Scarecrow.”
“Ah yes, indeed,” replied the Captain sincerely.
For a few minutes Doctor Syn made a show of tidying up his table of papers which he had been poring over.
Parochial papers, of course. He then replaced certain volumes from the table to their allotted shelves. He also took
some appreciative sips from his glass of brandy.
He then bade the Captain a good-night, and was just opening the door when there came a violent knocking from
the hall.
“Now who on earth can that be at such a time?” he asked, showing a deal of disappointment. “Are you expecting
a midnight report from that excellent Bos’n of yours?”
The Captain shook his head. “No, sir. I should be very disgruntled if he came to fetch me out now upon the
Scarecrow’s business. It would have to be a very important circumstance that would persuade me out at such an
hour. No, Parson, I hate to depress you, but I rather fancy that this is a summons for the cure of souls.”
“I must confess that I fear so, too,” said Syn sadly. “There are of course plenty of sick folk upon the Marsh, but
only one that I know of who is in danger of passing, and that is p oor old Fletcher, whom I think I told you about
during supper.”
“Ah yes, indeed,” replied the Captain. “Eighty-nine, isn’t he? Well, perhaps it is his happy release knocking
upon your door.”
“Good gracious,” exclaimed the Vicar, as a further pounding sounded upon the front door, “here I stand
conjecturing when by opening the door I can find out the worst. How very stupid once becomes upon occasions.”
“I should never accuse you of stupidity,” said the Captain.
“But if I let that knocking continue, I shall be very stupid, for my old housekeeper will be aroused, and then we
shall both suffer for it tomorrow with bad cooking.” Saying which the Vicar went out of the library, crossed the hall
and opened the door.
“Oh, it’s Mister Mipps, is it?” he said in a loud voice. “Well, I presume I am right in my guess. Is it Fletcher?”
“It be,” replied the Mipps promptly.
“Gone?” inquired the Vicar with a tone of anxiety.
“No, but just a-goin’,” replied the Sexton.
“Dear, dear,” exclaimed the Vicar. “Have you been over there?”
“No, sir, but young Jim was coming round to fetch you, but seeing as how I had my light on in the shop, since I
was getting his old grand-dad’s coffin ready just in case, I sends him back so as to be in at the death, which he
wouldn’t want to miss, being such a very dutiful grandson, sir.”
“Come along in then, Mipps,” ordered the Vicar, “and while I get ready you can take a glass of something to
keep out the Marsh agues.” So saying he led the Sexton into the library.
As Doctor Syn poured out a glass of brandy for the Sexton he told the Captain that his guess was correct and that
it was indeed old Fletcher who was passing away, adding that he must set out immediately.
“I can’t offer to go for you,” laughed the Captain, “though I should welcome the chance of such courtesy to my
good host. But I know that my uniform would scare the poor old fellow into his grave the quicker. I presume,
however that he is too old to be one of the Scarecrow’s active followers?”
Doctor Syn allowed himself to look pained at the joke. “Fletcher has ever been a very good parishioner. He will
be sadly missed from his seat in church. His family occupies a whole pew, and has done ever since I have been in
charge here. Is Doctor Pepper with him, my good Mipps?”
“No, sir, he ain’t, and more shame to the old curmudgeon, I says,” replied the Sexton. “Young Jim called around
there before coming to me, and old Pepper said as how there was nothing he could do, so it was useless to turn out.
Jim told him too as how it was the end, seeing that the old boy keeps on asinging a funeral hymn at the top of his
voice which he says sounds very rattley.”
“Their place is something of a distance too,” went on the Vicar, “and it is essential that I get there in time for the
end. I think you had best saddle up the pony if you will, Mipps.”
“Certainly, sir, and then we can start at once.”
“No, there’s no need for you to accompany me, Mipps,” said the Vi car.
“As to that, sir, I beg leave to disagree,” replied the Sexton. “This hour of the morning ain’t very healthy upon
the Marsh. What with mists and agues that rise with ‘em, to say nothing of the bad characters that roams about at
such hours. In fact, sir, I’ve come on old Lightning, and bought my loaded blunderbuss.”
“To take a pot at the March agues or at the bad characters, eh?” laughed the Vicar.
“Whatever presents itself first, sir.” Replied the Sexton seriously. “There’s them sailors, too, of the Captain’s. I
hear tell that they gets very nervous when on night-guards, and that they flourishes cutlasses at you, however
innocent. Well, there’s nothing like a blunderbuss for stopping that sort of behaviour. So I’ll come with you, if you
please, sir. Besides, I can’t very well disappoint the old Lightning after having saddled him up. He’ll want a
canter.”
“You meant that old donkey?” laughed the Captain. “Does it ever canter?”
“Does it? Why should it be called Lightning then?” responded the disgusted Sexton.
“Well, then, we’ll get along together,” said the Vicar. “I’ll be glad of your company and you can look after the
animals while I am in the cottage. Hurry then, Mipps.”
In a few minutes the pony and donkey were carrying their masters along the Marsh road. The Captain watched
them from the front door, and listened to the noise of the hoofs when there was nothing to be seen but the wreaths of
mist into which the riders had disappeared.
“As queer a pair as ever I clapped my eyes on.” He said to himself. “A couple of characters whatever they may
be. And what, are they? Well, they could be simpletons. On the other hand, they could be as deep as the Indian
Ocean. Now how can we determine just what they are? It seems that here is an opportunity. They may be thinking
that I don’t know the whereabouts of the cottage where old Fletcher is dying. But I do. In fact, I have the Marsh
very well charted in my mind. But I am not at all sure whether old Fletcher is dying. Neither am I sure whether that
queer pair are really bound to visit him. The Vicar seemed more than anxious to get me to bed. Was he anxious to
get me safely into my room so that he could go out upon the Marsh without my knowing it?
“The more I think of it, the more it seems possible. Was that why he went to the cellar for that bottle of brandy?
We had already had sufficient, both of us. There was no necessity to open another. Now was that but an excuse to
join his Sexton at the back of the house, so that he could send him to the front with the message about Fletcher?
Suppose now that they have not gone to Fletcher’s. Suppose Fletcher is but an excuse for them to get out for some
meeting upon the Marsh. Suppose Doctor Syn’s animosity against the Scarecrow is just a deceit? Could that queer
brace of birds be in league with the Scarecrow? Could they be in his power? Could one of them be the Scarecrow?
Or are they hunting the Scarecrow themselves and want me out of it? Well, I can find out if Fletcher is an excuse by
going there myself, and taking a look round. If they are there the animals will be outside. If they are not there it
will tell me that they have gone elsewhere to some place which they don’t want me to locate. We’ll get this Fletcher
business cleared up anyway.”