animal. He recognized Doctor Syn immediately, and after hearing that
their errand was in the quest of revenge, was at once eager not only to
help, but to take an active part in the affair. In the space of a few
minutes Hobson’s horses were stabled, and he was leading them towards
the meadow bank where he moored a fishing-boat.
“I bring a loaded pistol for the cause, sir,” he said. “I am no
gentleman and cannot use a sword, but if you two should fail to kill
this vermin, believe me, gentlemen, I can shoot straight. And now,
please tell me how you intend to act when we touch the farther bank.”
“Proceed to the house, and kick up hell till we get in, of course,”
said Syn.
“I have a better plan than that,” replied the farmer. “A secret that
for years has been a source of comfort to me. You may have heard of
Charles Herman. He is the most skillfull cabinet-maker in Oxford.”
“Very well,” said Syn. “He does a lot of work for the colleges.”
“He is my brother -in-law,” went on the farmer. “A year or so back he
was called in by the Squire yonder to open up a sliding panel in the
great oak room on the first floor which the scoundrel uses for his
gaming. This panel, as our Charles discovered, leads by a flight of
winding steps to the old water-gate. In his father’s time it had been
closed, but no doubt the present Squire has found good use for it.
There have been bodies recovered from the Isis before now over which the
coroner has pronounced ‘Suicide’ or ‘Accidential death by drowning’. On
each occasion, Charles and I thought differently. The poor victims had
no doubt fallen foul of Bully Tappitt.
- 35 -
Charles repaired the secret spring which operates on both sides of the
door, and being an expert locksmith too, he had to make a new key to fit
the water-gate. After the tragedy to my daughter, Charles told me of
this secret way, and I learned that he had n ot destroyed the mold from
which he made the key. I begged him to make another, which he did, and
gave to me. I have it always here against my heart. It is a large key,
but the feel of it has ever been a joy to me. The knowledge that at any
time I had the means to surprise that devil has made my heart sing
for sheer delight. I have used it many times, and listened at the
panel. But on each occasion he had company, and I needed him alone.
Sometimes in the dead of night I have let myself through the panel,
which Charles had made to slide so silently, and have stood in the oak
room gloating on what would one night happen there. I noted that he
kept his dueling pistols there, and they were loaded. I hoped to use
one of these instead of mine own, for the murder would then seem
suicide. Well, gentlemen, we will use the key now, and with God’s help
rescue your ladies and deal with the Squire.”
Silently they got into the boat, and the farmer took the oars, rowing
with caution against any noise. As they passed the Squire’s boathouse
they heard a man’s voice singing a bawdy song, and saw a light in a
window above it.
“It is the waterman,” whispered the farmer. “He drinks himself into
the early hours like his master. He will not trouble us.”
The water -gate was round a bend of the river, some fifty yards from
the boat -house, and the only spot where the house itself touched the
river. With a final pull the farmer shipped his oars carefully and
crawled into the bow, where he crouched with a s hort boat-hook. Without
a word he pointed above his head, and the young men knew that the large
mullioned window lighted up was the oak room for which they were bound.
The farmer eased the boat gently to the wall and made fast to a mooringring. He then crawled on to the gateway step and mentioned the others to
follow. There was no noise save the gentle lapping of the river beneath
the boat.
The water -gate was fitted with a heavy oak door, iron -studded. The
farmer produced his key from his shirt, and by the time the door had
swung silently into the darkness the young men were standing close
behind him. Cautiously they all entered, and the farmer shut the door
behind him. Step by step they mounted, the farmer first, since he knew
where to find the se cret spring. Doctor Syn next, and Cobtree last.
After completing the first turn of the turret, the farmer put out his
hand behind him to call a half while he listened. It was then that Syn
turned to his friend and whispered:
“I would have been happy to see you clear of this adventure, Tony.
For your parents’ sake, and for your lady. But oh, man, I am yet glad
to have you with me. But it is first of all my quarrel!”
The farmer turned and warned them not to whisper. Then once more
they mounted up. Syn calculated that they had completed three full turns
of the turret, and by the sound of a man’s voice knew they were reaching
the top, when the farmer turned and whispered the order, “Back.” they
retreated three
- 36 -
steps, and only just in time, for suddenly the turret steps were flooded
with light, and the hitherto murmuring voice of the man arose loud and
clear, showing that the panel was open wide. The farmer levelled his
pistol, and the young men’s hands went to their sword-hilts.
“It leads to the river,” said the voice of the Squire. “I show it to
you just to prove how completely you are in my power. In a few minutes
it will be time for you to hear your mother scream again. My rascals
are punctual. They delight in their work. If, as you tried to threaten
when you heard the last scream, your mother were to die of shock, her
body would be carried down these steps and with a bag of stones around
her neck she would sink to the bottom of the river. You know that you
can stop your mother’s terror at will. You have only to consent o me,
and all will be happy for her. And for you, too, if you only knew it. I
am something of a god lover, my dear. After the next scream or groan,
whichever it may be, you will hear them more rapidly, for my
instructions are to increase the dose as the night wears on. Why not
let the old girl alone, my dear? She could lie upon the bed and cry
herself to sleep if you will only be kind to me. Why not give in?
Eventually you must, and you will save her so mu ch pain. Listen. There.
A moan. Do you hear? Ah yes, and now?”
A piercing scream arose from a distant part of the house. Doctor Syn
tried to push past the farmer, but he held him firmly back.
The Squire’s voice went on: “It is no use you running to that door,
my dear. I have the key in my pocket. What horrid scream that was!
She must be suffering. How can you suffer it? Now obey me, child. Undo
your little bodice. I have a wish to kiss you on the shoulders.”
Once more Doctor Syn tried to push by the farmer. But the latter was
a strong man, and, being above the parson on the steps, had the
advantage. Thrusting his pistol into his side pocket, he used one hand
in keeping the Doctor back and the other was pressed hard over his mouth
to prevent him from making a noise.
It was then that they heard Imogene’s voice for the first time.
“God will have no mercy on you when my Christopher, Doctor Syn,
arrives. He will kill you, and God will bless him for the deed.”
“I have tried to be merciful to you,” replied the Squire. “I have
been patient too long. Why should I wait when my lips are burning for
you? I am going to take you in my arms.”