"Towards the church town, sir; or, as you may say, towards St. Neot
parish."
"Inland, that is?"
"Yes, sir. But later on that same night Reub Clyma, up to Taphouse, saw
it too; and this time 'twas moving fast and making towards Polperro."
"Fits like a puzzle. Is Polperro a seaport town?" he asked the farmer.
"A sort of fishing town, sir."
"Your nearest? Good. And you reach it by a road running north and south
across the coach-road? Good. Now if you wanted to drive to Polperro you
could do so across the downs for some distance, eh? before striking this
road. Good again. How far?"
"You'll excuse me, but I don't know that I rightly take your meaning."
"Then we'll go slower. Suppose that you wished to drive towards Polperro
over turf, never minding the jolts, and not to strike into the hard road
until you were compelled. How far could you contrive to travel in this
way?"
Farmer Menhennick found a seat and sat scratching his head. "Three miles,
maybe," he decided at length.
"And what sort of road is this when you strike it?"
"Turnpike."
"Indeed? And where's the pike?"
"At Cann's Gate."
"That tells me nothing, I'm afraid; but we'll put the question in another
form. Suppose that we are forced at length to leave the turf and fields
and strike into the road for Polperro. Now where would this happen?
Some way beyond the turnpike, I imagine."
"Indeed no, sir: it would be a mile on this side of the pike, or
threequarters at the least."
"You are sure?"
"Sure as I sit here. Why the road goes down a coombe; and before you get
near the turnpike, the coombe narrows _so_." The farmer illustrated the V
by placing his hands at an angle.
Mr. Noy found his snuff-box, took a heavy pinch, inhaled it, and closed
his box with a snap. Then he faced the farmer's wife with a low bow.
"Madam," said he, "you may put this young gentleman to bed, and the sooner
the better. He has lost a large sum of money, which I am fairly
confident I can recover for him without his help; and your parish--which
is also mine--has lost its character, and this also I propose to recover.
But to that end I must require your excellent husband to fetch out his
trap and drive me with all speed to Squire Granville's." He paused, and
added, "We are in luck to-night undoubtedly; but I fear I can promise him
no such luck as to meet a hearse and headless driver on the way. . . .
One moment, Mr. Menhennick! Have you such things as pen, ink and paper,
and a farm-boy able to ride?"
"Certainly I have, sir."
"Then while you are harnessing your nag, I'll drop a line to the
riding-officer at Polperro; and if after receipt of it he allows a single
fishing-boat to leave the harbour, he'll be sorry--that's all.
Now, sir--Eh? Why are you hesitating?"
"Well, indeed, your reverence knows best; and if you force me to drive
over to Squire Granville's, why then I must. But I warn you, sir, that he
hunts to-morrow; and if, begging your pardon, you knew the old varmint's
temper on a hunting day in the morning--"
"Hunts, does he? D'ye mean that he keeps a pack of hounds?"
"Why, of course, sir!"
Farmer Menhennick's accent was pathetically reproachful.
"God forgive me! And I didn't know it--I, your rector! Your rebuke is
just, Mr. Menhennick. And this Church of England of ours--I say it with
shame--is full of scandals. Where do they meet to-day?"
"Four-barrow Hill, your reverence."
"Oh, no, they don't. On that point you really must allow me to correct
you. If they meet at all, it will be at--what d'ye call it?--
Cann's Gate."
And so they did. The Granville Hounds are, or were, a famous pack; but
the great and golden day in their annals remains one on which they killed
never a fox; a day's hunting from which they trailed homewards behind a
hearse driven in triumph by a very small clergyman without a head (for Mr.
Noy had donned the very suit worn by Satan's understudy, even to its high
stock-collar pierced with eye-holes). That hearse contained my chest of
treasure; and that procession is remembered in the parishes of Talland,
Pelynt, Lanreath, and Braddock to this day.
I did not see it, alas! Bed claimed the invalid, and Mrs. Menhennick
soothed him with her ministering attentions. But Parson Noy reported the
day's doings to me in a voice reasonably affected by deep potations at the
"Punch Bowl Inn," Lanreath.
"My son, it was glorious! First of all we ran the turnpike-man to earth,
and frightened him into turning King's evidence. He was at the bottom of
the mischief, of course; and the hearse we found--where d'ye think?
Close behind his house, sir, in a haystack--a haystack so neatly hollowed
that it beat belief--with a movable screen of hay, which the rogues
replaced when the coach was stowed! We found everything inside--masks,
mourners' hatbands, the whole bag of tricks; everything, barring your
treasure, and that the preventive men dug out of the hold of an
innocent-looking lugger on the point to sail for Guernsey. Four of the
rascals, too, they routed up, that were stowed under decks and sleeping
like angels."
"And the coachman? And the guard?"
"Squire Granville has posted off half a dozen constables towards Falmouth;
but I'll lay odds that precious pair are on shipboard before this and
heading out to sea. I'm sorry, too, for they were the wickedest villains
of the piece; but they'll be sorry before they have finished waiting at
Guernsey. One can't expect everything; and Providence has been mighty
kind to us."
"To me, at all events."
"And to me, and to my parish."
"Yes, to be sure," said I; "the parish is well rid of such a bogey."
"I wasn't thinking of that," said he dryly. "I've recovered my sermon."