“Ga’rabotin! but I thought it was the devil himself,” said the Senechal, as the others came hurrying up.  “Why the deuce can’t people tie up their horses as they do their cows?  I’ll bring it up at the next Chef Plaids”—­which consideration restored his shaken equanimity somewhat, and made him feel himself again.

Nothing more came of all their watching, and over a jorum of something hot one night, after they had returned to the Doctor’s house, it was himself who said—­

“After all, it stands to reason.  Some evil-possessed soul seeks victims, and has fixed on the Coupee as the place best fitted for his work.  No one now goes near the Coupee at night—­ergo, no victims; ergo, no—­er—­no manifestations.”

“H’m!  Very clever!” said the Senechal, through his pipe.  “Where does that leave us, then?”

“We must have a decoy, of course.”

“H’m!  You’ll not get any Sark man to act as decoy to the devil.  Besides, they would talk, and that would upset the whole thing.”

“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.