The Shadow of Dr Syn - Thorndike Russell (читать книги онлайн бесплатно регистрация .txt) 📗

‘Is all prepared?’ the Scarecrow had called across the few yards of shallow water from the deck of the Two Brothers.

‘Aye — aye. Hellspite here and horses ready,’ came the answer.

In a few minutes all were transferred from deck to saddle and then, following the Citizen L’Epouvantail, who had proved his loyalty to Robespierre by firing at a British ship of war, the grisly-looking cavalcade set off along the sea-wall road. Passing Littlestone they turned into the Marsh, and in and out the intersecting dykes they galloped. As they rode, the Scarecrow turned his charger alongside that of Hellspite.

Leaning down in the saddle, no one but Hellspite heard the whisper: ‘What of the Beadle?’

It was the voice of the Sexton of Dymchurch that answered: ‘It was too easy. I was drinkin’ with him. But he was out before I ’ad a chance. ’E ain’t got no ’ead for liquor, that there Beadle.’

‘And the keys?’

‘I got ’em. ’Angin’ on me belt. Did you fare well across there?’

‘Aye, Mipps — I’ll have a tale to tell you. At dawn we’ll crack a bottle.’ And the Scarecrow reined back and for a time rode with the Frenchman Decoutier.

They did not ride into the village of Dymchurch, but skirted it, keeping to the Marsh fields that lay behind the Church. Here they dismounted and, tying their horses to a sheepfold fencing, the Scarecrow whispered to the Frenchmen to walk in silence as they were near the end of their journey. He told them that he was taking them to his underground headquarters where there would be good food and drink, as well as security. As the way was difficult, he ordered each Frenchman to be supported on either side by his own men, and then they crossed a bridge and stumbled into the blacker darkness of the Rookery and at last down outside steps, where a door was silently unlocked by the little figure they had heard named Hellspite. ‘Prenez — garde — silence,’ warned the Citizen L’Epouvantail.

¹ Flat boards of wood attached to the shoes for crossing the miles of pebbles.

A minute later the Frenchmen heard a door close behind them, and Hellspite lit a lantern from his ‘flasher’ and told the Nightriders who had led them to remove their charges’ masks.

The lantern light showed them a bare room with a groined roof, the only furniture a long table clamped to the floor between the flagstones and two clamped benches. One window higher up in th grey stone wall was shuttered from the outside and barred within.

Decoutier produced a pack of cards and sat down at the table, saying he would play for any stakes till supper should be served, or was it breakfast, he asked — adding that he hoped the fare would be better than the room. ‘’Tis like a room in the Bastille,’ he said.

The Scarecrow had meanwhile ordered the Nightriders to take away the spare masks and cloaks and to bring food. Hellspite slipped after them to hurry things along, while the Scarecrow produced a large bottle of cognac. ‘You shall be host for the moment, Citizen Decoutier. Drink yourself, then see your fellows have some, and do not spare it, for I assure you there is a cellar full to hand.’ He thumped the wall behind him and whispered: ‘And there is such a kitchen on the other side this wall. Fit for a King’s Magistrate, I vow. You’ll have food presently and then perhaps you’ll let me share the dice with you. We must be silent, but that’s no bar to merriment, I hope.’

He tiptoed to the door, listening cautiously. ‘Ah,’ thought Decoutier. ‘He is a careful one, this guide of ours. No wonder Robespierre trusts him.’

The door shut — and then it happened — the awful creeping cold of doubt — followed by the ghastly grip of fear. For all around that table had heard the creaking of a lock shot home.

Chapter 17

A Surprise for Seven Gentlemen

Mr. Mipp was feeling very well that morning. He had had the sort of night he revelled in. Drink, tobacco and the story of his master’s adventure had carried him back to the good old days. He had laughed till his sides ached, he had drunk himself sober, and smoked so many pipefuls that the room resembled a Channel fog by the time they opened the casement to let in the dawn. Indeed, the cosy library of the Vicarage might have been Clegg’s cabine in the Imogene. There was also the added anticipation of seeing the village astounded once more at this latest escapade of the Scarecrow. It so happened that the morning was as foggy outside as it had been in the library; a thick blanket of mist enveloped the Marsh. This called forth the remark from Mr. Mipps that he didn’t know they had smoked so much. Then hurrying along with the Vicar as they went towards the church, this same fog occasioned a slight accident.

Opposite the churchyard wall, not being able to see farther than the tip of his pointed nose, Mr. Mipps inadvertently tripped over something. Like Mrs. Honeyballs, he knew exactly where he was and exactly what he was doing, but he derived great satisfaction in making his planned performances convincing.

In the most aggrieved, innocent tones he was able to muster, he pretended that he had hurt himself, as he hopped delightedly round the Vicar on one leg. ‘Ow, me poor leg! Why, blow me down if I ’aven’t gone and tripped over the stocks. Ought to know where they was by now, oughtn’t I? And knock me up solid, if there ain’t some naughty person in them.’

He peered closer. ‘Why, goodness gracious me, Vicar — it’s the Beadle!’

The Vicar appeared to be astounded. ‘The Beadle, Mr. Mipps?’

‘Now whoever could ’ave put him there?’ said Mipps to the fog. ‘Oh, what a wicked man! He smells of drink.’

At that moment the Beadle opened his eyes and groaned, and between sneezes and moans managed to tell them that he did not know who had put him there, or what had happened to him since he had left the Ship Inn the night before. He protested bitterly and demanded to be released. His head was splitting and he was going to complain to Mrs. Waggetts about her beer.

How to get him out was now the question.

‘Well, you’re the Beadle, ain’t you? Where’s the key?’ asked Mr. Mipps. ‘You ought to know if no one else does.’ He knew perfectly well that the key was in the Beadle’s pocket, where he had put it the night before, but he suggested that the Beadle should look through his own pockets. The Beadle argued that he always carried official keys at his belt, and since he ‘wasn’t no acrobat’ Mr. Mipps had better help him, and sure enough the key was found. Upon being released, the portly Beadle was so stiff and dizzy that Mr. Mipps felt obliged to assist him to the Court House Lodge — telling the Vicar that he wouldn’t be a minute and handing him the keys of the church.

Twenty minutes later Mr. Mipps opened the vestry door and grinned at the Vicar. Then he came in and closed it carefully behind him. ‘All accordin’ to plan, sir,’ he said delightedly. ‘Started off lovely. The Beadle feelin’ a bit guilty like, said he’d better go and see what had ’appened in his absence, though as the cells had been all empty, he wasn’t expectin’ no trouble. Well, down he goes, and he certainly found what he didn’t expect, a whole room full of it. He reads them papers with the Scarecrow’s signature what was pinned on the door, and then there weren’t no stoppin’ him. He dursn’t look in even, though I ’ad a good peep. There they was, all six, sleepin’ like babes, with ever such a surprised look on their faces and that there laudabum-brandy bottle empty beside ’em. I done what you said, told the Beadle not to breathe a word to none, but to report it quick and Bristol fashion to the Squire. But he’s too scared to gossip, sir.’

‘That’s as well, Mipps,’ nodded the Vicar, ‘since we do not wish it to reach the ears of Barsard until we are ready for him.’

At that moment there was a rap upon the vestry door, and a muffled excited whisper: ‘Christopher. I say, Christopher. Are you there?’