Before I could make any rejoinder our host was coming back toward us, his sandy hair a ruddy colour in the lamplight, his face harassed and uncertain.
“So much has happened today, Mr Pons,” he muttered apologetically, “that I quite forgot to tell Tolpuddle about the placings for tonight.”
“The dinner, you mean?”
“Yes, Mr Pons. I must apologise to you also and I hope my arrangements will not incommode you. I have in fact invited other people in addition to Mr and Mrs Peters. There is the young lady from Chalcroft College, of whom I have already spoken” — and here his face changed colour again — “and my colleague, the music master. I thought the presence of others not directly involved in this tragedy would lighten the atmosphere.”
Solar Pons smiled enigmatically.
“By all means, Mr Mulvane,” he murmured. “I shall be delighted, and no doubt Dr Parker also. Their comments may throw fresh light in dark comers. Eigh, Parker?”
“Most certainly,” I assented.
Solar Pons rubbed his thin, febrile fingers together energetically.
“And now, Mr Mulvane, if you would be good enough to get your man to strike that gong in the comer I should like to question the servants at length if you have no objection.”
Eleven: DINNER AT THE MANOR
I had just finished preparing for dinner when there came a tapping at the door. It was Pons, well-groomed and with the customary alert expression on his face, though I was struck immediately by the strange aspect of his eyes.
“I have been incredibly obtuse, Parker!” he said, after he had carefully closed the door behind him.
“In what way?” I asked, considerably surprised.
“The will, Parker. It may have been changed.”
I looked at him sharply.
“But Mulvane told us the estate goes to him. The press inferences…”
Solar Pons put up the forefinger of his right hand to the side of his nose as though to enjoin caution.
“The press supposition was just conjecture, Parker. Perhaps someone wanted people to think that. There is a cunning mind at work here. I must arrange to see the solicitors tomorrow morning.”
His eyes had a hypnotic quality now.
“Messrs Tanner and Tanner, I believe,” I said. “You were examining those papers in the desk earlier.”
“That is so. And I must find an ironmonger’s in the village.”
He glanced round quickly as there came a stealthy step in the corridor outside.
“We are just coming, Mr Mulvane!”
He turned back to me, whispering urgently. “Not a word of this at dinner, Parker. We must proceed very circumspectly now.”
“Ah, then you have discovered something during your examination of the servants this afternoon?”
He nodded sombrely.
“I have come to some conclusions, Parker. Not definitive, certainly, but there was a process of elimination at work. Though much is still obscure a certain line of action is indicated.”
And with that I had to be content as we hurried downstairs in the wake of Mulvane. The grey mutton-chop whiskers and florid features of Tolpuddle materialised on the landing of the great staircase as we arrived at the last flight.
“Mr and Mrs Peters have already arrived, sir,” he greeted his master. “They are waiting below.”
Mulvane led us quickly to a graceful room panelled in some glowing wood at the far end of which a great fire burned. Peters, the estate manager, smart in a dark suit was seated at ease in a wing chair in front of the fireplace, engaged in a low conversation with his wife who sat facing him across the blaze. Both rose at our entrance but Mulvane, after shaking their hands and again introducing Pons and myself, saw everyone seated comfortably in a semi-circle.
“A little sherry before dinner would not come amiss, I think.”
Tolpuddle had already appeared with a tray of glasses and while he busied himself among the company I found time to take close stock. The lady was even more beautiful than I had supposed; she wore a semi-formal evening gown of some blue material with a high collar and with her vivid Spanish looks seemed supremely at home as she leaned back in her chair, engaged in animated conversation with her husband, while her liquid eyes regarded Pons and myself with interest.
She was indeed a magnificent, not to say dazzling, sight in those ancient English surroundings and the elaborate coiffure of her jet-black hair was held in place by glittering silver and tortoiseshell slides and combs which gave her an even more extravagant aspect.
“Splendid, is she not, Pons,” I muttered to my companion as the drinks went round.
“You are becoming quite a ladies’ man, Parker,” he observed drily.
“No, no, Pons,” I protested. “I meant her headdress, though the lady herself has a striking beauty.”
I could not keep the irritation out of my voice and Pons shot me an amused glance.
“Brazilian, if I mistake not,” he said softly. “I have made a study of such matters though the Spanish term for such an elaborate coiffure escapes me for the moment.”
And he said no more upon the matter.
Peters also was a fluent and polished conversationalist and though I followed the thread of his remarks to Pons about Elizabethan architecture I watched Mulvane closely, noting his unease and the way he started at the slightest sound from the hall outside and kept his eye on the room door as Tolpuddle and the maid passed to and fro; for the latter had now joined us, her bright eyes fixed on Pons from time to time as though she feared he might forget his pledge of confidentiality to her that afternoon.
It seemed to me as a long twenty minutes passed and the silver tray went round again, that everyone in the room was at pains to find some topic of conversation that did not turn upon the mysterious death of old Simon Hardcastle. Not that I blamed them. Chalcroft Manor was a place of gloom and brooding terror at the moment; I had seen that during our investigations and the conversations with Inspector Stone for all that the presence of Pons and myself had helped to lighten the atmosphere.
Presently there was the slam of the great front door and, a short while after, a muffled conversation from the direction of the hall. Mulvane excused himself and hurried out. After another five minutes he returned with a tall, slim girl whose fair hair hung down almost to her shoulders; and a broad-chested, well- made young man with dark curly hair. Both their faces were fresh and glowing from the bitter cold without and their host led them to the fire while the rest of us rose.
“These are two of my colleagues from Chalcroft College,” Mulvane introduced them somewhat hesitantly, shooting a glance at Mr and Mrs Peters.
“They are, of course, known to our friends here. Mr Solar Pons and Dr Lyndon Parker have come to help me in the present troubles. Miss Sybil Masterson; Mr Vincent Tidmarsh who is in charge of the music department at the College.”
We shook hands and made places for the newcomers at the fire while Tolpuddle reappeared with the sherry. When we were again settled, Miss Masterson, who seemed self-assured and of an easy manner, smiled warmly at Mrs Peters.
“Good evening, Sarita. It is pleasant to see you and Andrew again.”
Mulvane, who seemed quite transformed now that the girl had arrived, beamed happily round him as though he had quite forgotten the dark mystery which had brought Pons and myself there.
“Yes, it must have been the occasion of the College Dance at the New Year, Mr Pons.”
“Indeed, Mr Mulvane,” murmured Solar Pons quietly, his pipe-smoking making tangled wreaths in the air as it ascended to the high, beamed ceiling, his keen eyes missing little of what went on round him.
“Please do not let our presence inhibit you. I take it you are all thrown much together in a small place like Chalcroft.”