“But it is devilish, Mr Pons!” said Mulvane, with a break in his voice. “I have really been at my wit’s end. Someone has been spreading rumours about me in Chalcroft and I am getting ill- favoured looks from some of the people every time I go there.” Pons gave a short laugh.
“Think nothing of it, Mr Mulvane. There are always people of limited intellect who will believe any story, however wild or improbable. Please calm yourself. We shall soon be in less stormy waters, you may be sure.”
“It is good to hear you say so, Mr Pons.”
Mulvane turned away from the shelves at the back of the office to his late uncle’s great desk, nervously lighting one of his cheroots as he did so.
“Tell me, Mr Mulvane, you mentioned something about a housekeeper when you first engaged my services. Yet she did not appear when I was questioning the servants.”
“Oh, that. I am afraid it is my fault. She has been called away to the bedside of her sick sister in Manchester, and I forgot to tell you.”
“I see.”
At this point I took the opportunity to go out into the vast hall of Chalcroft Manor to telephone my locum and when I returned it was to find both Pons and Mulvane kneeling at the side of the desk, intent on a number of bulky documents which our host had pulled out of the drawers. I did not disturb them but went back to sit in my chair by the fire, my thoughts much occupied by the bizarre situation in which Pons and I now found ourselves. There had been no word from Inspector Stone this afternoon, though he was expected in the early evening, I understood.
Pons broke off the search to give me a quizzical look and I was able to tell him that I would be able to stay on at the Manor until he had concluded his investigations. He stood up then, dusting the knees if his trousers, turning his finely chiselled face toward Mulvane, who had a dejected look.
“With your permission, I will telephone Somerset House to see if they have any record of the Hardcastle will. I know one of the officials there and I am sure he would be able to give me some details of any beneficiary on a friendly basis, when I tell him how important this is. As luck would have it your solicitor, Mr Tanner, is currently in Bermuda on business, so I drew a blank there. We are at an impasse in that direction. You do know, also, that a simple letter of intent would serve the purpose, providing the signature is proved genuine.”
“Indeed, Mr Pons, and I am most grateful for all the trouble you are taking. However, my uncle indicated more than once many months ago that I was his sole beneficiary and that the will was deposited here in his office. Of course, I took that with a pinch of salt as I have never been able to rely on his intentions.” “You may well say so, Mr Mulvane, as it does not rule out a sudden change of mind in more recent times.”
A worried look passed across Mulvane’s face.
“I do hope that is not the case, Mr Pons.”
My friend paused at the door.
“I trust that will be so, Mr Mulvane, but we must be prepared for all eventualities. I shall not be long.”
He closed the door behind him and we were left in a heavy and ominous silence. Mulvane went across to the fire and vigorously poked it into a blaze and then returned to the desk, sank into his uncle’s battered old swivel chair and listlessly began sifting through the drawers once more. When Pons returned some ten minutes later he was rubbing his hands briskly.
“My friend is nothing if not thorough, Parker. He has had a meticulous check made and nothing has been deposited there.” Mulvane gave him a despairing glance. Pons also had a wry expression on his mobile features.
“We must make every effort to find that document within the office here, if it exists, and ascertain both the beneficiary and the date.”
“I will use all my best efforts, Mr Pons.”
My companion looked at him sharply.
“You have taken no-one else into your confidence regarding this?”
Our client shook his head.
“Certainly not, Mr Pons.”
Pons nodded with satisfaction.
“From now on, Mr Mulvane, you must keep this office securely locked.”
“You surely do not suspect that someone within these walls may be involved in my uncle’s murder, Mr Pons?”
“One cannot be sure of anything,” said Pons crisply. “I have no special reason for my supposition but it is as well to be prudent. This case is far from over and your own life may be in danger for all we know.”
“Good heavens, Mr Pons! You cannot mean it!”
Pons was grim-faced now. “I have never been more in earnest, Mr Mulvane. Money is at the back of this. That had been plain from the beginning though I saw no reason to mention it until now. A very clever and a very evil person is trying to get control of your estate. I do not think you are in any danger here at the Manor but I should prefer you to be accompanied by Parker, myself or a trusted person whenever you are outside these walls.”
“Good Lord, Pons!” I interjected. “I had no idea….”
Pons continued without a pause, “I am not being an alarmist but the situation is now developing. The attack on Peters, the fragment of letter and all the things leading up to Hardcastle’s death are obviously interconnected. Now that we are on the scene our man is not only on his guard but may become desperate. We must be prepared for that.”
Mulvane sat down heavily behind the desk.
“Well, you know best, Mr Pons,” he said slowly. “But Miss Masterson…”
Pons put a finger to his lips.
“I have spoken to her earlier today. Of mainly mundane matters, but we touched on the business of the will.”
Mulvane passed an unsteady hand across his brow.
“I have not yet informed her of the attack on Peters as I had no wish to alarm her. But I was going to ask her help over the will. The old devil may have removed that tin box and secreted it elsewhere.”
Pons’ reaction was a cautious shake of the head.
“This must remain restricted to the three of us. I do not wish Miss Masterson worried. She is a brave girl and would obviously be concerned for your safety. We must tread carefully and be on our guard at all times.”
“As you say, Mr Pons.”
My companion pointed to the massive iron key in the lock of the office door before we left the room. I turned back for a second and saw that Mulvane’s abject posture had dropped from him. As I closed the portal I saw him re-commence a vigorous search of the desk drawers.
Sixteen: DEADLY POISON
There was the hesitant sound of footsteps as Pons pulled at the iron bell-chain in the massive oak porch of Yeoman’s. Though light still lingered in the afternoon sky, a pallid mist hung over the old graveyard through the distant trees, and the harsh, discordant cawing of rooks added to the sombreness of the day. Yeoman’s was a typical hall-house of the mid-fifteenth century, I should have said, though I am no expert in such matters, and I was admiring the beautiful dark timbering against the white plaster walls, when there came the sliding of bolts behind the stout iron-studded front door.
It went back on smoothly-oiled hinges and Mrs Sarita Peters stood hesitantly in the opening. She looked white and drawn, as well she might have been, since I last set eyes on her. Gone was all her brilliance and vivacity and she almost sagged against the door-post as she caught sight of my companion and myself.
“I am sorry to trouble you, Mrs Peters,” said Pons in a reassuring voice. “But Dr Parker and I were concerned about Mr Peters’ condition and have called to see how he is.”
“Of course, gentlemen! Do come in. It is really good of you. I am afraid the maid leaves early on these dark winter afternoons as she has to walk back to Chalcroft now that my husband is indisposed, although my housekeeper lives in. Please step into the drawing room.”