Текст книги "Doctor Syn on the High Seas"

Автор книги: Russell Thorndike

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Chapter 6

The Duel

Now, the moment Cragg had seen the butler close the hall door

safely upon the ladies he proceeded immediately to Queen’s College,

aroused the porter and inquired whether Doctor Syn had yet retired to

bed. The porter informed him that the Reverend Gentleman was abroad at

the house of the Chancellor. Cragg said that he had a very important

letter to be delivered to the Reverend Gentleman and would the porter be

seeing him on his return? The porter assured Cragg that he would, since

it was his duty to unlock the gate to anyone abroad after closing hour.

So Cragg left the note, crossed the road, went down a side street, came

back by another, and waited to watch in the shadows.

Both Cobtree and Syn stayed a long time with the Chancellor, who had

been delighted to see them, since many a rumor of the adventure in St.

Giles’ had reached him, and he was anxious to have the truth of the

affair. The young men were relieved to find him very sympathetic, and

indeed entirely upon their side. He agreed with them that the

neighbourhood would be the cleaner if cleared of such a rascal, but he

did not desire any scandal to fall upon the University. He pointed out

that whereas Mr. Cobtree was perfectly entitled to take up the bully’s

challenge, since he was free of the ties of studentship, Doctor Syn was

in different case.

To this Doctor Syn ha d raised objections. “Do you mean, sir, that

because one is an official of the University, any bully can insult one

with impunity?”

“I mean this, my good young Doctor,” the old man replied. “No man of

sense could call in question the honour of anyone in Holy Orders who

declined to give satisfaction, or ask it, from a noted duelist. You

have chosen a profession which must ever put the Word before the

sword.”

“And yet, sir,” argued the Doctor, “Christ Himself whipped the

moneylenders from the Temple.”

– 33 -

“I am not saying that I should not be the first to applaud you were

you to give the rascal a good thrashing. But should we once countenance

dueling within College walls, why, we should have every high -spirited

young gentleman under our ch arge killing one another. No, Doctor Syn,

you have shown quite enough of your mettle by knocking the bully into

the roadway, and my advice is to let it rest at that.”

After an hour or so, the mellowness of the god old man’s excellent

advice and admirable wine imparted itself to the spirits of both the

young gentlemen, so that when they bade him farewell, and walked into

the night air, each was desirous of seeing the other to his home.

“You are a guest, Tony,” said Doctor Syn, “and you have already kept

your future relatives up too long. I will walk there with you.”

“And have you no regard for your College gate -keeper?” laughed

Cobtree. “I told my in-laws I should be late, and they have entrusted

me with their house key. I will therefore walk with you to Queen’s, and

drink a good -night glass with you. What do you say?”

“I can hardly refuse my best friend hospitality,” laughed Syn.

And thus it was the Fate gave Doctor Syn a valued ally in a great

adventure for no sooner had they rung the porter’s bell than the

Squire’s note was handed to the Doctor.

He read it by the light of the lantern in the lodge, and as he read,

his friend saw his face veiled over with determined rage.

“What is wrong, Christopher?” he asked.

Doctor Syn crumpled the letter in his hand and, bringing his fist

down with a crash upon the porter’s desk, cried out, “That settles it!

Either I or that rascal dies tonight. The Chancellor did not guess at

this. Read it and wait here. There is something I must fetch from my

chambers.”

Cobtree did not obey, but with the letter in his hand hurried after

his friend, and when the chamber door was unlocked and Doctor Syn had

lighted a candle in the cozy and familiar study, Tony smoothed the paper

and read. By the time he had finished it, with many a gasp of horror

and surprise, his friend stood before him in a long clock.

“This is a wicked lie,” cried Cobtree, flourishing the letter. “Let

us go to White Friars, where no doubt we shall find the dear ladies are

sleeping saf ely. This is but a trap to get you to Iffley.”

“By gad, Tony, you are right, I never thought of that. Come with me

to St. Giles’, and if they are not there —well, then, I am for Iffley

and the rascal’s blood.”

“Of course they will be there,” said Tony. “How could he have

dragged them from the house?”

