1
It was a bitterly cold day in the memorable winter of 1921 when my friend, the eminent consulting detective Solar Pons, was involved in one of the most strange and bizarre adventures I have ever had occasion to chronicle. For some days it had threatened snow, and though the expected fall did not materialize, every morning found hoarfrost glittering on the pavements and railings of the houses round about.
But our apartments at 7B Praed Street were warm and comfortable and Mrs. Johnson, our amiable landlady, kept the fires heaped with coals so that I soon came to resent having to attend to the importunate demands of my patients. I had only just come in to lunch on the morning in question and Pons, who had been engaged in some abstruse chemical experiments, was in an unusually amiable mood.
I make the comment because he had recently been through a period in which his exceptional powers had lain dormant and it was my experience that such times hung heavily on his hands and brought a wearisomeness of spirit when such an active brain lay fallow. He put down the pipette with which he had been precipitating some yellow solution into the steaming beaker before him and laid aside his apron.
"Ah, Parker. I am glad to see you, my dear fellow. If you will just give me a minute or two to wash my hands, I will be with you shortly. I trust the confinement was not too difficult a one?"
"Moderately so, Pons," I replied. "Though there were one or two anxious moments."
Pons gave me an enigmatic smile as he passed from the room. I read the Times for a few minutes and then, seeing that it wanted but a short interval to one o'clock, rang the bell which indicated to Mrs. Johnson that we were ready to partake of lunch. The meal was already on the table and our good landlady had already descended to her own quarters before Pons reappeared. He sat down opposite me, rubbing his lean hands briskly together.
"How on earth did you know I had been to a confinement, Pons?" I said irritably.
My companion's eyes were dancing with suppressed mirth.
"Ah, my simple observation has finally sunk home, Parker," he replied in that superior manner he affected. "There was no great difficulty in the matter."
He turned to survey the windows overlooking the street as a particularly sharp gust of wind rattled the casement
"A few days ago you had occasion to let drop that you felt Mrs. Bracegirdle's confinement might be a difficult one. Here on the table earlier this morning I find a brief note from Mrs. Johnson conveying the information: Mrs. Bracegirdle. Urgent. Therefore, I infer that the happy event is due. When you come in looking irritated, your hair hanging over your eyes and your waistcoat buttoned crudely, at least two buttonholes out of alignment, it is no great matter to deduce that you had to off coat and buckle down and that the confinement had been a trying experience."
I looked guiltily at the waistcoat in question, tried to bring an affable smile to my ruffled features, and re-buttoned the offending garment.
"You are absolutely correct, Pons," I said, "and I will not give you an opening by commenting on the simplicity of the method by which you arrived at your conclusion. But it was a deucedly difficult birth, though mother and children are doing well"
Pons raised his eyebrows.
"I am glad to hear it, Parker. Twins, I assume."
"A boy and a girl," I said. "I am relieved to have that little matter disposed of, it having been rather hanging over me for the past few weeks."
"And Mrs. Bracegirdle too, I should imagine," Pons observed blandly.
And with that he set to and for the next few minutes we endeavored to do full justice to the excellent dish of roast beef and Yorkshire pudding Mrs. Johnson had provided. We had disposed of the dessert and were on the coffee and cheese before my companion broke silence again.
He then made some observations on a particularly gruesome trunk murder, which was occupying an inordinate amount of space in the more sensational papers, to which I gave some perfunctory answers. In truth I had not followed the case very closely, but judging by Pons's shrewd observations on the conduct of the police in the matter, he had come very close to the heart of it.
I was on my second cup of coffee and disposing of my final portion of cheese when Pons, who had risen from the table with his habitual nervous manner and had crossed to the windows commanding the street, gave a muffled ejaculation.
"What do you make of him, Parker?"
I replaced my cup in the saucer with some asperity and rose from the table, not without some difficulty, and made my way to his side.
"I only wish you would let me finish a meal in peace, Pons," I said.
Pons's eyes were dancing with mischievous humor.
"The exercise is an aid to digestion, Parker," He observed gravely. "Whereas the old gentleman who is dancing about so agitatedly on the pavement opposite will not be there for much longer and you will have missed a valuable opportunity forever."
"Opportunity for what?" I said, my ruffled spirits written only too plainly on my face.
"Why, for the deployment of those ratiocinative gifts which you have developed so rapidly of late, Parker. What do you make of him?"
I pushed past Pons somewhat unceremoniously and looked beyond the curtains to where an old gentleman in black was in fact behaving in the curious manner alluded to by my companion. Despite the cold wind which blew along Praed Street, making pieces of paper dance in the frosty gutters, he would first stand still, then move on a few yards as though undecided, but then return to the same spot as if in an agony of mind.
His rusty black suit had obviously seen better days and he clutched an antiquated umbrella in one hand and a small black briefcase in the other. With the wind whistling about the skirts of his coat he was oblivious of the curious glances of the passersby in that busy thoroughfare.
"A man of some seventy years," I said.
"Elementary," Pons commented.
"Retired, probably. Poor, perhaps. Most likely a businessman, judging by his case. Hatless, which may mean he is absent-minded. The Lost Property Office is not far from here. Perhaps he has found the umbrella and wishes to return it."
"And finding the office closed, vents his rage by waving it in the street," added Pons, dissolving into laughter. He caught sight of my rueful face and checked himself.
"I am sorry, my dear fellow, but the delightful absurdity of your diagnosis was too much for my sense of humor."
"Very well, Pons," I said, choking back my feelings. "Perhaps it was not one of my better efforts in the deductive field. But he is certainly past seventy years of age."
"That much is evident," said my companion. "Not a businessman. And certainly not retired. Unless my eyesight deceives me, he is wearing clerical garments."
I looked again, and grudgingly agreed.
"It may be so, Pons. But how do you know he is not retired?"
"The clergy do not normally retire all the while they are clear-minded and able-bodied," said Pons. "The specimen before us, who betrays such indecision in Praed Street, is strong, in good health and evidently in full possession of his faculties. He could not venture abroad hatless on such a bitterly cold day unless this were so."
"You may be right, Pons," I ventured.
My companion gave a tight smile and went on.
"He is certainly not seeking the Lost Property Office, Parker. It is my contention that he is debating whether to come here to consult me or not. The conclusion therefore is that something has occurred which has made him forsake his usual habits, even to quitting his house-without his hat in such inclement weather. Wherever it was, it was some distance away."
"How can you say that, Pons?"
I fear my short temper must have showed in my voice, for Pons gave me a regretful look; but the even tenor of his discourse did not change.