Текст книги "Doctor Syn on the High Seas"

Автор книги: Russell Thorndike

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undertaken. Solemnly he read through the terms of the late Spaniard’s

will, which he had turned into English Law jargon from the translation

supplied by Imogene. But if he had thought to be tiresome to the Squire

of Iffley, he was mistaken, for the bully drank in the news of the

Spanish ladies’ wealth with avidity, and the more wealthy they seemed to

grow according to the young lawyer’s statement, so much the more did the

Squire ogle the beautiful Senorita.

The part of the will which touched the Squire’s nephew stated that

the vessel which the deceased provided and fitted out for Nicholas

Tappitt should be still held in commission with the said Nicholas

Tappitt as sailing-master, and that after payment from each or any

voyage, such profits accuring from the same should be divided into equal

portions, and paid the one to th e sailing-master and the other to the

deceased’s daughter Imogene. This statement concluded the business, and

Cobtree asked if anyone had any comment to make.

At which the Squire got to his feet and, much to Doctor Syn’s

annoyance, took Imogene’s hand and kissed her fingertips.

“It seems, then,” he said with a laugh, “that my wretched nephew will

at least have the felicity to be connected closely with you in the way

of business. Will you object to that, Doctor Syn? Or will you be

sensible enough to pocket the profits which my nephew’s trading brings

to your wife? I warrant it will be higher than the stipend of a

parson.”

“I think we need detain the Squire of Iffley no longer,” rapped out

the attorney.

“I will gladly accompany him downstairs,” added Doctor Syn, “for by

the looks of it the crowd had grown even larger, and I venture to think

that he will need a little protection on the way to his coach.”

“We will both accompany him, with your leave,” added Cobtree.

The Squire surveyed the y oung men haughtily.

“I have not the least fear of your rabble, gentlemen, but I shall

welcome your company to the door, since I have that to say to you which

I should prefer the ladies not to hear. Madame, I am your humble

servant.” (This is the Senora.) “And as to your daughter’s rejection of

my nephew in favour of this young scholar—well, I shall have a good

deal to say to my nephew on the subject which will not be to his liking,

for I could never tolerate a failure. But for Heaven’s sake, Madame,

see that your daughter contemplates well what she is doing before

condemning her whole life to a dull English parsonage. I shall be happy

to welcome you both at Iffley whenever you care to honour me. Now,

gentlemen, at your service.”

The Squire’s attitude, his insults and his reputation prepared

Doctor Syn for what was to follow, and as he led the way down the stairs

he decided what course he would take in retaliation. Tony Cobtree

followed with his hand on his sword.

What both the young men suspected would happen came quickly enough.

They knew the initiative was in the Squire’s hands, and he took it highhandedly. Ignoring the growl of protest against him from the crowd, he

turned and faced the two young Marshmen. A step below them on the porch

he looked up at young Cobtree.

– 27 -

“Do I owe you any small fee for your service?” he asked, with on hand

in his breeches pocket. “I find I have plenty of small change about

me.”

“You owe me nothing,” replied Cobtree coldly. “In my professional

capacity I was acting for the ladies, not for you.”

“As for you, sir,” went on the Squire, turning fiercely upon Doctor

Syn, “since you have taken it upon yourself to interfere with my

business, I shall make a point of interfering with yours.”

“Since I have no interest in you at all,” replied Doctor Syn, “I fail

to see in what way I could have interfered.”

“I call it the grossest interference,” went on the Squire, “the way

you have crept in behind my nephew’s back, knowing him to be safe away

at sea, and then with your smooth tongue to have seduced the mind of a

rich, beautiful, but ignorant girl who should have been his wife. Well,

marry her if you can, but you will first answer this”—and with the back

of his hand he struck the parson in the mouth.

Although the blood tricked down from his lip where the Squire’s ring

had cut it, Doctor Syn appeared deadly calm. Raising his right hand to

check the angry murmur of the crowd behind the Squire, he said:

“I will answer you at once, though no t in the way you expect. You

have just struck a cowardly blow, knowing full well that it would not be

seemly for me to meet you with either barrel or blade. But I have a

man’s heart beneath my black coat, and I take a blow from no one as

despicable as yo u. So down with you into the gutter, where you belong.”

Very deliberately, Doctor Syn began to remove his clerical coat. But

ere he could accomplish this, the Squire had drawn his sword, and with

the flat of the blade struck the parson with all his force upon his

shoulder. In a second Tony Cobtree’s sword was drawn, and with a

“Coward, en garde”, he engaged the Squire.

