Part 48 (1/2)

”What about one of your men, Gard?”

”It's a dangerous game for any man to play, Doctor.... I don't quite see how one could ask it of them,”--and after a pause of concentrated thought and many slow smoke-puffs--”What would you say to me?” and all their eyes settled on him--the Doctor's professionally.

”Surely you have suffered enough in this matter, Mr. Gard,” suggested the Vicar.

”I would give a good deal, and do a good deal, to get to the bottom of it all. Things will never settle down properly till this matter is disposed of.”

That, of course, was obvious to them all, but all had the same feeling that he had already suffered enough in the matter.

But consideration of the Doctor's suggestion in all its aspects only served to convince them that, if any such scheme was to be carried out, it could only be done among themselves, and its dangers were obvious.

It was not a matter to be lightly undertaken by any man. For whoever undertook the role of decoy, undoubtedly took his life in his hands; and they spent many evenings over it.

The Vicar was absolutely against the idea, but had no alternative to suggest.

”It is simply playing with death,” said he, ”and no man has a right to do that.”

”It means a good deal for the Island if we can clear it up,” said the Senechal.

But, by degrees, they got to discussion of how it might be done, and from that to the actual doing was only a heroic step.

The decoy's head must be well padded, of course, for the heads of both victims had been the points of attack.

He must be well armed also, and being forewarned and more, he ought to be able to give a certain account of himself.

And then the Doctor and the Senechal would be close at hand and on the keen look-out for emergencies.

The Doctor undertook to pad his head with something in the nature of a turban under his hat, which, he vowed, would resist the impact of iron blows better than metal itself.

”Leave my ears loose, anyway,” said Gard. ”I'd like at all events to be able to hear it coming.”

The Senechal had a weapon, part pistol and the rest blunderbuss, which had belonged to his father, who had always referred to it affectionately as his ”dunderbush.” It had seen strange doings in its time, but had been so long retired from the active list, that he undertook to load and fire it himself before he said any more about it.

And he did it next day, with a full charge, in his meadow, with the a.s.sistance of a gate-post and a long cord, and reported it at night as in excellent order, and calculated to blow into smithereens anything blowable that stood up before it within the short limit of its range.

At this stage in its proceedings the Vicar reluctantly retired from the Committee of Public Safety. He acknowledged the sore need of ending the suspicious and superst.i.tious fears which were beginning to affect the life of the community in various ways. But he could not see his way to any partic.i.p.ation in means so dangerous to the life of one of their number as those suggested.

He did his best to dissuade Gard from it. He even reminded him of the duty he owed to Nance. She had undoubtedly saved his life, and she had a premier claim upon his consideration--and so on.

To all of which Gard fully a.s.sented.

”But,” he said gravely, ”we are at a deadlock in this other matter, and it is just barely possible that this plan may clear it all up. I can't say I'm very sanguine that it will. On the other hand, I really don't see that any great harm can come to me. The others probably suffered because they were taken unawares. I shall go in the hope of meeting it, and shall be ready for it. Unless, Vicar, you really think it is the devil or something of that sort?”

”I don't know what to think,” said the Vicar solemnly. ”I cannot bring myself to believe any of our Sark men would do such dreadful things. I look at each man I meet and say to myself, 'Now, can it be possible it is you?--or you?--or you?'--and it does not seem possible; and yet--”

”And yet some one did it, Vicar,” said the Doctor, brusquely, ”and that's just the trouble. Until we find out _who_ did it, any man may have done it, and we all look at everybody else, just as you do, and say to ourselves, 'Is it you?--or you?--or you?' Though I'm bound to say I've not got the length yet of doubting either you or the Senechal, or Gard, and I don't think it's myself. It might quite conceivably be any one of us, however, prowling about in our sleep and utterly unconscious afterwards of evil-doing.”

”A most awful possibility,” said the Vicar. ”G.o.d grant it may turn out differently from that.”