was not long in doubt.

“I am Esther Sommer ’s father,” he said, in a hoarse whisper. “I have

come to

- 42 -

put Paid to your account.”

A flash, a deafening report, and then, amidst a stench of gunpowder,

they saw the Squire’s great body crumple down the boards. Nothing moved

save the twitching of his sword-hand and the curling smoke from the

steady barrel of the pistol.

It was a strange voice that brought the onlookers back to a state of

reality.

“This looks to me like murder.”

The speaker, who was quietly closing the door through which he had

entered, was richly dressed. He was short in stature, but broad shouldered and heavily built. His complexion was browned from foreign

sun, and his gold ear-rings indicated the sea as a profession. Unlike

the prevailing fashion, he wore his hair short-cropped and his black,

pointed beard gave him more the appearance of an Elizabethan than a

Georgian. While he smiles, as he was doing then, and showed his fine

white teeth, he was not unattractive. About the age of Doctor Syn, he

looked older, for he had lived hard and run the pace. His bearing

conveyed a recklessness which to feminine eyes at least appeared

romantic. Booted and spurred, he carried his riding cloak over his arm,

but as he advanced easily into the circle of light he tossed it from him

to a distant chair. It was then that Imogene recognized him, for with a

cry of joy she sprang forward, seized his hands in hers and said,

“Nicholas!”

“Of course,” observed Syn to Tony. “It is the Squire’s nephew.”

“And come in the nick of time to close my uncle’s eyes, it seems.”

His manner was almost jocular as he set the girl aside, with a

friendly patting of her hands, and surveyed the dying man upon the

floor.

Not even the pains of death which gripped him could disguise the

hatred of the Squire as he asked, “Have you come to crow at my death,

young cockerel?”

“I hurried from Spain, sir,” replied the nephew, “in response to your

last letter threatening to cut me off from the estate. I took the

precaution of calling upon the family lawyer in London, and no doubt you

will be desolated to learn that you have no means of carrying out such a

piece of petty spite. He was setting out for Oxford tomorrow in order to

inform you of this himself, but, as you see, I have forestalled him with

the good news.”

“I would have made him find the means,” replied the Squire.

“I rather think that the little misfortune which I see you in, dear

Uncle, will give me the estate within the hour. I have seen death writ

on faces before now.”

“Aye, I am done for this time,” went on the Squire, speaking with

increasing difficulty. “Had I lived tonight, I would have married the

girl, whom you had lost to the parson there. I warrant her child have

been a bar to your inheritance.”

“What does he mea n, Imogene?” asked the nephew.

“It means, Nicholas, that I am betrothed to Doctor Syn,” she

answered. “Tonight my mother and myself were brought here forcibly, but

Doctor Syn and Mr. Cobtree came to rescue us. Your uncle tried to kill

my lover, who pr oved himself the better swordsman. Indeed, your uncle

was disarmed when the shot was fired.”

Nicholas looked at the man who still held the pistol. “Why, it’s

Sommers. You lived across the river. I remember. You had a daughter.

I warned my uncle at the time that his peccadilloes would get him into

trouble. I think I heard she died.”

“Aye,” replied Sommers. “He killed her.”

- 43-

“So you kill him,” said Nicholas. “Well, all I can say, my friend,

is that you are in something of a fix. A duel’s a duel, and murder’s

murder.”

“I’ll swing for it if needs be. I am glad,” replied Sommers.

“Tut, man, let’s have no more corpses. While uncle obliges me by

dying as quickly as he can, I’ll think what’s best to do.”

As a reproof to his c allous hatred for his uncle, Doctor Syn took

cushions from chairs and propped the dying man into a more comfortable

position.

“Leave me alone,” said the Squire. “But give me wine.”

Imogene poured it out and took it to him. He tried to drink, but

could not. Instead he muttered to her through his clenched teeth:

“Will you tell me something, child?”

“What is it?” answered Imogene.

“That fellow Sommers,” he went on with an effort. “Regard him well,

and tell me how came such an ugly devil to possess so beautiful a

daughter. Yes, Sommers, your Esther was a pretty wench. I wonder now if

I’ll meet the jade?”

They were his last words. Doctor Syn knelt by him and felt the

heart. Then he slowly rose and said, “He is dead.”

“Well, I’ll be no hypocrite,” said Nicholas. “I always hated him.”

He picked up the dead man’s waistcoats and felt in the pockets. In

one of them he found a key, which he carried to a cabinet by the

fireplace. This he unlocked and searched amongst the many papers it

contained. At last he lit on a document, which he opened in haste. He

scanned it through and then said aloud, “To my nephew Nicholas Tappitt,

all my estate.” Then he looked at the others with a smile and added,

“So the rascal did not alter his will. My visit to the lawyer was not

true. I said it to frighten him. I think he could have left his money

where he would. However, it seems that I am safe. And now, gentlemen,

let us see about giving him a more regular death than he enjoyed. If

you gentlemen will agree to my plan, there will be no question of

murder. At dawn tomorrow Doctor Syn, with Mr. Cobtree here as second,

will meet my uncle in an affair of honour. As his nephew I will act for

him. I know a surgeon in the town who for a purse of guineas wi ll keep

his mouth shut, and certify death as regular. We’ll play the farce in

Magdalen Fields. It would seem a natural meeting-place. No possible

blame can fall on Doctor Syn for killing him, unless it is a rap over

the knuckles from the University Authorities. What do you say?”

The effrontery of this suggestion seemed to the others so

preposterous that they at first emphatically refused. But gradually

Nicholas made them see that only by such means could Sommers be saved

from trial.

“You may safely leave this to me to carry through,” said Nicholas.

“All you have to do is escort the ladies back to Oxford, and await me at

dawn in the Fields.”

“But why in Magdalen Fields,” asked Cobtree. “It could be managed

better here.”

“The pistol-shots must be heard in a more public place,” explained

Nicholas. “It will be the publicity of the affair that will deceive. I

will bring the body by coach. The surgeon and I will lay it on the

sward. Doctor Syn and I will fire the pistols into the air. The corpse

will be lifted back into the coach, and Sommers is at liberty to stay in

bed if he wishes. As to my servants here, they will obey me implicity.

They ever had a good regard for me, and hated my uncle. Let us release

your mother, Imogene, and I will send you by coach back to Oxford.”

- 44 -

“The dominance of Nicholas succeeded, and since nobody had a better

plan, they all took an oath of secrecy and agreed to carry out the grim

game. Vastly relieved at his salvation and accomplishment, the man

Sommers went the way he came, by boat. They found Imogene’s mother in

sad condition. The terror which she had gone through, added to the

physical pains from the brutalities that had been practiced on her, had

affected her poor brain, and they took her back to White Friars only