She bobbed and went out again, unable to suppress her own opinion, which was, ‘What an hour for callin’.’

Drawing briskly at his pipe, the Vicar stood waiting, an inscrutable smile upon his face.

Captain Foulkes entered the library, and, advancing to the fire, bowed and said: ‘I trust, reverend sir, you will forgive my intrusion at this hour, but the weather being fine and the sea air most invigorating, I thought an early rise and a gallop before breakfast would benefit my health and blow away the plaguey cobwebs of London.’

His manner this morning was very different. The arrogance gone, it was almost conciliatory, though his clothes belied the statement of an early rise. Indeed, they did not have the air of a man who had recently completed a fashionable toilet and ridden but a few miles. Instead they bore signs of hard riding, and his eyes, slightly bloodshot, had the look of one who had for hours been staring into darkness. The Doctor, noting this, told himself here was no morning canter for the health. More like an all-night gallop for his purse. He had come to find the Scarecrow and was obviously not wasting any time.

But the Captain continued with his dubious apologies. ‘The tide being low, and the sands hard, I had a good gallop, and on enquiry from a fisherman I found I was at Dymchurch, opposite your house, and bethought me of your invitation.’

‘Why, Captain Foulkes, of course. You’re very welcome. Pray do not excuse yourself, for I too have been up for some considerable time.’ The Captain may have given him a doubtful look, but Doctor Syn did not appear to notice and continued: ‘Ah yes — the coach. You had a most unfortunate experience. Dear me. That highwayman. So barbaric to want to rob a fellow creature of his boots. But take comfort in the thought, sir, perhaps they pinch him. Oh, I see you have procured another pair.’ Indeed the Captain was wearing some very smart though extraordinarily muddy Hessians. ‘Then it cannot be my carpet-slippers you have come to borrow,’ continued the Vicar. ‘Now let me see, what was it you wanted? A weapon. Yes. Yes. He took your sword as well. Well, you shall have the choice of my armoury,’ and pointed towards the only corner of the library that was unoccupied by bookshelves.

Captain Foulkes, following his gesture, was surprised to see the finest collection of Toledo steel that he had ever set eyes on in all his swordsman’s career, and wondered how they came to be in the possession of this country parson. But Syn went on, explaining: ‘As I told you, in my youth I was considered not without promise in the art. I have not always been,’ and here he laughed playfully, ‘the fusty old parson you see before you now, for I must tell you, sir, that in my travels I have preached the Word in many far-flung places — from the Chinese Islands to the Red Indians in the Americas. Charming people — much more civilized than we are. I was no Quaker, sir, and thought it best to have good steel about me. So I made my little collection

— more or less as a hobby, of course. Now take your choice.’

The Captain appeared to be overwhelmed with such generosity, and told the Vicar that although he remembered his kind offer, and would be delighted to avail himself of it, he had in truth only come that morning to pay his respects and offer his apologies, for he knew he had behaved somewhat churlishly in the coach, as indeed he had also done at Crockford’s.

Doctor Syn made light of this, saying that the London air always made him too a trifle testy, for the noise and bustle, to say nothing of the late hours, were apt to fray the nerves, but that now, he hoped, the Captain was feeling more invigorated after his little rest-cure in their humble corner of the world. ‘For,’ he continued, ‘did you not say that you were visiting the coast for your health? No, no, of course, you had another reason. How foolish — my poor old brain. It all comes back to me — your wager. You were coming down to rid us of our Scarecrow. Is that not so, sir? Yes, of course, that’s why you need the weapon. That was the only reason for your visit, was it not?’

The Captain appeared to be relieved at this question, for indeed he had been wondering how to broach the subject, and having selected a sword to his liking (Doctor Syn noting with amusement that he had chosen the finest in his collection), he went on to say that in truth there was something else — that he had come to the Vicar for advice and assistance. Doctor Syn replied that it was a curious coincidence, for but yesterday morning another member of Crockford’s ahd called for the same purpose, and he understood that the young gentleman had been an acquaintance of Captain Foulkes. ‘Now what was his name?’ he said. ‘Dear me, my memory. Oh yes, Lord Cullingford. Quite a charming boy — if a trifle misguided, but I rather think I succeeded in bringing another stray lamb into the fold. It appeared that the poor youth was somewhat in debt, and,’ he continued confidentially, as though they, as older men, knew the ways of the wicked world, ‘I lent him some few hundred guineas from parochial funds. Oh, I have no fear of not getting it back, for he seemed to me the soul of honour, and told me he fully intended quitting his extravagant life to join the Colours. I had succeeded, you see, in persuading him that to try to catch this rascally Scarecrow single-handed was in my mind only asking for trouble, since the Army, the Navy, and the Revenue alike have never succeeded in catching him, and that the chance he had of winning the two thousand guineas reward was remote indeed. He then admitted that in the Captain’s case it was a different matter, as of course he had heard that Captain Foulkes was such a brilliant swordsman, if indeed he was lucky enough to meet the Scarecrow, and he wondered, having also heard of the Captain’s offer to meet the Scarecrow in open duel, whether his challenge could be accepted, adding wistfully that there was a fight he would like to see.’

Foulkes was not a little annoyed when he heard that Lord Cullingford had stolen this march upon him, and then had turned ‘so mighty pious’, and he vowed that he would attend to the young puppy at his convenience, though at the moment his own affairs were too pressing to worry further upon the subject, and the Vicar had somewhat mollified him by his flattery. So he admitted that though he had come to Doctor Syn for advice about the Scarecrow, that also was not the only reason. Then, flattering in his turn, he said that he had heard Doctor Syn was such a good man that even the miscreants of his parish were not afraid to approach him for guidance, and that in truth they even paid him their tithes. So he wondered if it would be possible for him to convey a message to that confounded highwayman who had put him to such inconvenience. ‘For,’ he went on, ‘not only did he take my sword and boots, but he deprived me of something on which I set great sentimental value, in short, my wallet, given to me by a dear friend. If he would return it I am willing to pay a large reward, as well as allowing him to keep such money as he found inside it, without complaint to the Authorities or personally seeking redress.’

To this the Vicar replied that it was a very grave matter and he could not promise Captain Foulkes an assured satisfaction, for he never knew when these naughty rogues were going to ‘bob up next’, though as a rule they were punctilious in paying their tithes. Then, looking somewhat apologetic, he said: ‘I fear I very stupidly refused to take my tithes from Mr. Bone due for his latest misdemeanour, because of his gentlemanly gesture in returning to me all the valuables which you saw him take from Miss Agatha Gordon. He told me himself that he had never been privileged to rob such an aristocratic, charming old Scots lassie, and asked me to give them back with his apology. Why, he even sent her a little personal gift, in lieu of her forgiveness. Quaint fellow,’ he chuckled, ‘romantically inclined, though I suspect ’tis the first time Gentleman James has played the gallant to a lady of her years. But there, I fear all this must be very annoying for you, having lost something of such great sentimental value. Your dear friend — passed on, no doubt?’ Then seeing that the Captain’s expression was blank, went on: ‘No? Oh, and a wallet too. Most irritating. All one’s private papers. So intimate. I feel for you most strongly and will certainly do my best.’