taken across the river by boat, and sent back the next morning with

money stitched into her clothing. At the end of this sad story the man

chuckled grimly:

“But my revenge is coming, and little do they know how I am going to

strike. I have planned with some cunning.”

- 20 -

“It seems to me, then,” said Doctor Syn, “that it were a good thing for

the neighbourhood if this scoundrel should be removed to the place in

which he rightly belongs.”

“Aye, sir,” replied the farme r. “And that is where I wish him, and

I’ll help him there too. The deepest Hell.”

“The same place to which I was referring,” nodding the parson dryly.

“Well, keep your ears open for immediate gossip concerning him, and you

may find that I have taken the responsibility of sending him there from

your shoulders.”

“Don’t rob me of revenge. I live for it,” pleaded the man. “Let me

be some help to you.”

“The time is not yet ripe. But soon I may ask your help,” and with a

wave of his hand and still dripping wet, Doctor Syn cantered out through

the farmyard and galloped up the road to the bridge.

The farmer was right. He reached the gates in less than three

minutes, but drew rein ere he came abreast of them, walking his horse

along the grass footpath to avoid the noise.

But so much noise was the Squire of Iffley making with his curses and

his riding-crop upon backs of hounds and stablemen that no one heard

the rider approach or saw him peer through the gates with a grin. In the

centre of the dr ive stood Tappitt, lashing out freely with his whip.

Some half-dozen stablemen armed with cudgels and whips were staring up

the drive.

“I tell you,” cried the Squire, “that he can only get out this way.

The coward is hiding in the trees somewhere. Loose those mastiffs and

let ‘em rout him out. He can’t get out of locked gates, or jump the

wall.”

“I’m afraid he has got out all the same,” laughed Doctor Syn.

The Squire swung around with an oath, and stared at the rider through

the gates.

“How the devil—” he began.

But Doctor Syn cut him short.

“I may be a parson, but I am also a good judge of horseflesh. I

never ride a horse who cannot jump. But, my faith, the Isis is a broad

ditch. However, a good horse is a good horse. Tomorrow? At noon? The

attorney, the ladies and myself will await you at St. Giles’. Good day.

I’m sorry I cannot stay longer to enjoy your sport and hospitality, but

we tutors are hard-worked.”

And digging his heels in hard, Doctor Syn let his horse out into a

full gallop towards Oxford.

- 21 -

Chapter 4

The Challenge

Just before noon on the following day Doctor Syn, Tony Cobtree, and

the Spanish mother and daughter awaited the arrival of the Squire of

Iffley.

White Friars, in which Doctor Syn had taken lodging for the ladies,

was a pleasantly situated house with windows overlooking St. Giles’

market. The Annual Fair was in full swing. Hundreds of merry-makers

jostled each other good-humouredly to get to the various booths of

entertainment and the gaily decorated stalls. From every street people

were hurrying to swell the crowd.

With one arm encircling Imogene’s waist, Doctor Syn leaned from the

open window enjoying the scene.

“Our visitor from Iffley will be hard put to it in making his way

through this lot,” he laughed.

Antony Cobtree, who was seated at a table with the Senora, looked up

from the legal papers he had been arranging.

“You seem very sanguine that he’ll come,” he answered. “For my part,

I think he will not dare to show his face. The rascal has too many

enemies amongst the townsfolk. When you made the appointment, you

forgot the Fair, Christopher, and I am willing to lay you a guinea that

he will not have the courage to swagger his way through that crowd.”

“The bully is not without courage,” replied Syn. “And I still think

he will come.”

“Are you willing, then, to lose your guinea?” asked the young lawyer.

“I rather fear you would lose yours,” laughed the Doctor. “There’s a

coach just turning into the Market, and I can see the Iffley arms on the

panel. The coachman seems to have as little regard for the crowd as his

master has, for he’s lashing out freely with his long whip, while our

bully is poking his cane at them through the window. Come and see.

There will be trouble, I think.”

Although the plunging horses had cleared a space with their hoofs,

the crowd was so densely packed that those nearest to the coach could

not press back out of reach from the lashings of the long whip, and the

coachman standing up on his box fiercely struck at all within reach.

Angry men were rushing the coach doors, but right and left the heavy

knob of the Squire’s long cane kept striking, and the oaths that

followed each sickening thud proclaimed the fact that he had scored a

hit.

“You idle dogs!” shouted the Squire. “Must I teach you to give way

for your betters? If you want a lesson, I will give you one.”

At this there was a growling protest from the crowd, and a woman’s

voice rang out with, “What happened to Betty Dale, the girl at Iffley

Mill?”

“Aye, and a score of other poor lasses like Esther Sommers,” cried

another.

“And he dares drive his cattle into St. Giles!” sang out a man.

The Squire flung open the door of the coach and shouted to the

footman to get down and lead the near horse, which was still plunging.

Leaving his cane to the coach, he then drew his sword and faced his

assailants. They shrank back before the naked steel. They well knew

his reputation, and feared the determined fury in his eyes. conscious

of his own power, he laughed and walked slowly to the horses’ heads.

The footman, who feared his master more than the angry crowd, climbed

down from the high ledge at the back of the coach on which he stood, and

followed the Squire to the front, where he grasped the bearing-reins and

steadied the frightened animals.

- 22 -

“The times are bad indeed,” said the Squire in a loud voice, “when a

gentleman must needs cut a passage for his own coach through such scum.

Follow on my hee ls, you” (this over his shoulder to the terrified

footman), “and we’ll reach White Friars over dead bodies if any of these

clodpoles oppose us.”

Thereupon he advanced so suddenly that those of the crowd immediately

threatened by the Bully’s weapon fell head over heels against their

fellows behind them, who were so tightly packed before that they were

seized with panic, and it was amidst groans from the fallen, shrieks

from the women and children and cruses from all, that the Squire of

Iffley’s equipage swept on towards White Friars.

Doctor Syn, still learning from the parlour window which was on the

first floor, saw that a lot of women and children were wedged in the

crowd directly in front of the entrance to the house, so, leaving his

companions, he r an down the white-paneled stairway, and, flinging open

the front door, dragged those nearest into the safety of the hall, at

the same time ordering others to follow their example. Thus a clearing

was effected in front of the Squire’s sword and the oncoming horses.

In this manner it did not take long to reach the house, where the

Squire called a halt.

“Await me here,” he cried to his servants. “and should any of this

rabble annoy you further, do not scruple to use strong measures.” He