half conscious. Nicholas, who had locked the door upon his uncle’s

body, accompanied them in order to arrange with the surgeon, whom he

proposed to take back with him to Iffley. The good landlady at White

Friars was awaiting news anxiously, and was overjoyed to find the rescue

had been accomplished. The three men then left the ladies to her care,

and proceeded to the house of the questionable surgeon.

Accustomed to be called out in the night, they found no difficulty in

awakenin g him.

“It is by no means the first time that the rogue has done a dirty

piece of work at Iffley,” whispered Nicholas as they waited for him to

dress. “He’ll do whatever I ask of him, for I know enough to get the

rascal’s name struck off the Rolls.”

And so it proved. For twenty guineas he promised to arrange things

to their liking. He was perfectly willing to accompany Nicholas to

Iffley, for he was promised good wine upon arrival and so they went

their way, while Tony went back to Queen’s College w ith Doctor Syn,

where they kept vigil waiting for the dawn.

As they watched the night sky, Tony said, “I only hope that the

killing of this bully will not ruin your career, Christopher.”

“I might have killed him there,” said Syn. “At least I have not his

blood on my conscience. And I honestly think it would have gone hard

with Sommers at a trail. A jury seldom finds a murder justifiable,

though this one was, I think. I wonder what the Chancellor’s views will

be. My good Tony, how glad I shall be when we know the upshot of this

somewhat deceitful business!”

At the first paling of the sky, the two companions, muffled in heavy

cloaks, crossed the Courtyard, and let themselves through the gate with

the key which they had borrowed from the porter’s lodge some hours

before, for Doctor Syn had realized that the rousing of a sleepy porter

would occasion noise and attract attention from the students. Once in

the street, they walked briskly toward Magdalen.

On the way Tony rallied his friend upon his gloom y countenance:

“At least you are about to fight a duel, with absolute certainty of

killing your man, and the finest fighter can hardly say that.”

“I only hope this Nicholas Tappitt will not bungle things,” replied

the Doctor.

“Not he,” said Cobtre e. “He is as anxious as we are to save this

Sommers.”

“I have been wondering about his motives,” went on Syn. “He did not

strike me as a man who would take much risk for another than himself.

And I think this plot of his is to insure his own safety. A fter all, he

was in the room when the shot was fired. He was admitted by the

servants in the hall. He was known to have a hatred for his uncle, and

he had everything to gain by this death. It occurs to me that he does

not altogether trust us. Suppose we had chosen to side with the man

Sommers, our Nicholas would have been in an ugly case.”

“How could we have done that?” cried honest Tony.

“Of course we could have done no such thing, but I think he measured

us by his own character.”

- 45 -

In this Doctor Syn was right, for despite his easy manner, Nicholas

realized that his situation might be dangerous. There were those on his

ship now moored in London Docks who knew he had gone in haste to Oxford

on a quarrel with his uncle, and where his own safety was concerned he

trusted no one. Doctor Syn’s cloth, and Cobtree’s legal profession, and

the fact that both were men of honour, did not weigh with him. He

imagined that anybody would commit perjury if it could be safely done.

After all, he di d not wish his uncle’s death to be too questionable, and

the duel he was staging would satisfy the public mind. They would say

that Bully Tappitt had reaped what he had sown, and that the noted

duelist, who had been a menace too long, had met just desserts.

Whatever may be said of Nicholas Tappitt—and all through his life

bad things were said of him—he did not bungle things. Hardly had

Doctor Syn and Cobtree taken their positions by the field gate when they

saw the Iffley coach approaching. They approaching. They opened the

gate in readiness, and the coachman drove his team to the centre of the

field. The surgeon alighted with his case of instruments, followed by

Nicholas with the case of pistols.

Syn and Cobtree went to aid them in the grim task of removing the

body from the coach.

“Before we have him out,” whispered Nicholas, “it would be as well if

one of you gentlemen were to take a look in the ditch yonder. That hedge

affords good shelter, and with so many strangers in Oxford for the Fair,

it is a likely spot for a homeless tramp to crawl.”

Doctor Syn immediately hurried to the spot, took a quick look round,

and then ran back with the disquieting news that two gypsies were there,

one with his head beneath a coat and the other with closed eyes and

snoring heavily. Indeed, as they listened they could hear the noise

across the meadow.

“If they do not wake before our pistol-shots,” whispered Nicholas,

“their presence will help us, and the news will fly through Oxford that

this affair of h onour was conducted regularly. Let us quickly get the

body to the grass.”

After some difficulty they managed to get the stiffened body through

the door, and laid it face upwards in the grass. Nicholas dragged away

the cloak it had been wrapped in, folded it neatly and put it on the

ground. He then brought from the coach his uncle’s brocaded coat and

waistcoat which the dead man had divested the night before, and had also

had the foresight to add a hat to this deception.

“Now, Doctor Syn,” he went on, “take this pistol and fire into the

ground when I signal. Measure fifteen paces from the body, and then

strip to your shirt. And now, Mister Surgeon, your bottle.”

The surgeon handed a vial containing blood, which Nicholas uncorked

and poured upon the dark stain that had congealed upon his uncle’s

shirt. He then poured a little on the dead man’s lips.

“This is my own blood,” he whispered to Cobtree with a smile. “I

never thought to shed it for my uncle, but we blood is essential, and

the surgeon took it from my arm this last half-hour. Aye, that looks

convincing. Now, Mr. Cobtree, take up your position as your friend’s

second. We must be quick. It’s getting light and those rascals may

awake.”

By this time Doctor Syn had taken his fifteen paces, and had placed

his hat and clothes upon the ground.

“Have you seen to the priming of the pistols?” asked Cobtree. “We

should look foolish were they to misfire.”

- 46-

“I reloaded them myself,” replied Nicholas. “They are splendid weapons

and have never been charged more carefully.”

Then, after Cobtree had taken his position by the surgeon, and the

coachman had driven away to what would appear safe distance, Nicholas

stood above his dead uncle. Since he could still hear the snoring from

the ditch, he risked speaking aloud, addressing the corpse at his feet.

“Faith, Uncle, you are living up to your reputation, and are fighting

your last duel from the wrong side of the grave.”

He then nodded to Doctor Syn. The two pistols flashed almost

simultaneously, startling the already wakening rooks from the trees

above them, and as the frightened gypsies peered over the edge of the

ditch they saw the surgeon running with his case of instruments toward

the fallen man. They saw Doctor Syn hand his pistol to his second, and