"A man of about seventy-five."
"Elementary, Parker."
"Suffers from paralysis agitans. Evidently long-standing."
"Ah, there I must bow to your medical knowledge, Parker, though I had already come to much the same conclusion from my own observations."
I glanced at Pons in mild irritation and then turned my attention back to the object of our studies.
"A poor man." "I think not, Parker. Is that all you have been able to discover?"
"I fear there is little that has escaped me, Pons."
"Come, Parker, you can surely do better than that. An elderly man, fairly well-to-do; a Mason; a drunkard, the habit aggravating his medical condition; afflicted with religious mania also; despite his defects, a car driver. A City man, I would say."
"Oh, come, Pons, you are really playing with me on this occasion! There is no way we can verify these assertions."
There was a little bitterness in my tone, and my friend looked at me in surprise.
"There is all the verification one needs before us, Parker, though you are like most laymen in that facts pass before you without being registered by your brain."
"Very well, then, Pons. I will take up your challenge. Well-to-do?"
"His clothes are of excellent cut When I see two expensive cigars encased in new wrappings peeping from the breast pocket of his jacket, I conclude that he is reasonably well off. He has a copy of the Financial times showing, where he has carelessly thrust that excellent journal into his coat pocket That is a highly specialized newspaper which none but City men read."
"I give you that, Pons," I said reluctantly. "A Mason?"
"Pooh, that is simple. The seals are plainly visible on his watch chain. As to his drunkenness you would surely agree, as a medical man, that the redness of his features, particularly the nose, and the broken veins of the face indicate the man who is addicted to spirits. He has stopped not two yards from us, and I venture to observe that you now have olfactory evidence of his condition."
Pons had dropped his voice to a murmur as the object of our attention paused in front of us, and I had indeed caught the heavy reek of whiskey which emanated from him. I had to agree with Pons as the old man moved on.
"Your demonstration is an apt one, Pons, but how on earth do you deduce that he is a car driver?"
"Nothing simpler, Parker. He has the keys of a vehicle in his right hand, which he keeps jangling as he walks. It is an alarming fact for a man in his condition, but true. I could see the insignia on the key ring as he stopped before us. He drives a Morris. As to his religious mania, he was quoting from the Book of Ezekiel."
I threw up my hands in despair, and my dejected look brought forth a dry chuckle from Pons.
"Cheer up, my dear fellow. I should be all at sea if called upon to diagnose appendicitis. But here, if I am not mistaken, is an old friend. Superintendent Stanley Heathfield of Scotland Yard and surely not out for an afternoon stroll!"
It was indeed the tall, energetic figure of the superintendent which strode through the park gates. He looked round him eagerly and then quickened his steps toward us as he caught sight of Pons on the bench.
He tipped his bowler hat in salutation to Pons and included me in his courteous bow. His brown eyes were serious above the clipped, iron-gray mustache.
"I must apologize for this intrusion into your rustic idyll, Mr. Pons. One of my inspectors, Jamison, telephoned your landlady at Praed Street, and we learned you might be found in the park."
Pons raised his eyebrows.
"A lucky throw, Superintendent, or did you have assistance?"
Superintendent Heathfield sank down next to Pons on the bench, removing his hat as he did so. With his light-weight, well-cut gray flannel suit he looked much more like the City man than our eccentric passerby of a few minutes earlier.
"We have had men combing the park, Mr. Pons."
"Ah, it is serious, then?"
The superintendent nodded.
"Murder, Mr. Pons. In shocking circumstances and with suspects which force us to tread circumspectly."
Pons rose instantly from the bench, every line of his form indicating dynamic alertness.
"I am at your service, Superintendent. You have no objection to Dr. Parker accompanying us?"
The superintendent shook his head.
"By all means. Delighted to have you, Doctor."
The three of us walked across the North Carriage Road toward the Victoria Gate. In the Bayswater Road a police car waited, a uniformed sergeant at the wheel. Behind it stood another vehicle, and Heathfield paused for a word with the driver.
"You may inform the others that they may return to their normal duties. We have found Mr. Pons."
I followed Pons and the Superintendent into the interior of the vehicle, and the driver edged out into the traffic in the direction of Notting Hill Gate. Heathfield came to the point at once.
"You have heard of Elihu Cook Stanmore, I take it?"
Pons smiled grimly.
"One of the greatest blackguards in London. Blackmailer, swindler, thief and forger, among his many remarkable talents. Murder, too, most likely, though I have never been able to prove anything."
Superintendent Heathfield looked at Pons thoughtfully, his eyes bright in the gloom of the police car.
"You have hit it a’right, Mr. Pons. We at the Yard have sought the same ends for a long time."
Pons nodded.
"I understand that with advancing years he goes in for less strenuous pursuits nowadays. Blackmail, principally, specializing in society lathes with much to hide."
Heathfield chuckled.
"Correct again, Mr. Pons. Which is one of the reasons we have to go carefully. Stanmore had royal clients."
Pons turned his head sharply toward our companion.
"I see you use the past tense, Superintendent. Am I to take it that Stanmore is the subject of our inquiry?"
Superintendent Heathfield leaned forward in his seat and made sure the glass screen separating us from the driver was tightly closed.
"Stanmore was found murdered in his study this morning, a dagger driven deep between his shoulder blades. On the desk in front of him were six gold doubloons and a card hand-engraved with the words: Revenge is sweet"
Pons stared at the tall police officer for a few moments without speaking. Then he put his hand up and stroked the lobe of his left ear as was his habit when thinking.
"Well, I cannot say I am sorry, Superintendent A more slimy villain never walked the earth. Frankly, I shall be glad to erase his name from my records. There is no crime more despicable, Parker — no activity more damnable than that of the blackmailer who destroys the innocent indiscriminately with the guilty when they become entangled in his net."
I cleared my throat somewhat nervously.
"Even so, Pons, murder has been involved here."
Pons shot me a humorous glance from his deep-set eyes.
"You do correctly to recall me to my sense of duty, Parker."
He turned back to our companion.
"I take it there is no lack of suspects?"
Superintendent Heathfield pursed his lips.
"That is just the trouble, Mr. Pons. Stanmore's body was discovered only a few hours ago, when his manservant arrived at his flat, so that we have not had time to go through the murdered man's effects properly. But I have seen something of the ledgers and files…"