I was aware of the somewhat stupefied expression on our host’s face and hastened to reply.
“It is only one more baffling strand in a case which is already almost nonsensical in its complexity.”
Solar Pons pulled gently at the lobe of his left ear, his eyes gazing almost dreamily into the depths of the fire.
“I would not put it quite like that, Parker, but I must confess I have not been so taken with the details of a crime for some time. I am sure you will forgive me, gentlemen. Professional enthusiasm, you know.”
“Of course, Mr Pons. I quite understand. I will have Tolpuddle show you to your rooms, gentlemen, and then perhaps Inspector Stone would join us for lunch.”
“Delighted,” said the Inspector. “But first, Dr Parker, perhaps you would just care to familiarise yourself with our surgeon’s findings.”
“By all means,” I said, taking the buff envelope from him. But Solar Pons was already on his feet at the slam of the front door.
“All in good time, Mr Mulvane. It is only half-past eleven at the moment. If you have no objection, I would like to go over the ground before lunch-time.”
“Of course,” said Mulvane getting to his feet. “Tolpuddle will take the bags to your rooms.”
The butler had already entered the great hall and stood discreet and almost anonymous in the dusky shadow.
“Very good, sir. Lunch is at one o’clock, if that meets with your requirements.”
“Excellent,” said our host. “I will lead on, then, if the Inspector has no objection.”
“It is your property, sir,” said the police officer politely as we all buttoned our coats.
Once outside in the biting air we waited a moment while Stone retrieved a thick tweed overcoat from the front passenger seat of his car. With his carefully-trimmed moustache and blond hair, turning slightly grey at the temples, he looked like a military man who had retired to the country. I had formed quite a favourable impression of him so far and I could see that Pons was of the same mind.
Mulvane led the way along the vast timbered facade of the house which crouched like some ominous symbol above us. Green moss and lichen discoloured the ancient red tiles of the roof and the whole place had a brooding atmosphere which I found difficult to shake off. This was partly due to the great banks of rhododendron and evergreen shrubbery which seemed to pen the house in and encroach on the gravelled drive which was sadly overgrown with weeds here and there.
But Pons seemed completely unaffected by this ambience and strode along behind Mulvane, his keen eyes taking in every aspect of the scene. The air was still bitterly cold and there was a thin mist rising here, diffusing the rays of the weak winter sun which had now fully emerged.
“This is the small lane which leads to the side-gate?”
He had paused where the drive divided, the main part going on, as I could see, to a group of red-brick and timbered stables and outbuildings fronted by a cobbled yard; to the left a path led through the dense shrubbery in the direction of the high wall of the estate.
“That is so, Mr Pons. Do you wish to see that part?”
Pons shook his head.
“I think not, Mr Mulvane. It will tell me little that I do not already know. I merely wish to get the geographical details of the estate clear in my mind.”
Our small party strode on, breath smoking from mouths, feet rasping crisply in the bonded gravel in the biting air. Pons was walking with our host now and I fell into step with Inspector Stone who wisely kept his own counsel and looked about him with bright and intelligent eyes.
We were still some way off the courtyard area, from which I could hear the sharp tapping of a hammer, when I became aware of a thickening of the mist away to the right. The trees thinned at that point and I could see the faint sun shimmering on a reflective surface below the haze. Mulvane turned at that moment, as though I had asked a question.
“That is the area of the old ponds, gentlemen. They are of immense depth and were originally for the stocking of fish for the estate. Unfortunately, they are responsible for much vapour and humidity hereabouts, as you can see and my uncle often spoke of having them drained.”
Pons nodded, his thin fingers hunched into his ulster, his hooded eyes on the ground.
“They certainly add to the oppressive atmosphere of the estate,” I ventured.
Mulvane inclined his head in the affirmative.
“Peters has a number of interesting ideas to improve things, doctor. I may give him his head.”
“I should like to see him again,” said Pons shortly. “In fact, I would like to see everyone connected with the estate if that were possible.”
“It can easily be arranged, Mr Pons,” said Mulvane. “Perhaps this afternoon would suit for the estate and domestic staff. I have invited Peters and his wife to join us for dinner this evening, if that is agreeable to you.”
“Admirable, Mr Mulvane.”
We were now approaching the outbuildings and stables and our feet rang crisp and clear on the icy stones of the courtyard. The door of a cottage to our left was suddenly flung open and a strong, well-made man in early middle-age gave Mulvane a respectful salute.
He said nothing but glanced at our small group keenly as we passed. Beyond the outbuildings could be seen the thick belt of trees Pons’ client had mentioned, and I now saw where the high wall at the left took a curious crook-leg to separate the domestic quarters from the old graveyard.
Presumably the small lane continued along in that direction but was, of course, completely hidden from us by the thick screen of shrubbery. The tapping of the hammer from the interior of one of the sheds continued now as we walked on. Pons had his chin sunk on his breast and his eyes fixed idly on the ground but I knew that his sharp gaze missed nothing.
“Tell me, Mr Mulvane, why was it that the butler could hear this high scream from the porch of the house while the people living in the stable area heard nothing?”
Mulvane shrugged.
“A good question, Mr Pons, and one I am afraid it is impossible for me to answer.”
“Why so?”
“It was very late at night when all this happened, Mr Pons, and our people are in the habit of retiring early. They have to be up betimes in the mornings. So far as I know the police questioning elicited nothing on that point.”
“That is so,” Inspector Stone put in.
He glanced at Pons’ impassive back curiously.
“No-one in the cottages heard anything. I have the depositions here if you would care to see them, Mr Pons.”
“I think not,” said my companion carelessly, following the general direction of the path, which had curved to accommodate the changed angle of the estate wall.
“It may be that someone could have heard it but was too embarrassed to mention it.”
“Embarrassed, Mr Mulvane?”
“You must realise there has been something of a reign of terror about Chalcroft, Mr Pons. The people here are rather superstitious and fanciful, full of old country tales and lore; perhaps they heard the scream and were too frightened to investigate.”
“You may well be right,” said Pons casually. “It is an interesting point, nevertheless, and one which tends to confirm my general theories.”
“And what might those be?” Inspector Stone asked quickly.
Pons inclined his head back over his shoulder and gave the C.I.D. man a somewhat mocking glance.
“All in good time, Inspector,” he murmured.
We had now come to the place where the screen of trees fell away and an old stone wall loomed up before us, broken at the end of the path by pillars bearing ornamental urns and flanking the two open halves of a massive, rusted iron gate with elaborate scrollwork. Pons was alert now and Mulvane and I fell back as Inspector Stone hurried forward to point out salient features to Pons.