“That young woman has reminded me that the needs of the inner man must be met. Shall we join the ladies?”
Twelve: IN THE GRAVEYARD
I was up betimes the next morning and had joined Pons at the breakfast table a little after eight o’clock. It was a fine, bright day with hazy sun though there had been a severe frost and ice rimed the small-paned windows of the dining room, despite the heat given off by the log fire. It had been a cheerful and entertaining meal the previous night and I felt I had gained a little more knowledge of our companions before the evening was over.
I had had no time to discuss the case with Pons and he had disappeared immediately to his room as soon as we and Mulvane had seen the parting guests to the door. It was after midnight by then. Mr and Mrs Peters had come in their closed car but the other two guests had arrived by taxi from the College and the estate manager and his wife had insisted on taking them back.
I had slept well though I had pondered a while on Pons’ somewhat cryptic remarks and now I was full of questions as I joined him in front of the silver dish covers that Tolpuddle was just removing to reveal the heaped mountains of bacon and sausages from the hot-plates covered with fried eggs. Pons enjoined silence with a subtle flicker of his eyelids and we restricted our conversation to commonplaces until the maid had left the room and Tolpuddle had resumed his station at the huge sideboard out of earshot.
Our host had not yet put in an appearance and it was as though we were quite alone in the vast apartment.
But Pons maintained his silence and it was not until we had almost finished out repast that Mulvane put in an appearance. He looked a little less tense than yesterday, I thought.
“My apologies, gentlemen. I do hope you have been looked after.”
“Excellently,” said Pons. “You have remembered my instructions from last night?”
“Indeed, Mr Pons. You have only to ask at the cottage.”
“And you will evince no surprise or confusion no matter what I choose to say publicly about the will?”
Mulvane sat down at the head of the table, waiting until Tolpuddle had placed the heaped plate before him and withdrawn to his station by the sideboard.
“I am entirely in your hands, Mr Pons. If only this horrible thing were lifted from my mind and heart.”
My companion finished off his coffee and put the empty cup down in a silence only broken by the distant crackling of the fire.
“Have courage, Mr Mulvane,” he said soothingly. “We shall soon put matters to rights, have no fear.”
“I am indeed reassured to hear you say so, Mr Pons. You will be back in time for lunch?”
“I hope so. In the meantime I would be glad if you could remain here in case Inspector Stone rings with any message. You will find us at Chalcroft. The village is not very large, I fancy. And a telephone message would reach us via the post office. I will call in there well before lunch-time.”
“Very well, Mr Pons. It shall be as you say.”
I had listened to this conversation with mounting curiosity but now I was considerably surprised and not a little irritated when Pons rose abruptly from the table, reaching for his pipe. I had not quite finished my coffee and I was forced to gulp it down quickly, to our host’s evident amusement.
“Adieu, Mr Mulvane,” Pons said crisply.
I trailed behind him into the hall where the maid reappeared with our thick outdoor clothing. Pons silenced my protests with a penetrating glance from his deep-set eyes.
“I apologise for my abruptness, Parker, but as I have already observed we have much to do today. And I must bait the trap before dark.”
We had already crossed to the door of the porch and the girl was out of hearing now.
“I do not know what you are talking about,” I grumbled. Pons allowed himself a thin smile.
“It would not be the first time, Parker.”
Then we were outside in the freezing air. To my surprise my companion shunned the driveway and went to the right, along the great facade of the Manor which loured over us, and set his course toward the stables. There was a thin mist rising from the cobbles but despite the bleakness of the day, the weak sun obscured by haze, there was much evidence of life from the estate employees; the clatter of footsteps on the setts; the noises of livestock; a hammer sounding from a forge and once, as we passed a half-open doorway, we saw two men intent on their task of cutting up logs on a mechanical saw-bench.
A tall, broad-shouldered man with mutton-chop whiskers was waiting for us in front of the last cottage in the row. He saluted as Pons came up and produced a huge metal tool, rather like an enormous pair of garden shears.
“Mr Mulvane told me you would be needing these, sir.”
His piercing grey eyes looked at Pons with intense curiosity but he asked no questions.
“If you would leave them yonder when you have finished I will get one of my men to pick them up in due course.”
“Very good, Smithers. And thank you.”
The man saluted again and turned away as Pons carried the heavy tool in his gloved right hand, moving aside into the shadow of the trees as we followed the estate wall along. In a few moments more we came to the misty outline of the cemetery gates. As we drew closer we could see that they were closed and chained.
Pons’ eyes were bright and penetrating as he stared about him, the only sound now the melancholy cawing of rooks from the area of the distant lakes.
“Exactly as I thought, Parker.”
He bent to examine the chain and padlock which secured the two halves of the gate.
“These are new, Parker. You remember the chain had been broken before and the gate was already open.”
“Inspector Stone? Or Mulvane…?” I began.
Pons shook his head, a faint smile on his lips.
“This has been done by other hands, my dear fellow. By people who do not want their affairs examined too closely.”
I must confess I felt a slight prickle of excitement as I stared about me in this decayed and sombre place. But Pons seemed oblivious to the atmosphere. He bent quickly, fitting the curved ends of the huge metal pincers round the links of the heavy chain. There was a metallic click and the two broken segments of one link fell away. Pons cleared them with a grunt of satisfaction. Then he put the pincers down on a nearby stone mounting block and put all his strength to the right-hand wing of the gate.
The hinges went round with a wild shrilling that set my teeth on edge. The sound was so unexpected and penetrating to the eardrums that I staggered back, putting my hands over my ears. Pons laughed shortly at my expression.
“How did you know about this, Pons?” I asked, staring at the huge pincers on the stone.
Pons pulled gently at his left ear-lobe in a gesture I had grown to know well.
“Intuition merely, Parker. But the pieces are beginning to come together. There is your screaming! That is what Mulvane heard in the dead of night near the cemetery wall.”
I stared at him in astonishment.
“You are right, Pons!”
“Am I not, Parker?”
“But what was the point?” I said. “Surely not to draw attention to what was going on here.”
Solar Pons shook his head impatiently.
“You are tackling the question from the wrong end, Parker. Remember those little ratiocinative lessons which you have been good enough to accept from my hands.”
I took a step toward him.
“It was a signal, Pons?”
“Good,” he observed. “It is my opinion that it served a twofold purpose. To let the person approaching know that for some reason or other it was not safe to go there. And perhaps to frighten any of the superstitious locals who might be about at that late hour.”
“There is something diabolical here, Pons,” I muttered.