while all the rest were to remain where they were, or be shot as the Scarecrow’s enemies.

“We are here, Master Bos’n,” said the Scarecrow, “to take from you the person of one Fred Hart, held here as

your prisoner. Deliver him over to us at once.”

“He ain’t ‘ere,” replied the sea-dog, with what courage he could muster.

“Search the barn, some of you,” ordered the Scarecrow. “He was here and must be still since I have had the barn

watched day and night. Unless you tell me where he is within the next thirty seconds I shall employ the other half

minute in hanging you from the rafters.”

“There’s no harm in telling you,” faltered the Bos’n. “The prisoner is abroad the Revenue cutter. He was took

under escort some three hours back. And that’s truth, so ‘elp me.”

“Who watched the barn three hours back?” demanded the Scarecrow of his men.

“I and Curlew,” came the prompt answer from one of them. “And so ‘elp me none come out but four of these

dirty king’s men. One had a drawed cutlass and the rest carried bundles.”

“And ‘cordin’ to Captain’s orders, one of ‘em was this Fred ‘Art, dressed up in poor Joe’s kit, and there’s Joe

been shiverin’ ever since in a blanket.”

“There’s no signs of the prisoner here, Scarecrow,” said one of the search party. “We’ve turned over the straw,

and the barrels are all empty.”

“Very well, replied the Scarecrow. “Then we’ll tear a leaf from the clever Captain’s book. Collect all these

men’s clothes and bring ‘em along, and you, Hellspite, put a dozen or so six-inch nails through the door bars when

we’ve closed these rascals in for the night.”

The Scarecrow’s men worked quickly, and within a few minutes the captured piled arms of the King’s men had

been thrown into the Glebe Field Dyke, and behind nailed-up doors in the dark the party of disconsolate sailors

shivered and cursed, as they listened to the departing horsemen who had taken their clothes and were galloping back

to the Oast House, from which they had set out.

The Scarecrow and Hellspite remained behind, promising to rejoin the Nightriders within a few minutes.

“What now?” asked Hellspite in a whisper.

“Hold Gehenna, Mipps,” replied the Scarecrow. “I have no time to ride to the Mother Handaway’s to change my

clothes to Doctor Syn, so I must leave them for the moment in the hidden stables. Fortunately for my plan, Captain

Blain is a careless drinker when in cups, and slops his wine upon his uniform. Mrs. Fowey, taking it as her duty to

clean them, insists that he leaves them outside his door at night for here collection early in the morning. So, my

good Mipps, I can collect a uniform which will fit me. Despite slopping his wine, he is a man who likes to be trim

on duty, so he also leaves his wig to be freshly powered. I venture to think that I can close my left eye and stare

with the right as he does. We are of a height, too, and it will be dark enough aboard the cutter. We may take our

prisoner therefore without bloodshed.”

Thus it was that Doctor Syn entered his Vicarage quietly as the Scarecrow and in ten minutes emerged in the

uniform of Captain Blain. Luck had been on his side, since his guest had left his sword in the hall with his cloak and

hat, and every other night he had taken his sword to his room. He had also listened at the Captain’s door and had

heard deep breathing, but no snores.

On rejoining Mipps, the little Sexton grinned. “I knows you better than most,” he whispered, “but you ain’t the

Vicar, you ain’t the Scarecrow, but you are Captain Blain, one eye and all.”

On reaching the Oast House, Mipps superintended the Scarecrow’s orders being carried out, picking twenty to

dress in the sailor’s kits they had stolen. The Bos’n uniform gave him an extra one for himself. “The Revenue

cutter carries a crew of twenty men, a petty officer, and a captain. Well, the Scarecrow is the Captain, I’ll be petty

officer, and you the crew. The ten who remain as Nightriders will see to the horses getting back to stables from the

beach at Littlestone, where we shall board the lugger and sail for the Revenue cutter to capture the traitor, Fred

Hart.”

An hour later, Mipps entered the cabin of the lugger where Doctor Syn sat alone, and reported that they were

half-way between Sandgate and Dover and that the cutter lay ahead anchored.

“Run us alongside, Mister Bos’n,” ordered Syn, “and Captain Blain will speak to the officer of the watch.”

Doctor Syn climbed out of the cabin and strode along the dark deck, till level with the companion-ladder. “Is

Mister Swinnerton in charge?” he demanded in Blain’s deep and husky voice. He had got the name from Blain

himself.

“Speaking, sir,” came the answer promptly.

‘Plans are changed, Mister Swinnerton,” went on Doctor Syn. “The prisoner, hart, is to be tried at the

Dymchurch Court House, and I have come to escort him back on this lugger which I have requisitioned. Put him

abroad.”

“Sorry, sir,” replied the officer, “but your orders have been carried out. Hart is in irons abroad the Guard Ship in

Dover harbour. We have only just returned and piped the men below.”

“I was afraid of that,” went on Doctor Syn. “Well, my men are fresh and the cutter is faster than this old tub.

We’ll change over crews and you may lie anchored aboard here, while I go and fetch Hart from the Guard Ship. I’ll

come aboard.”

“Aye, aye, sir,” replied the unsuspecting officer, and as Syn climbed on to the cutter’s deck, he sang out the

necessary orders.

“Make fast, Bos’n, and send our men aboard,” growled Syn.

“Aye, aye, sir,” sang out Mipps.

Before the first man rolled out of the fo’c’sle curing, Syn’s men were at the ropes. Canvas was spread and

anchor weighed, while the workers kept sullen backs to the awakened sleepers. Keeping away from the ship’s

lanterns Syn strode the deck, curing Swinnerton for not driving his men harder, so that in a few minutes the last of

the cutter’s crew was aboard the lugger, and Syn gave a curt good night to the officer as he followed his crew aboard

the unsavoury lugger. As he went over the side with a salute, Swinnerton said, “We’ll stand by you at anchor here,

sir.”

“Right. And between ourselves, Mister Swinnerton, was mister Rowton drunk as usual when you reported

aboard the Guard Ship?”

“Well, sir,” replied the young officer diffidently, “he was not altogether pleasant, but he seemed put out that the

Admiralty have superseded Admiral Troubridge for Admiral Chesham, who I believe is to take over the command.”

“I know Chesham well,” chuckled Syn. ‘He’ll make us jump for him.”

As the cutter drew away into the fairway they heard the anchor being dropped aboard the lugger.

On the way to Dover, Mipps and two others who had served aboard a man-o-war trained the crew as to their

bearing, and in the meanwhile Syn having sent for white paint and tar, and procuring a flag from the locker,

bedaubed a white scarecrow on a black ground. “The adventure has so far been a joke with no bloodshed. With

luck it may so continue, Mipps,” he laughed, “and I have a mind to run this flag up on the guard Ship peak-head.”

The cutter entered the harbour and came alongside the guard Ship without suspicion. The officer of the watch

saluted Syn. “I was appointed here, sir, since you left for shore duty.”

“Name?” growled Syn.

“Osmund, sir.”

“Mister Rowton below?”

“Yes sir.”

“In his cups, too, I’ll be bound.”

“I couldn’t say, sir,” replied the tactful midshipman.

“Order two men to put the prisoner Hart aboard the cutter. I am taking him ashore for trial.”