Doctor Syn was most sympathetic, and remarking that the Major certainly seemed to have had a trying evening, asked him if he would care for a drink, while the Squire, who had been endeavouring, behind the Major’s back, to hide both himself and his barrel beneath the window curtain, and indeed had nearly succeeded, inwardly cursed Christopher for a forgetful fool, and made frantic signals in protest.

‘Thank ’ee, Parson,’ returned the Major, cheering up at the prospect of good drinking in pleasant company. ‘Very civil of you.’

‘You look as if you could do with something stronger than Marsh water, eh, Sergeant?’ laughed the Vicar.

Major Faunce, thus relaxed, took a glance round the room, and perceiving the Squire in the shadow by the bow window, advanced to greet him, catching sight of the barrels as he went.

‘Good evening, Squire,’ he said, bowing formally, to which the Squire could not respond owing to the stiffness of his waistcoat. Perhaps it was the Squire’s embarrassment which prompted Major Faunce to give closer inspection to the barrels, and upon reading the chalked inscriptions he became grave.

‘So, gentlemen, I see that you have had other visitors here tonight besides Mr. Hyde and ourselves, and we sent off to the other side of the country — misled on purpose, I see. Nice little plot.’ He warmed to the subject as he recollected the discomfort to which the Revenue man’s stupidity had put them. But on second thought, was it stupidity? Duplicity might be the better word. Possibly Mr. Hyde was not averse to a noggin of smuggled brandy and a bag of guineas as a bribe, and he’d be in good company, too. Perhaps they were all in it, against him. So he said aloud: ‘I’m afraid this looks mighty suspicious, Parson.’

The Squire seemed a trifle over-anxious to explain, and as always when he tried to use his best official tone, he became involved and ended up lamely that he was going out when the barrels bumped into him and he couldn’t leave ’em there doin’ nothin’.

This time, however, Doctor Syn helped him out and tried to straighten the matter, saying: ‘I assure you, Major Faunce, we know nothing about it. We have had a quiet evening here discussing parochial affairs, and as the Squire has just told you, we found them in the doorway. Naturally, as Lord of the Level, he wished to make an investigation at once, and —’

‘Much to your surprise you discover they are addressed to you!’ interrupted the Major.

Doctor Syn replied that that was exactly what he was about to say, adding: ‘So you see, Major, we are jsut as much in the dark about it as you are.’

But the soldier, by now thoroughly suspicious, pursued the subject still further. ‘But you didn’t intend to remain in the dark as to what was in ’em, eh?’

At this the Squire lost patience and exploded: ‘Well, dammit, man, what did you expect us to do — stand and look at ’em? It’s got my name on it. Read it yourself. A gift’s a gift. That’s Law.’

‘A bribe more like, and that’s not Law,’ parried the Major.

After so many years together in wild adventure, there had sprung up between Mipps and his master a system of signalling that had become almost thought-reading. During the above altercation this had been put into silent action, which resulted in the most innocent-seeming interruption from Mr. Mipps: ‘Beggin’ your pardon, sirs, for interruptin’, but the Vicar asked me to remind him about Mrs. Wooley’s complaint.’

The Vicar thanked Mr. Mipps warmly, as indeed he had forgotten all about it. He begged the gentlemen to excuse him, but he must ride out and give the old woman a few words of cheer and keep her in good spirits.

‘Then,’ said Major Faunce, intending not to lose sight of any possible clue, ‘you’ll not object to my sending a couple of my men with you, to see that her taste in spirits is not barrels of smuggled brandy?’

Doctor Syn replied almost gratefully: ‘Not at all, Major Faunce. On the contrary, I enjoy company on a long ride, and no doubt the poor old body will give them a glass of her parsnip wine for their trouble.’ Mr. Mipps helped him on with his long coat, and the Vicar thanked him, adding an extra benediction on his good servant for reminding him of his duties. Then turning to the Major he requested: ‘Pray, Major Faunce, do not fail to let me know what spirit those barrels contain. I must preach a very strong sermon against it next Sunday,’ and with the pleasantest of smiles he went out to mount his fat white pony, whilst the Sergeant gave instructions to the two troopers that Doctor Syn was to be escorted across the Marsh and watched, adding that in his opinion the Major had gone a bit too far, being suspicious of a poor old gentleman what was only doing his duty.

Indeed, the Major was at that moment thinking the same thing himself and feeling a trifle ashamed for having entertained the slightest suspicions about such a good and kindly soul as the Vicar of Dymchurch. If, however, he too had been able to read thoughts, he might have taken even stronger measures.

Chapter 11

More Compliments from the Scarecrow

Sir Antony was peeved. It was deucedly embarrasin’ bein’ left alone with this Faunce. It wasn’t like Christopher to let a fellow down, and he felt he had been left in the lurch. Indeed, the whole thing was Christopher’s fault, and it wasn’t like him to make mistakes. Why had he insisted on letting the fellows in? Easiest thing in the world to have sent them away. Could have told ’em the Revenue man wasn’t there. Yes, he decided that he definitely did not like that Revenue man. And here he was alone with Faunce and didn’t know what to say. The barrels were sittin’ there lookin’ at him. He’d got the devil of a thirst, and something was makin’ Mipps grin. Righteous indignation made him breathe more heavily than usual, as he punctuated each thought with a snort. Thus it was that the spigot became loosened, and during a mighty intake of breath which of necessity moved the Squire’s diaphragm, it fell with a clatter to the floor. Fortunately Major Faunce’s back was turned so he was able to kick it beneath the settee. He was so pleased with this manœuvre that he did not even notice that he had done it with his bad toe, but upon the Major’s turning round he decided that some explanation was due for the noise and the movement of his foot beneath the settee, and bethought himself of the Vicarage cat, knowing full well that it lived in the stables.

Making a series of jabbing movements with his foot as though inducing the playful animal to come out and chase his toe, he did some clicking noise with his tongue, and in the language usually employed when addressing cats he endeavoured to make his performance convincing. ‘Nice Pussy, then. Turn along. Puss, puss, buss.’

Once having embarked upon this course, he felt at a loss to know how to stop, and was about to go down on his hands and knees as further proof of its existence when Mipps came to his rescue by saying, in warning tones: ‘I shouldn’t, sir. She’s ever so spiteful.’

Straightening himself with a, ‘P’raps you’re right. N’other little family on the way?’ he gave Mipps a look of deep gratitude. Mipps, from a position of vantage, returned this with a confidential wink and a, ‘Yes. H’aint nature wonderful? D’you know, Squire, who I think it is this time? Mrs ’Oneyballs’s black Tom. ’Orrid cat. Roguish.’

The Squire, though grateful, felt that it really wasn’t fair of Mipps to pin a family of kittens on to Mrs. Honeyballs’s unsuspecting Tom.

Major Faunce wondered how he should next proceed, and, having discussed the matter in whispers with his Sergeant, had no mind to stay listening to kitten talk. He was extremely tired after two successive fruitless nights upon the Marsh, and in spite of the Squire’s presence, he determined to take charge. So approaching the barrels he said: ‘Well, Sir Antony, I suppose wwe had better get these over to the Court House and put in bond, and that will end my responsibility in the matter.’ Mipps, however, had other ideas upon the subject, saying he didn’t know how he was going to get ’em there, unless it were such good spirits as the barrels grew wings, and flew there. ‘I’d give an ’and myself only what with my gravedigger’s elbow I haven’t got a lift left.’