“Well, if he has,” said Syn between clenched teeth, “I have this

about me that will rescue them,” and drawing back his cloak he tapped

the hilt of a long sword. “It was my father’s, who was but the Prince

in ‘45. He took it from my father’s dead hand. Aye, the old lawyer

died game enough, and so will I if needs be. Come on, If they have

gone, I’ll get a horse at Hobson’s. And if they are there I’ll get it

just the same and teach this rogue that parsons are first of all

gentlemen. The Chancellor may groan, but this night I fight a duel. At

least come with me to St. Giles’, but after that I go alone.”

“Come along, then,” replied Tony grimly. “We’ll get along there as

quickly as we can, and a fter we will get two horses from Hobson’s.”

– 34 -

And so the two friends hurried from Queen’s to St. Giles’, where all

was quiet, as the Fair had closed.

Now, owing to the fact that the landlady at White Friars had been

extremely anxious as to the fate of Doctor Syn, the two young gentlemen

found a light burning downstairs, and on their knock upon the door it

was immediately opened. Although very glad to find the Doctor alive and

able, when she had told them about the ladies under her charge and had

read the contents of the Squire of Iffley’s letter, she was in a sore

state of panic, in which Doctor Syn and Tony had to leave her, since

their haste was urgent to rescue the ladies from what they knew would be

unspeakable torture.

As they ran toward Hobson’s stables, Doctor Syn begged Tony to go

home and leave the rest to him, which, of course, Tony refused to do.

But it was not until Doctor Syn found himself galloping neck to neck

over Magdalen Bridge alongside his friend that he realized nothing could

shake off Tony Cobtree from the perilous adventure.

“To the gates of Iffley, I suppose?” cried Tony, spurring on.

“No,” reported the Doctor. “I have a better plan. We will pick up

on our way another ally against the rascal. We will rouse the farmer I

told you about, because this is to be war to the death, and the more

upon our side the better our generalship against this rogue, who will

have a host of retainers at his back. From what I told you, I think

this farmer will not hang back now.”

“Aye,” cried Tony, riding hard. “If we ride to the gates of Iffley

they will be prepared for you, but if this fellow can ferry us over the

Isis in his boat and land us there upon the Iffley estate, we shall

attack perhaps with more surprise.”

Although the hour was very late, the young men were fortunate in

finding a light in the cowshed, where the farmer was attending to a sick

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.”

At this moment, and just as Doctor Syn was about to hurl himself at

the farmer, whose strong arms had pressed him back, there came a sharp

knocking on the locked door at the far end of the room.

“That will be news of your mother, no doubt,” said the Squire. “We

will open and see. But in case you are tempted to run down these dusty

steps, we will c lose the panel. Not that you could get far, because

below there is a locked door that leads to the river.”

The Squire closed the panel as he spoke, and as his heavy strides

crossed the room the three avengers climbed the remaining steps. The

farmer had his hand upon the secret spring, and Doctor Syn whispered him

to open it.

“Wait till whoever has come has gone,” cautioned the farmer.

When the Squire unlocked the door, Imogene gave a gasp of horror, for

there stood before her an enormous man stripped to the waist and holding

a huge pair of blacksmith’s pincers.

“Well, fool, what is it?” asked the Squire.

“That last nip I gave her put her out,” growled the brute. “What

shall I do? Wait for her to wake up, or go on as your ordered?”

– 37 -

“Throw a jug, full of water over her, throw her on the bed, and lock

her in for the night,” ordered the Squire. “Leave the key in her lock,

in case I wish to view her. And give the strictest orders to the

servants that I am not to be disturbed until the morning. Under no

circumstances are any of you to set foot in this wing of the house. You

will mount guard in the main hall, with the stable-lads. If this Doctor

Syn should come clamoring at the doors, see first who comes with him.

If he is alone, or merely with his lawyer friend, admit him, and deal

with him. You will be more than enough to settle with them. Have cords

to last them up, and put them down in the old dungeon vaults till

morning. It may be I shall kill him in the morning—both of them if

they come. That depends upon this little beauty here. If the loving is

to be all on my side tonight, the parson has preached his last sermon.