While hoots of “Shame!” and “Tear him!” arose from the crowd, Doctor

Syn’s voice rang above all, crying, “This is my quarrel, Tony.” At the

same time he leapt, dropping his coat upon the steps, and as he turned

the blades with the impact of his body, he struck up with his left fist

and caught the Squire with all his force upon the jaw. The sudden

impact seemed to lift the heavy bull y off his feet, and down he went

backwards with a sickening thud as his head struck the cobble-stones.

It was then that the crowd pounced, like encouraged terriers upon a

rat. The Squire’s sword was wrested from his grasp, and sent crashing

through the windows of his coach. At the same time the wretched footman

had been dragged from the horses’ heads and thrown to the mob, while

others seized the reins. The armed coachman, assailed from back and

front, fired his blunderbuss into the air, and then gave in for very

fear. He was dragged from his box. His wrists were lasted behind him

with the corded frogs that they ripped from his gorgeous uniformed coat.

His wig was torn off and stuffed into his mouth as a gag, tied with its

own ribbon.

Despite the e fforts of both Doctor Syn and Cobtree to save him, the

Squire of Iffley was lifted up by the infuriated townsmen and bundled

into his coach. The coachman and footman were pushed in after him, and

then, amidst wild yells of derision, they led the horses through the

Market, and into solemn procession as far as Magdalen Bridge. Here, as

the young men were afterwards to learn, the frightened animals were left

to their own devices. A strong flick from the long whip which someone

stole, and the coach went off in made career, swaying and ungoverned.

The wretched inmates of the vehicle must have thanks their stars that

the horses knew the way, for they pulled up panting and kicking at the

closed iron gates, until the gate-keeper came out and

– 28 -

led them through. The thanks this fellow received at the hands of his

master for having rescued him and the servants was a stroke over the

mouth, so that his lip was cut similarly to Doctor Syn’s. He then

threatened him with dismissal, but then, remembering that the rascal

knew Doctor Syn and might yet be useful in trapping him, he gave him a

guinea, and bade him visit the house after dinner in order to plan the

winning of further guineas. And behind them in Oxford the Giles’ Fair

went on, and in the upper parlour of White Friars it was Tony who said:

“We have not heard the last of our Squire of Iffley, I fear.”

“The rascal is going to be undone for this affair,” replied Syn, “and

I rather think that I shall have most hand in it.”

“What do you intend to do? Imogene noted the grave anxiety on the

lawyer’s face, and it frightened her.

Doctor Syn paused to think and then continued. “I propose that you

and I shall pay a call upon the Chancellor, and over a bottle of his

excellent port shall give him our various of today’s affair. What do

you say?”

“Why, that we could no nothing better,” cried Tony, much relieved.

“That is settled, then,” said Syn, “and I propose also that till then

we dismiss the Squire of Iffley from our minds, and think on happier

things.”

Chapter 5

The Abduction

Although his jaw ached prodigiously from the result of the blow

inflicted upon it by Doctor Syn, and although he ached from head to foot

from his fall and manhandling he had afterwards received, the Squire of

Iffley lost no time in planning his revenge. He decided that this could

best be served by first striking at Doctor Syn through the beautiful

Spanish girl. If he could kidnap both the mother and daughter from the

house in St. Giles’, and get them spirited away to his own mansion at

Iffley, he felt that he could hold them prisoners until they consented

to all his wishes.

He summoned the gate-keeper to whom he had given the blow and the

guinea.

“I presume, Mister Cragg,” he whispered, as the gate-keeper s tood

before him at the dining -room table, “that you have had a full account

of what happened this morning at St. Giles’? No doubt my carriage

servants have given you the most graphic and, I dare swear, exaggerated

version of the disadvantage I was put to, and in which they shared. Is

that so?”

“I have heard that things did not go well will your honour,” replied

the man. “In fact the state of your honour’s coach told me that the

cards must have fallen damned bad.”

“And so they did,” admitted the Squire, filling his glass with port.

“But a gentleman of spirit should never get down -hearted at the

continual falling of bad cards, for it always comes to your own deal at

last.”

“With a good ace tucked up one’s sleeve,” chuckled the man.

“And why not?” laughed the Squire. “Maybe I lost this morning, but

it is my deal now, and those I play against will be astonished at the

number of aces I shall have up my sleeve, and if by your help I

win the game I mean to play, you shall have twenty guineas in

your pocket. Now

– 29 -

listen carefully, and I will tell you how I wish the cards to fall.”

Whereupon the Squire unfolded his scheme.

Mister Cragg had no difficulty in watching White Frairs, nor in

recognizing his master’s victims. There was Doctor Syn, whom he had met

already, with his arm round the beautiful Spanish girl. There was the

elder Spanish lady, her mother, and the

other two at the open window he knew must be the lawyer and the lady he

was wooing in the Woodstock road. The crowded booths and stalls

opposite the house lent him an easy concealment. As compensation for

his weary wait, he watched the happiness upon the lovers’ faces, and

gloated over the contrasting emotions that were in store for them.

