holsters and saddle-bags to Gehenna’s harness. Into the deep pockets of guineas, and having given Mipps the letter
which he was to post by the down mail from Ashford for the Squire, declared himself ready for the road. The great
horse was led out of the stable. The door was secured behind them, and the Doctor leapt into the saddle, Mipps
scrambling up behind him.
Bending down from the saddle, Doctor Syn gripped the Highwayman’s hand and whispered: “See that further
hints of a great run reach Captain Blain and the Kings’s men for Friday. But there will be no run of course. It may
take some days to run Handgrove to earth.”
“I hope you may get him, sir, replied Jimmie Bone, “alive or dead.”
“ If he lives we shall get him alive,” said Doctor Syn, “and after see him dead. Our luck will hold good. Within the
last twenty-four hours we have crossed the Channel, put down a dangerous mutiny, unearthed the plot of a rascal,
and run a good cargo of contraband. And now we ride on the track of the rascal, and I doubt not that we shall pull
him down. Good-bye.”
Despite his double load, Gehenna broke immediately into a gallop and thundered away across the Marsh.
It was still night when Mipps slid from Gehenna’s back and bade his master farewell outside the town of
Ashford.
The Doctor Syn rode hard. With his hat pulled well down over his eyes, and a black scarf hiding his chin, no one
would have thought that this magnificently mounted gentleman in the black, well-cut riding coat, was a country
parson. His rapid progress was misunderstood, for at every turnpike he would bend low in the saddle and whisper to
the keeper: “There are French spies abroad. I ride on the King’s business. Should any question you, as to whether I
have passed on this black horse, you will shake your head. You are, I take it, loyal enough to welcome and bury
King George’s secrets with one of his guinea spades? You have not seen me pass, eh?”
The turnpike keepers only wished that such messengers could ride upon the King’s business every day.
Gehenna reached Ely Place before dinner-time, and was safely lodged with mine host of the ‘Mitre.’ Half an
hour later the Vicar of Dymchurch sat in the waiting-room of the Admiralty in Whitehall, having requested an
interview with Admiral Troubridge.
Having the profoundest respect for the brave parson who had from every pulpit of the Romney Marsh, publicly
attacked the crime of smuggling, the old sea-dog did not keep him waiting. In fact, he was delighted to see him.
“We are desolated, my dear Admiral,” said the parson, “that you have left Dover for the Admiralty. I fear that
your successor will not be interested enough to back me up against these smugglers that give our Marsh villages so
bad a name. Had you remained in our vicinity, I think that between us we might have got the better of them. But I
fear I tire you. You have now greater responsibilities, and cannot be interested, even in our notorious Scarecrow.”
“On the contrary, Reverend Sir,” beamed the Admiral, “I always asked you for information when I was at Dover,
and I take it you have called upon me now to give me some. I shall welcome it and you, for I am still resolved to
catch this Scarecrow of the Marsh.”
“I fear, sir,” replied Doctor Syn, “that my purpose in London is to call upon His Grace of Canterbury at Lambeth.
I shall have to repot to His Grace that since your leaving us the Scarecrow has been more daring than ever. I fear
now that he will never be taken.”
“You think so, eh?” chuckled the admiral. “You think also that I have abandoned you? No. Doctor Syn. I am
expecting a visitor this very day who can give me information which will enable me to smash the Scarecrow’s
organization at the very source. I am to learn full details of his secret harbour in France. I shall be able to bottle up
his ships before they enter British waters. Then what can he do?”
“That would indeed be a master-stroke, sir,” was the Doctor’s enthusiastic reply. “By the way, sir, I am
expecting one of the Archbishop’s servants to wait upon me here within the next quarter-hour. May I have you
permission to wait for him in your enquiryroom?”
“Certainly, Doctor,” said the Admiral. “You may come and go as you please. I will give orders for you. In the
meantime read that.” He threw a note across the table. Doctor Syn picked it up and read:
You may remember my name. I betrayed two of the Scarecrow’s men to you, Admiral Troubridge, eleven years
ago. You think I am dead. No sir, I have lived a living death as a prisoner of the Scarecrow. He was too clever for
me and for you, sir, and the Navy. But now I can get my revenge and give you yours. I have escaped from his base
in France. I can show you, just as soon as you have paid me the reward for such, the very spot in France he loads
his ships with French contraband. When you pay me in golden guineas I will take you to the spot. A condition is a
free pardon to certain Romney Marsh smugglers who fell foul of the scarecrow. They are not dead, as supposed.
They are prisoners with their wives and children. It has been their lot and mine to load the contraband fleet. For
my information, I demand the reward and a rescue for my unfortunate colleagues. Your honor may remember my
name.
Your Servant,
One Handgrove.
“This should prove most valuable,” exclaimed Doctor Syn. “Through it I have no doubt but that you will take the
Scarecrow himself. May I wait upon you later in the day?”
“We will sup together,” said the Admiral. “By that time I may have something to tell you. Shall we say the Ship
Tavern in Whitehall? At nine o’clock this night?”
“I shall be delighted,” agreed Doctor Syn. “But if you will excuse me now, I will go and await the servant from
Lambeth Palace. You expect this Handgrove today?’
“Aye, and he’ll be here, too,” explained the Admiral, “because a verbal message was given to me by his
messenger who brought this note. He asked for an early appointment, and by the clock he should be in the enquiryroom within the next ten minutes. Do you remember Handgrove? Eleven years ago he was one of your flock.”
“One of its blackest sheep, I fear, Admiral,” replied the Vicar. “I recollect him well, though I doubt whether he
would know me. He was not given to attending church.”
“Why not stay and hear what he has got to tell me,” suggested the Admiral.
Doctor Syn shook his head. “My presence would embarrass him. Besides I am awaiting the messenger from
Lambeth, who is to tell me where I am to meet the Archbishop.”
“Then I will not detain you,” said the Admiral, ringing a bell, which was promptly answered by a petty officer.
“Conduct Doctor Syn to the enquiry room,” he ordered. “He is expecting a messenger.” The Admiral shook
hands with his guest a nd added, “Nine o’clock, then, Parson, at the ‘Ship’ in Whitehall.”
Doctor Syn found the enquiryroom a lively place. Groups of officers awaiting appointments with their Sea
Lords, were renewing old acquaintances, and exchanging gossip of His Majesty’s ships. Taking the elegant parson
for a chaplain of the fleet they bowed politely as he made his way to the window overlooking the front courtyard.
He knew that Handgrove must come in that way and be directed by the sailor on guard to the enquiry -room.
Although Handgrove had not set eyes on the Vicar of Dymchurch for eleven years Doctor Syn had seen him
many times, and recently from behind the Scarecrow’s mask when the smuggling business had taken him to France.