THE LAW CROUCHES AND SPRINGS
Literally, Master Polydore Vigil received the severest shock of his
life, when a few days after the events recorded in the last chapter
there reached him the warrant against Endymion Leer, duly signed and
sealed by the law-man of the district of Swan-on-the-Dapple.
Dame Marigold had been right in saying that her brother was now
completely under the dominion of the doctor. Master Polydore was
a weak, idle man, who, nevertheless, dearly loved the insignia of
authority. Hence, his present position was for him an ideal one--he had
all the glory due to the first citizen, who has, moreover, effected a
coup d'etat, and none of the real responsibility that such a situation
entails.
And now, this terrible document had arrived--it was like an attempt to
cut off his right hand. His first instinct on receiving it was to rush
off and take counsel with Endymion Leer himself--surely the omniscient
resourceful doctor would be able to reduce to wind and thistledown
even a thing as solid as a warrant. But respect for the Law, and the
belief that though everything else may turn out vanity and delusion,
the Law has the terrifying solidity of Reality itself, were deep-rooted
in Master Polydore. If there was a warrant out against Endymion
Leer--well, then, he must bend his neck to the yoke like any other
citizen and stand his trial.
Again he read through the warrant, in the hopes that on a second it
would lose its reality--prove to be a forgery, or a hoax. Alas! Its
genuineness was but too unmistakable--the Law had spoken.
Master Polydore let his hands fall to his sides in an attitude of limp
dismay; then he sighed heavily; then he rose slowly to his feet--there
was nothing for it but to summon Mumchance, and let the warrant
instantly be put into effect. As it was possible, nay, almost certain,
that the Doctor would be able to clear himself triumphantly in Court,
the quicker the business was put through, the sooner Master Polydore
would recover his right hand.
When Mumchance arrived, Master Polydore said, in a voice as casual
as he could make it, "Oh! yes, Mumchance, yes ... I asked you to
come, because," and he gave a little laugh, "a warrant has actually
arrived--of course, there must be some gross misunderstanding behind
it, and there will be no difficulty in getting it cleared up in
Court--but, as a matter of fact, a warrant has arrived from the law-man
of Swan-on-the-Dapple, against ... well, against none other than Dr.
Endymion Leer!" and again he laughed.
"Yes, your Worship," said Mumchance; and, not only did his face express
no surprise, but into the bargain it looked distinctly grim.
"Absurd, isn't it?" said Master Polydore, "and most inconvenient."
Mumchance cleared his throat: "A murderer's a murderer, your
Worship," he said. "Me and my wife, we were spending last evening
at Mothgreen--my wife's cousin keeps the tavern there, and he was
celebrating his silver wedding--if your Worship will excuse me
mentioning such things--and among the friends he'd asked in was the
plaintiff and her aunt ... and, well ... there be some things that be
just too big for any defendant to dodge. But I'll say no more, your
Worship."
"I should hope not, Mumchance; you have already strangely forgotten
yourself," and Master Polydore glared fiercely at the unrepentant
Mumchance. All the same, he could not help feeling a little disquieted
by the attitude adopted by that worthy.
Two hours later after a busy morning devoted to professional
visits--and, perhaps, some unprofessional ones too--Endymion Leer sat
down to his midday dinner. There was not a happier man in Lud than
he--he was the most influential man in the town, deep in the counsels
of the magistrates; and as for the dreaded Chanticleers--well, he
had successively robbed them of their sting. Life being one and
indivisible, when one has a sense that it is good its humblest
manifestations are transfigured, and that morning the Doctor would have
found a meal of baked haws sweet to his palate--how much more so the
succulent meal that was actually awaiting him. But it was not fated
that Endymion Leer should eat that dinner. There came a loud double
knock at the door, and then the voice of Captain Mumchance, demanding
instantly to be shown in to the Doctor. It was in vain that the
housekeeper protested, saying that the Doctor had given strict orders
that he was never to be disturbed at his meals, for the Captain roughly
brushed her aside with an aphorism worthy of that eminent jurist, the
late Master Josiah Chanticleer. "The Law, my good lady, is no respector
of a gentleman's stomach, so I'll trouble you to stand out of the way,"
and he stumped resolutely into the parlour.
"Morning, Mumchance!" cried the Doctor cheerily, "come to share this
excellent-looking pigeon-pie?"
For a second or two the Captain surveyed him rather ghoulishly. It must
be remembered that not only had the Captain identified himself with the
Law to such a degree that he looked upon any breach of it as a personal
insult, but that also he had been deeply wounded in his professional
pride in that he had not immediately recognised a murderer by his
smell.
Captain Mumchance was not exactly an imaginative man, but as he
stood there contemplating the Doctor he could almost have believed
that his features and expression had suffered a subtle and most
unbecoming change since he had last seen them. It was as if he was
sitting in a ghastly green light--the most disfiguring and sinister
of all the effects of light with which the Law cunningly plays with
appearances--the light that emanates from the word murder.
"No, thank you," he said gruffly, "I don't sit down to table with the
likes of you."
The Doctor gave him a very sharp look, and then he raised his eyebrows
and said drily, "It seems to me that recently you have more than once
honoured my humble board."
The Captain snorted, and then in a stentorian and unnatural voice, he
shouted, "Endymion Leer! I arrest you in the name of the country of
Dorimare, and to the end that the dead, the living, and those not yet
born, may rest quietly in their graves, their bed, and the womb."
"Gammon and spinnage!" cried the Doctor, testily, "what's your little
game, Mumchance?"
"Is murder, game?" said the Captain; and at that word the Doctor
blanched, and then Mumchance added, "You're accused of the murder of
the late Farmer Gibberty."
The words acted like a spell. It was as if Endymion Leer's previous
sly, ironical, bird-like personality slipped from him like a mask,
revealing another soul, at once more formidable and more tragic. For
a few seconds he stood white and silent, and then he cried out in a
terrible voice: "Treachery! Treachery! The Silent People have betrayed
me! It is ill serving a perfidious master!"
The news of the arrest of Endymion Leer on a charge of murder flew like
wildfire through Lud.
At all the street corners, little groups of tradesmen, 'prentices,
sailors, were to be seen engaged in excited conversation, and from one
to the other group flitted the deaf-mute harlot, Bawdy Bess, inciting
them in her strange uncontrolled speech, while dogging her footsteps
with her dance-like tread went old Mother Tibbs, alternately laughing
in crazy glee and weeping and wringing her hands and crying out that
she had not yet brought back the Doctor's last washing, and it was a
sad thing that he should go for his last ride in foul linen. "For he'll
mount Duke Aubrey's wooden horse--the Gentlemen have told me so," she
added with mysterious nods.
In the meantime, Luke Hempen had reported to Mumchance what he had
learned from the little herdsmen about the "fish" caught by the widow
and the Doctor. The Yeomanry stationed on the border were instantly
notified and ordered to drag the Dapple near the spot where it bubbled
out after its subterranean passage through the Debatable Hills. They
did so, and discovered wicker frails of fairy fruit, so cunningly
weighted that they were able to float under the surface of the water.
This discovery considerably altered Master Polydore's attitude to
Endymion Leer.