Earlier than he expected, he saw the whole party withdraw from the

window, and began to congratulate himself that the gentlemen were so

soon retiring. In this, however, he was doomed to disappointment, for

it was only the lawyer and his lady who appeared at the front door, with

Doctor S yn bidding them farewell.

But it was at parting that Cragg heard the lawyer say: “I say be

back within the hour, Christopher, and then we’ll wend along together to

the Chancellor. He sits up late enough, the old rascal, and will

welcome us to drink his port.”

“Well, Tony,” laughed Doctor Syn, “linger if you will upon the way,

but hurry all you can upon your return, for, as you know, the Senora

likes to retire to bed in good time.

“Within the hour without fail,” replied Tony Cobtree, taking his hand

of his lady and placing it under his arm, as they threaded their way

through the packed merry -markers in St. Giles’.

So Mister Cragg had to exert his patience for yet another hour.

However, Tony Cobtree was as good as his word, and better, for in ha lf

an hour he was back, and Cragg had no more waiting, for the two men

immediately left the house on their way to the Chancellor’s.

Although he knew their destination, Cragg followed them to make sure.

He knew that they were not returning that night to White Friars, for he

had heard Doctor Syn say to the Spanish girl, “I will be round for

breakfast in the morning.” So when he saw them both disappear into the

Chancellor’s house he knew that it was safe, as far as they were

concerned, to put the plot in motion. But he lingered on the way back

so that dusk should give place to night. Having seen that the carriage

were ready outside St. Giles’, in order to avoid the crowds, he

leisurely walked towards White Friars. There he waited until the

candles in the upper parlour were extinguished. He saw the light of

bedroom candles being carried into another room, and then he rang the

bell vigorously. The housekeeper, after some delay, opened the door on

the chain, and he handed a note, saying that the matter was very urgent

and he would wait instructions. A few minutes later he was admitted

into the hall, and found, just as the Squire had hoped, that the Spanish

girl had readily fallen into the trap. Although her manner was calm,

her eyes were bathed in tears, as she asked Cragg whether he had seen

the accident. He told her, “No,” but he had seen the unfortunate

gentlemen afterwards and had helped his master to lift him into a

carriage which was now waiting to convey her to the house, which was on

the outskirt s of the town.

“I will just go and hasten my mother,” she said, “and we will start

immediately. Where is the carriage you mention?”

Cragg told her it was beyond the crowd, some two hundred yards

distant, and that he would escort them to it.

– 30 -

Five minutes later Cragg was escorting them through the crowds, and the

carriage was reached. Seeing that they were so full of the calamity,

that no suspicion of foul play had entered their heads, Cragg decided to

climb on to the box rather than ride inside with the ladies, which he

thought they would resent. Once the horses were off, he knew there

would be no stopping, for at such a time the roads would be free.

Only once, and towards the end of the journey, did the girl put her

head out of the carriage window and ask how much further.

“We are nearly there, madame,” answered Cragg, giving the drive a

jocular nudge in his ribs.

A few minutes later they turned through the gates, which, to save

trouble and delay, he had left open, and were sw eeping up the drive at a

gallop. The hall door was open for their reception, and the butler

ushered them in. He led them into the dining-room, after closing the

heavy hall door, and said that if they would wait there a minute he

would inform his master, who was now consulting with the physician in

the sick man’s room.

It was then that Imogene heard two noises which puzzled her for the

moment. The sound of the carriage driving away, and the bolting and

chaining of the hall door. But before any suspicion had time to take

root in her mind the butler returned with an explanation. He reported

that if the sufferer could be kept alive through the night, he had hopes

for his recovery. At the moment he had drifted into unconsciousness,

but directly he revived to his senses the young lady would be permitted

to see him. Two visitors the doctor could not allow, but as the

reverend gentleman kept asking for Imogene, the sight of her would

perhaps bring him a little peace. Since the case was desperate, the

servants had orders to accommodate the ladies in a bedroom adjoining, in

case they were needed in the night. The butler said he had been told to

ask them if they would accept this hospitality, and whether they would

care for a glass of wine before proceeding upstairs. This they both

declined. Imogene saying that she would see her mother to the room, and

hoped they were not causing too much inconvenience, and she added that

if the lady of the house was at liberty she would like to thank her for

all they are doi ng.

“My lady will visit you in a few moments in the bedroom,” replied the

butler. “At the moment she is helping the doctor with the reverent

gentleman’s bandages. I will give instructions for the lady’s-maid to

wait upon you and to see that you have a ll that you require. Will you

follow me, please?”

He led them upstairs, across a wide landing to an open bedroom door.

They went in and found it old-fashioned and comfortable.