Now go, and don’t disturb me till the morning, no matter what shrieks

and screams you hear from this part of the house. Understand?”

“I understand, your honour, and wish you a very good night. I think

your honour will have it, too.” And with a grin of appreciation at the

terrified girl, he went out, closing the door behind him.

The Squire poured himself out another glass of wine.

“Just one more to wish your mother a happier state, which is in your

hands and then—” He drank, set down the glass and eyed her. “And now,

my dear, unless you prefer to wait upon yourself, you will permit my

clumsy fingers to act the lady’s -maid. That tempting little bodice must

be unhooked. Yes. Now.”

The wine mounted to his brain as he lurched toward her.

“Have pity!” she pleaded.

“It is you who are cruel,” he said. “Your beauty tortures me. Must I

take you without consent? It will be worse for your mother if I do.

Come here, you ravishing devil, and let me kiss you down to Hell.”

“What are you bound for now.”

These words were rapped out in a cold voice behind him.

The Squire, who had seized the girl in his strong embrace, swung

around, as what he saw drained the blood from his heated cheeks. He

stood there swaying, ashen pale, with terror in his eyes. He seemed

incapable of movement, but just stared at the two cloaked figures who

were standing there with drawn swords.

For the moment Imogene could not believe her sight. She had

forgotten the secret panel. The mysterious appearance of her lover and

his friend to her was something of the supernatural. Doctor Syn saw

that the Squire was equally mystified, and calmly he set him right.

“We are no ghosts, my Bully”, he said icily. “Indeed, you will find

us very flesh and blood. You have insulted us both. You will fight us

both, though something tells me there will be no need for Mr. Cobtree to

engage you. You are a bully, a coward, a liar and a cheat. And you

will fight now, and in this room, which you have so carefully left

undisturbed till dawn.”

With an effort the Squire seemed to shake his huge body into some

confidence. He knew at least that he was a match for most in a duel.

“May I ask,” he said coldly, “the name of the servant who has

betrayed my secret panel to you, parson? For after I have dealt with

you, with both of you, I shall deal with him. I pay good wages for

services, but only death for betrayal.”

“It is not your servants, but your sins, that have betrayed you,”

went on Doctor Syn. “I wonder now if you recollect among your victims a

certain lovely girl called Esther Sommers. Ah; I see you do. She died

of the shame she suffered at your hands. Since God is shortly to judge

you for that, I will not dwell on that girl’s tragedy. But I wish to

point out your own

– 38 -

stupidity. You did not know that Charles Herman was her uncle, did you?”

“And who the hell is he?” demanded the Squire.

“The cabinet-maker and locksmith who repaired this panel behind me,”

explained Syn. “You were very stupid not to see that he destroyed the

mold from which he made the key to the water -gate. From it he made

another key, and gave it to the father of Esther Sommers. We have made

good use of that key tonight. You see, there comes a time when the most

evil man an mock God no more.”

“Don’t preach, but fight!” cried the Squire.

“I shall be at your service in a moment, sir” replied Syn. He

turned to Imogene, who had been so overcome with grief that she

had been unable to move. “My beloved, thank God, Who guided us

here to rescue you in time.”

As she flung herself sobbing into his arms, the Squire took

three swift strides towards a cabinet on which lay his case of

pistols. But Tony Cobtree was there first, with his sword at

the other’s breast.

“Take your hand from that box, sir” he cried, “or by God I’ll

spit you like an ox! Get back!”

“I was merely preparing for the fight, sir. You may examine

the pistols if you wish.

“We fight with steel,” said Syn finally. He then turned

again to Imogene and added, “Do you know where your mother is,

so that we may relieve her of anxiety?”

“Yes,” replied Imogene. “Let us go to her at once. And

then, Christopher, let us go and leave this devil. Let us leave

him to the law to deal with. Why should you risk your life?”

“Because I believe that God has appointed me to kill him.”

He then looked at this friend and added, “Tony, do you take

Imogene to her mother, for I have my duty here, which will be no

sight for ladies.”

