His smile grew broader as he took in my expression.
“Do not worry, Parker. Stone is a very smart officer. He is quite capable of drawing his own conclusions, and he has the advantage of the official force at his back.”
I was about to reply when Mulvane returned to the hall, locking the front door carefully after him. He came across to us, rubbing his hands together and held them out to the welcoming flames of the log fire that burned so cheerfully in the hearth.
“Dinner will be in an hour, gentlemen. In the meantime please join me in the study for a drink beforehand. There is an excellent fire in there.”
“Delighted,” I said, for I was still chilly from our walk in the freezing cold. When we were ensconced in comfortable armchairs, flanked by phalanxes of leather-bound books, Mulvane busied himself with a silver tray and glasses on his desk.
“Whisky or sherry?”
“I will take Whisky, if you please.”
“And you, Mr Pons?”
“I will take the sherry. I need to keep a clear head for my ratiocinative activities.”
He smiled mischievously at me as I took the cut glass tumbler from Mulvane.
“I say, Pons,” I grumbled. “Mr Mulvane will think me a toper if you go on in this manner!”
Mulvane joined in my companion’s laughter. The former went back to sit behind his desk with his own glass, his expression serious again.
“Are you any further on, Mr Pons?”
“I am making some progress,” said Pons, lighting his pipe at our host’s extended invitation. Mulvane lit one of his own cheroots but I refrained from smoking as I found it dulled the taste of the Whisky. It was an excellent blend, as I had expected. “You have not yet found the will?”
Mulvane shook his head.
“Not yet, Mr Pons. But I have high hopes.”
“A tin box should be easy to find,” I ventured.
Mulvane gave me a wry grimace.
“Normally it would be, doctor, if this were an ordinary suburban villa, say. But Chalcroft Manor is a vast place, as you can see. My uncle could easily have secreted it in one of the attics, for example.”
Pons leaned forward in his chair and picked up his glass from the small octagonal walnut table in front of him.”
“Yes, but you are forgetting one thing, Mr Mulvane.”
“And what is that, Mr Pons?”
“Why, if someone leaves a will — especially if it is a single copy — it would be pointless hiding it if nobody knew where it could be found. Surely your uncle would have left some notation or a written description as to its whereabouts.”
Mulvane brought his fist down on the surface of the desk with a crash that momentarily startled me.
“By heaven, I had not thought of that, Mr Pons. Perhaps I have been searching for the wrong thing!”
Pons nodded.
“There is another strange aspect also. That huge door to the family vault. There is no lock on it or means of securing it. Singular is it not?”
Mulvane’s face cleared.
“Oh, that is easily explained, Mr Pons. There was a lock and a mighty big one. But it rusted away in the course of time and my uncle never bothered to replace it. It was hardly likely that anyone would wish to visit such a charnel place.”
“I see.”
The rest of the evening passed in a moody silence. Pons was busy making notes in his room so I did not disturb him as I knew that sometimes he preferred to commit his ideas to paper. I browsed in Mulvane’s extensive library where Tolpuddle brought me a decanter of sherry before the dinner hour. I did not see Mulvane all this time but I imagined he was continuing his search for the missing will in various comers of the house, The dinner hour had passed with commonplace conversation and we were still at the table at ten o’clock, an excellent repast concluded, when there came such a dramatic interruption that the memory of the events following are with me yet.
It erupted with a tremendous thundering tattoo that emanated from the great front door. As one we rose from the table and hurried out into the hall, where Tolpuddle was already unbolting it. I was close behind him and was suddenly seized by a dread premonition. A gust of bitterly cold air came in and then a hideous, distorted face was thrust into my own. I must confess I reeled backward with the shock and then saw that the visage was that of the wretched Andrew Peters. I say wretched because the estate manager was, to my trained eye, in extremis.
He still had the bandage round his head and his eyes were staring, his face blue and cyanosed. He was trying to speak but collapsed into my arms, white froth dribbling from the comers of his mouth.
“Good God, doctor!” Mulvane gasped as he and Pons joined me while the startled Tolpuddle closed the front door. I knelt by the dying man — for it was obvious to me that he had not long to live — and tried to make sense of the incoherent mumblings that came from his mouth.
Pons had found a cushion and I placed it beneath Peters’ head and bent to his lips as he was painfully struggling to say something. I could just make out the words, “I know who is responsible — ” and then he was unable to articulate further. By the alert expression on ray companion’s face I knew he had heard also.
“Is there anything you can do, Parker?” he said urgently. “This is vitally important.”
I shook my head.
“I am afraid not, Pons. There is little anyone could do for the poor fellow. It is my expert opinion that someone has administered a slow-acting poison. He displays all the symptoms of it.”
“How appalling!” Mulvane ejaculated through trembling lips. “This is truly dreadful.”
“You may well say so, Mr Mulvane,” said Pons, kneeling by my side.
“Can you speak, old chap?” I gently asked the dying man.
Peters’ eyelids flickered, he made a feeble attempt to grasp the lapels of my jacket, but the effort was too much for him. His teeth glistened in the dark beard and the blue eyes were glazed. A tear rolled down his cheek — a poignant last reaction, which I have often observed in the dying — and he fell back lifeless on the flagstones. Mulvane seemed beside himself and made an involuntary move toward the fireplace, where the telephone stood, while Tolpuddle was also overcome.
“No, no, Mr Mulvane!” Pons snapped peremptorily. “On no account must we inform the widow of this tragedy by telephone. Parker and I will call at the house just as soon as I have informed Inspector Stone and we have carried this poor fellow into one of the ground floor rooms and locked the door. There will have to be a post mortem and a police investigation, of course, but I am certain my colleague’s diagnosis will prove to be correct. I have the utmost faith in his judgement in medical matters.”
“But how on earth could this have happened?” said the distraught Mulvane, gratefully accepting the Whisky Tolpuddle presented to him, while urging the dazed butler to take one himself.
After Pons and I had carried the body into a ground floor salon and placed it on a divan before covering it with a sheet Tolpuddle produced from somewhere, Pons had a staccato telephone conversation with Inspector Stone. He had to get his home number but that energetic officer said he would be with us within the hour, together with the police surgeon, a sergeant and two constables. Pons came back from the telephone with a face taut and grim. He took Mulvane quickly aside.
“Not a word to Miss Masterson, Mr Mulvane. We do not want her troubled at this time of night. She will have to know in due course but she is already concerned at your own safety. Promise me you will stay here until we return. This creature may strike again.”
Mulvane shook his head.
“Nothing would induce me to step outside tonight, Mr Pons. I am afraid I am becoming like my uncle regarding these horrible events. Everything is blackness, I am afraid. You will give Mrs Peters my deepest sympathy, of course, and assure her — though it will seem trivial to her at this stage — that her tenancy of Yeoman’s is secure and it is my hope that she will stay on and help to continue her late husband’s work.”