“I will inform my lady,” said the butler as he closed the door. In a

minute he was back again and whispered: “The reverend gentleman has

recovered consciousness. Will the young lady come at once, please?”

“Yes, go, my dear,” whispered her mother. “I will wait for you here.

I hope he is better.”

Imogene noticed as sh e passed through the bedroom door that the key

was in the outside of the lock, but as all her thoughts were set on

comforting her lover, she saw nothing suspicious in that. She closed

the door herself, and followed the butler down a short flight of stairs,

along a corridor with a door at the far end. This the butler opened,

and signed for her to go through.

“Thank you,” she whispered, and went in on tiptoe.

Her first view of the room, which was brilliantly lighted with

candles, astonished her, for instead of the bedroom she had expected she

found herself

– 31 -

in a spacious oak-paneled sitting-room with a great round card-table in

the centre. Before she had recovered from her surprise, she heard the

door close behind her, and turning saw not the butler, who had gone, but

a richly dressed gentleman locking the door on the inside and putting

the key in his pocket.

“What is the meaning of this, sir?” she asked. “And where is Doctor

Syn?”

The Squire of Iffley turned and faced her with a chuckle. Instantly

she recognized him, and gasped with terror.

“Quite right, my dear girl,” he said. “You are trapped. Your mother

is locked in her room, so if you scream you will but add to her alarm.

Since Doctor Syn, who is back in Oxford all the time, thought fit to

make you scorn my hospitality, I have been forced to go my own way to

work. You are now at Iffley in my Manor, and here you will stay till

you have consented to all my demands.”

“And what are they, sir?” she asked haughtily.

“First that you will discontinue this absurd love affair with Doctor

Syn,” he answered.

“In order that you may force me to marry your nephew, sir?” she

demanded.

“Spit me, no,” he laughed. “There is no love lost between us, I

assure you, and why should I help him to what I most desire for myself?

I would rather leave my money and estate to our children, my dear, than

to that fool of a nephew who has failed to carry you off.”

“Our children?” repeated the girl in horror. “How dare you even

think of such a thing?”

“For the same reason that I shall accomplish it. I want you for my

wife, and willy-nilly you shall marry me. Of that I am so certain that

I urge you for your own sake not to fight against it. Many a woman

would envy you. I am a bachelor , and rich. I am not without

accomplishments. No man in the country rides harder, fights harder, or

drinks harder. I can hold my own with much younger men. And although I

have never married, women admire me because of my settled determination.

Whatever I ant, I get. So school your mind, little Miss, to forget this

young parson, and accept my wooing.”

“I shall do nothing of the sort,” replied Imogene.

“Oh yes, you will, because I shall force you to it. I have the means

here to compel your obedience. That is why I have kidnapped your

mother. You will not care to see her starved and tortured, while I

surround you with every luxury? If you refuse to be sensible, I shall

strike at you through her. We will talk now for an hour or so, and then

unless you relent, her persecution will commence, and I warrant her

screams will move you.”

“Doctor Syn will suspect you,” said Imogene coldly. “He will come

and free me when he finds that we have gone from White Frairs. He will

know that the story of his accident was a base lie.”

“Of course he will,” laughed the Squire. “He’ll know it tonight. I

have written him a letter to his Chambers. The servant who brought you

your letter is now on his way to deliver another another to the parson.

In it I have stated that you have changed your mind, and have, with your

mother’s consent, arranged for yourself a happier match than to become a

parson’s wife. Of course, he may believe this. If he does we shall not

be troubled with him.”

“He will not believe it,” replied Imogene. “How can you think it?”

“To be quite frank, I never did,” said the Squire, with a smile. “I

think—nay, I hope—he will come up here. And when he does he will not

leave here alive. Unless, of course, you so convince him that my le tter

is the truth. In that case I will spare him, and you will have the

satisfaction of saving

– 32 -

his life. I confess that my words will sound conceited, but I could not

help crowing a good deal over the success of my revenge. Now will you

drink a glass of wine?”

“Nothing,” she answered coldly.

“Will you come and sit beside me on this comfortable settee?”

“I will not.”

“Very well,” he went on in his bantering tone, “you may stand there

while I sit and drink. I am perfectly content to gloat upon you for an

hour. Then you will not only be willing to sit, but you will sit upon

my knee and sip the wine from my glass.”

“I shall do nothing of the kind, you conceited devil.” she said.

“Oh yes, you will. In an hour. In one hour precisely. Do you know

why?”

“I do not care to know.”

“And yet it is my duty to tell you,” he replied pleasantly. “I must

save my future wife from shock. And in one hour you will hear your

mother’s first scream of pain and terror. I have servants here who are

very expert at that kind of treatment. There is a clock. Watch it.

One hour.” And he sipped his wine and watched her standing there.