“I commend that unlocked door to you, Parker,” Pons put in sharply.
I stared at him open-mouthed.
“You surely do not suspect someone inside the house? The maid or the housekeeper, perhaps?”
“We must not overlook any possibility.”
“We are involved in a diabolical web of intrigue and murder, Pons,” I said.
“Are we not?” he replied with satisfaction in his tones.
I did not reply to that as I realised that my companion was working within parameters that were normal to him, though abnormal and baffling to the man in the street. That did not mean to say that Pons was devoid of pity for the people involved; on the contrary, he had deep sympathy where the victims of crime were concerned, but he had an iron will and always kept his inner feelings well under control.
“Then we have the note in the grate, Pons. Whoever made the assignation was writing to Ange, if I remember correctly. One of the maids is called Angela.”
Pons gave a short, barking laugh.
“You are not still on that tack, Parker. I thought we had disposed of that supposition. And you have got the facts the wrong way round, old fellow. The note was to old Simon Hardcastle, not from him. And as for Ange… try Angel. A term of affection used among lovers, I am told.”
“You may be right, Pons,” I mumbled.
“Undoubtedly,” said he in a rather smug voice. “But you are certainly correct in your admirable summing-up of the case, so far as it goes.”
“Have I missed anything out, Pons?” I asked.
“There are a few other indications worth pursuing, Parker, but I think we may leave these aside for the moment. As you know I dislike working without sufficient data.”
“As you wish. But where do we go from here?”
Pons tented his thin fingers in front of him and stared moodily into the fire.
“That is rather up to our opponents. At the moment we are working with one hand tied behind our backs.”
“Opponents, Pons?”
He smiled grimly in the firelight.
“I fancy this is a case where thieves fell out. I sense a conspiracy somewhere to get hold of the estate.”
“Good Lord, Pons!” I cried. “You surely do not think Peters may have been involved in something underhand?”
“I exclude nothing. Money talks and there is a vast sum involved here with the Manor itself and such a huge estate. Apart from any money the old man may have left. Hardcastle is eliminated. That leaves only Mulvane in the way of a fortune. Desperate men — as we have seen in action so far as Peters is concerned — may do anything under pressure, especially when the stakes are high. Do not forget that Peters was more or less master of the estate and its financial affairs — albeit under the direction of the old man. Mulvane only relatively recently came into the picture. Things may have been stirring in envious minds for years. Supposing an unscrupulous colleague put suggestions in Peters’ mind. This is all supposition, of course, as nothing can now be proved, unless any documentary evidence turns up, and I very much doubt that.”
“You mean someone subordinate to Peters who worked on the estate?”
“It is not beyond the bounds of possibility, Parker. Conversely, there is another theory. That Peters, absolutely in charge of the estate in its day-to-day running, stumbled on to something suspicious. A plan hatched by a cunning mind, as I have formerly intimated, to get hold of the Hardcastle fortune.” “You cannot mean it, Pons!”
“I am deadly serious, Parker. He would probably not have confided in anyone, until his suspicions were confirmed. But then suppose that the murderer himself suspected that Peters was a threat and decided to remove him from the scene to avoid exposure. We are dealing with a devilish plot here, old fellow. Unless he makes a false move it is difficult to see how we can make progress until he reveals his hand.”
“You have given me much food for thought, Pons.”
“There is, of course, yet another aspect,” my companion went on, leaning forward in his easy chair.
“And what might that be?”
Pons smiled affectionately.
“I feel we should leave things as they are for the moment. I do not wish to overburden your mind with too many possibilities.”
“As you say, Pons,” I deferred. “We have certainly a number of avenues to explore.”
“We are in a difficult position now,” he went on, “especially if Mulvane is in danger, because we do not know from what direction it may come.”
“Heavens, Pons!” I said, starting forward in my chair.
“If young Mulvane is alone about the estate…”
“Calm yourself, Parker,” Pons said, smiling. “Stone has assigned Sergeant Matthews from Chalcroft Police Station, to guard him and accompany him whenever he ventures outside these walls. He will be safe enough in such hands, if I’m any judge of character.”
“That is good, Pons. You had me worried for a moment.”
“I am afraid you have been worried since this case began. You have your revolver safely locked away in your valise?”
“Of course. And the chambers are empty. But surely you do not…?”
He shook his head.
“It is better than being wise after the event, Parker.”
And he lapsed into silence until Tolpuddle appeared to announce that lunch was served.
Nineteen: THE RUINED TOWER
It was early afternoon and Mulvane had still not returned. I was rather concerned about our host as there was a thick pall of fog hanging over the grounds outside the house. But Tolpuddle had come in to tell us that Mulvane had just telephoned to say that he was delayed on business and was lunching with friends in Chalcroft. He would see us later in the afternoon. Tolpuddle was hovering deferentially in the background after imparting this information when Pons made what I thought was rather a strange request.
“Have you such a thing as a map of the estate?”
“Yes, sir, we have a large-scale one which is kept in the study. Shall I bring it to you?”
“No, no. We will come with you if you will point it out.” “Very good, Mr Pons.”
We followed the butler across the Great Hall, where maids scurried by. I caught sight of Angela near the study entrance and she gave us a timid smile as we passed. All about us were the sounds of a great house resuming its normal routine. It was somehow reassuring to realise that despite the terrible happenings if the past days Chalcroft Manor would continue to function, almost as a living entity, with hundreds of years of history behind it.
Once in the study Pons closed the door firmly behind us, while the butler crossed to a large bookcase in the far comer. He mounted a leather-topped library ladder and took from the top shelf a long leather case. He brought it down, carefully dusting it with his handkerchief.
“This is it, gentlemen. As I said it is very large-scale and will cover the entire top of the desk yonder if we clear it.”
“Very good, Tolpuddle. I would appreciate it if you said nothing about the map or our interest in it to anyone in the household.”
“Certainly, Mr Pons. You may rely on my discretion.”
After Pons and I had carefully cleared the desk top Tolpuddle eased out the huge map, which was linen-backed and etched in different colours; when spread out on the desk and secured at the comers with brass paperweights it made a vivid splash of brilliance in the sombre atmosphere of the study.
“Would that be all, sir?”
“I would appreciate it if you would stay a little longer, to point out matters of interest. I take it you have been in service here a good many years?”
“More than thirty, sir,” the butler replied gravely.
“Ah! Then you are just the man.”
The next few minutes were spent poring over the huge map. As Mulvane had indicated the estate was vast with thousands of acres of arable land and at least seven farms, together with a great many workers’ cottages. It was almost like a small empire and Pons became more and more absorbed as the minutes ticked by.