profit, might have passed with mild
censure--but he swore and blasphemed horribly, spurning the parson,
mocking at Revelation, even at the Deity Himself. The Devil was his
friend, he said. A most terrible fellow, this Captain Duggle. Inkston's
hair stood on end, and no wonder!

"No doubt they shivered with delight over it all," commented Mr. Naylor.

Captain Duggle lived all by himself--well, what God-fearing Christian,
male or female, would be found to live with him--came and went
mysteriously and capriciously, always full of money, and at least equally
full of drink! What he did with himself nobody knew, but evil legends
gathered about him. Terrified wayfarers, passing the cottage by night,
took oath that they had heard more than one voice!

"This is proper Christmas!" a subaltern interjected into Gertie's ear.

Mr. Penrose, with an air of gratification, continued his narrative.

"The story goes on to tell," he said, "of a final interview with the
village clergyman, in which that reverend man, as in duty bound, solemnly
told Captain Duggle that however much he might curse, and blaspheme, and
drink, and, er, do all the other things that the Captain did (obviously
here Mr. Penrose felt hampered by the presence of ladies), yet Death,
Judgment, and Churchyard wait for him at last. Whereupon the Captain,
emitting an inconceivably terrific imprecation, which no one ever dared
to repeat and which consequently is lost to tradition, declared that the
first he'd never feared, the second was parson's gabble, and as to the
third, never should his dead toes be nearer any church than for the last
forty years his living feet had been! If so be as he wasn't drowned at
sea, he'd make a grave for himself!"

Mr. Penrose paused, sipped port wine, and resumed.

"And so, no doubt, he did, building the Tower for that purpose. By bribes
and threats he got two men to work for him. One was the uncle of my
informant. But though he built that Tower, and inside it dug his grave,
he never lay there, being, as things turned out, carried off by the
Devil. Oh, yes, there was no doubt! He went home one night, a Saturday,
very drunk, as usual. On the Sunday night a belated wayfarer, possibly
also drunk, heard wild shrieks and saw a strange red glow through the
window of the Tower, now, by the way, boarded up. And no doubt he'd have
smelt brimstone if the wind hadn't set the wrong way! Anyhow Captain
Duggle was never seen again by mortal eyes, at