Tony shook his head. “I am sorry, old friend. But, knowing

the man’s reputation, I feel obligated too stay here and see

fair fight.”

“This is my home, gentlemen,” cried the Squire. “And I’ll

brook your insults no longer. Let us either hear the clash of

steel or the crack of artillery, and be done with it. Then I

shall be at liberty to enjoy the fresh beauty of this ravisher.”

In two strides Syn was at him, and with all his strength he

smote him on his unhealed wound upon the jaw, cutting it open

till the blood fell in a red cascade upon his cravat.

“I’ll kill you for this!” hissed the Squire.

– 39 -

“I ask nothing better than that you should try,” replied the parson.

There was no question of Imogene’s mother then, for the Squire

unhooked two dueling -swords from above the fireplace and placed them,

hilts from him, on the gaming table.

“Choose!” he cried.

“I choose my own sword to kill you with,” replied the parson. “It

was returned to me by a man of Romney Marsh who took it from my father’s

dead hand at Culloden Field. Your own blade may be the longer, for all

I care, but I fight you with my father’s sword. Are you afra id at last?

It is the first time you have met a better man?”

Now, for his father’s sword Syn had a great affection. As a matter

of sentiment he had not only kept it clean and sharp, but he had trained

his hand to use it as his father’s son, and despite his cloth of peace

he had taken it daily to the fencing -school for exercise. Thus it was

that the Squire of Iffley was unpleasantly surprised when, having

selected a weapon to match his opponent’s, he found a blade opposing him

that proved a brain within its temper.

It may have been a full minute that the blades slithered and clanked,

but in that minute the Squire knew that he would have to use his utmost

skill and be aided by fortune in order to break down the other’s guard.

He therefore called a halt by crying out:

“A moment, Mister Parson. If we are fighting to the death and in my

house, I would wish that all things were fair. I see you know something

of fence. Well, as sportsmen let us enjoy the other’s skill before one

of us shall fall. Suppos e we both remove our coats and vests, roll up

our sleeves, drink our last drink, maybe, and fall to it again?”

“As you wish, sir,” replied the parson, and then to Imogene, “We

shall not keep your dear mother long in suspense. In a few minutes she

will be avenged.”

Meanwhile Cobtree had taken advantage of the break to better the

dueling space. He pulled aside the big gaming-table, and placed the

movable candelabras facing one another in the centre of the room. This,

with the help of the hanging chandeliers, concentrated the light into

the centre of the oak floor. He then rolled aside the heavy rugs, and

was about to move the wine-table when the Squire interrupted.

“We will drink before we fight,” he said. “Although there is nothing

but hate between us, I will at least offer you that much hospitality. I

would see no one bound for hell or heaven lacking a drink.”

“For us, sir, no,” replied Syn, who had already stripped himself of

coat and vest and clerical cravat, and rolled up his shirtsleeves. “Mr.

Cobtree and myself are only in the habit of drinking with gentlemen.

From your appearance you have drunk already more than is good for you

safety, and if you will permit me to preach one more to your advantage,

I should counsel you to abstain from more, since you will need all your

wits and skill to hold your own against my death -thrusts. Swill if you

will, swine, and then join blades again. Tony, will you oblige me by

moving that pistol-case to the far end of the room behind my back?”

“You think I would take an ill advantage of you?” snarled the Squire.

“Think?” re-echoed Doctor Syn. “I know. I take no foolish chances

with a liar and a cheat. Come, sir, drink if you must, and let us be

done with it once and for all.”

– 40 -

Fooli shly the Squire drank straight from the bottle’s neck till it

was done.

Dr. Syn watched him and said aloud, “You fool! that last drink has

delivered you into my hands. But do me the grace to own I warned you.

Come sir. Defend yourself as best as you can.”

This time the Squire selected another blade of longer reach, to which

Cobtree objected, but Doctor Syn waved him aside and touched blades in

warning.

