin’ of Hythe: ’ere’s a bit o’ news. Mrs. Waggetts’ cousin twice removed has to go into Hythe on account of what she’s expectin’ grantiddlers.¹ She runs into her uncle, who has with him a relation of the bootboy at the “Red Lion”.’

Doctor Syn interrupted. ‘I trust the news is not so involved as the relationships.’

Mipps replied promptly: ‘No, sir. Gets clearer. Well, I’ll tell you. That there Foulkes. Now what worried the boot-boy was that he hadn’t got no boots. Wasn’t half in a dobbin² about it too. Rantin’ and roarin’. Foulkes I mean, not the boot-boy. Sends out for cobblers and shoemakers. “Red Lion” in a uproar. But by the time he’s measured the whole place knows what he’s come for. But here’s the best bit of news, sir. He’s passin’ the word and says he wants it passed that he’ll challenge the Scarecrow in open duel. Quite positive he’ll win, too. Says he’ll wager a thousand with anyone.’

‘That’s very interesting, Mr. Mipps,’ replied Doctor Syn. ‘He’s killed some dozen men already. I wonder what the Scarecrow will do about that?’

‘Yes — that’s just what I was wondering of, too.’

‘I shouldn’t let it worry you, Mr. Mipps. Yes, the Sluice Gates. Oh — let me see, high tide? Well, well. Now the christening; this afternoon, of course. Remember?’

¹ Grandchildren.

² Temper.

Mipps nodded. ‘Just cleaned out the font. Ever looked down from the top of them Sluice Gates?’

The Vicar nodded.

Mipps went on. ‘A lot of lovely mud goes swirlin’ round. Thin mud.

’Orrid mud.’

‘Yes, Mr. Mipps, I have noticed that there is mud in the Sluice Gates. And oh, by the way, Mr. Mipps, the Squire is dining with me tonight. Would you be so kind as to inform Mrs. Honeyballs to make an especial effort. I thought perhaps some few dozen oysters, that brace of pheasants, a little soufflé….’

But to this Mipps objected, ‘Oh, shouldn’t trust her with a soufflé. Not today. Got the dawthers, she’s all of a shake. That corpse made her shake good and peart,¹ and when Mrs. Honeyballs shakes — she shakes, and you don’t want a shaky pudding. Better make it a trifle. Won’t matter then if she is heavy-handed. By the way, sir, you was talkin’ of Pedro — will he be comin’ over tonight, sir?’

Doctor Syn nodded. ‘Yes, Mr. Mipps, with the usual cargo, if all goes well. And I have instructed Pedro that all must go well this time. But he’s a good man; I’d trust him where I’d trust few others. Now, Mr. Mipps, ’tis time for me to rise. I have a sermon to prepare and must balance up the Tithe Book. And I must not forget to do that little errand for Jimmie Bone, though I think it would be well to wait for a day or so until the hue and cry for him dies down. I shall return the jewels to Miss Gordon personally. You know, Mipps, Gentleman James has got discernment, for the old lady certainly has character. I have a great liking for the Scots.’ So saying, Doctor Syn got out of bed, went to the open window and stood for a while scrutinizing sea and sky as if reviewing the weather, while Mr. Mipps watched him in this familiar attitude, as though he were upon the aft-deck of his old ship Imogene, looking for dangers on the seas ahead. He wished they could both hoist canvas and sail the seas again. So, stifling a sigh of longing and regret, he went down to execute his master’s orders.