Furiously the Squire attacked, and as the minutes sped to the ring of

steel his fury increased, because he found in the young parson a

swordsman the like of which he had never met before. Their methods were

different, for the Squire fought with a dashing ferocity, showing a

lithe agility remarkable in a man of such heavy bulk. But the parson

met each fiery attack with a rock-like defense, and although retreating

slowly before the licking steel, he seemed to do so with cool

deliberation. Right down the room, the Squire like a fierce whirlwind

drove him, till at last the parson felt the paneling touch his back.

With a hideous misgiving for this friend’s safety, Cobtree cried out,

“Attack!”

It was then that Syn smiled and shook his head, while the Squire

doubled the speed of his attack, determined to keep his opponent pinned

against the wall until he could break through his defense. The Squire

had now the advantage of the lights behind him, and this he meant to

keep until he could deliver the death-thrust. But he same thought was in

the mind of Doctor Syn, and despite the rapidity of the licking thrusts,

his voice rose above the continual clash and slithers of the steel.

Calmly he said, “I think we will get back into the light again.”

With the same deliberation that he had used in his retreat, He now as

calmly advanced, slowly but surely, foot by foot.

To Cobtree’s practiced eye it now seemed as though the Squire was

rebounding from the heavy impact of his own attacks, for though the

parson steadily advanced with an uncanny assurance, he still fought only

on defense, checking each lightning lunge with his impregnable barrier

of steel.

The Squire’s livid face began to change from red rage to an almost

childlike bewilderment. In his vast experience of fighting he had never

met a man like this with no attack. If only he could snatch a rest in

his own defense, and let the other fight, he felt that he would sooner

or later get the opening he needed. Instead of which the remorseless

steel against him continued to advance with an unbreakable defense.

Already they were past the lights, to Doctor Syn’s advantage, and the

Squire’s breathing came in short gasps. Still Syn advanced, pressing

his defense upon the elder man. The fumes of wine which had helped the

Squire in his first dashes now began to hinder him. His eyes bleared

and troubled him as tears of exhausted rage collected in the rims and

gave a misty view. Syn’s coolness and courage were demoralizing. Apart

from that implacable sword advancing so remorselessly, there was that in

the parson’s eye which drove him back.

“I rather think this is your last fight, sir,” said Syn quietly.

How could the fellow fight and talk so calmly? wondered the Squire.

The parson’s words had pierced his cowardly heart, for he felt a cold

sweat of fear flowing from it to his veins. He knew that his strength

was snapping beneath the strain. He thought of his loaded pistols in the

case. They were far down the room where Cobtree had placed them. In an

endeavor to reach them he tried to turn and so reverse positions. This

Syn resisted, for he did not mea n to lose the advantage of the light.

Also he had a wish to drive his

– 41 -

opponent’s back against the paneling, as his had been. So doggedly, he

prevented the Squire from turning, and doggedly he drove him farther up

the room.

The Squire’s condition was now deplorable. Sweat poured from his

forehead, and his eyes were full of tears, so that he had to jerk his

head sharply to be rid of them. And so, baffled and weary, he was driven

back. At last he touched the paneling, and knowing he was beate n, cried

out in a sob of rage, “Will nothing make you fight, man?”

“I rather thought we had been fighting all this while,” replied the

Doctor.

With his back to the wall, the Squire fought wildly, and with a last

despairing effort tried to break the other’s guard.

“Attack him now! cried Cobtree. “You have him at your mercy.”

“Which I will show up to a point,” replied Syn, doggedly defending.

“I do not wish to kill him suddenly. His soul is in bad case, and I

would give him time to repent upon his death -bed. Bring me more light,

here, Tony, and I will do it skillfully.”

Before Cobtree could pick up one of the heavy candelabras, the

Squire, with his last ounce of strength, attacked again. Syn guarded

himself with the same persistence he had used throughout, and then, as

the wavering candlelight flickered towards them, he suddenly changed his

tactics and attacked with the same lightning fury as the Squire had

done.

Now, whether what followed happened through a cunning design of the

Squire’s who at least knew that he could depend upon the honour of the

parson, or from the superior skill of Doctor Syn, but ere Tony could

reach them with the lights the Squire’s sword shot high over Doctor

Syn’s head and fell with a clatter on the floor behind h im.

“You have him now!” cried Tony.