He threw up his hands with an expressive gesture.
"A multiplicity of suspects and a thousand motives," put in Pons succinctly. "What do you say, Parker?"
"Those were exactly my thoughts, Pons," I murmured.
Pons tented his fingers before him and sunk his chin as he gazed at the superintendent.
"I think it would be better if you gave us a brief resume of the facts, Superintendent, which will prevent me from cluttering my mind with too many preconceived ideas before our arrival. We are going where?"
"Westbourne Grove, Mr. Pons. Stanmore maintained an apartment there, in addition to a hotel suite in the West End and two country houses."
"Crime does apparently pay," I said.
Pons shot me a mocking look.
"Does it not, Parker? I hope nothing has been touched, Superintendent"
Heathfield drew himself up on the seat opposite, humorous lines corrugating his brow.
"I am too old a hand for that, Mr. Pons, and I have studied your methods. The body is in situ; nothing in the study has been moved, pending your arrival."
"That is indeed good to hear, Superintendent," said Pons with a faint smile. "And a model for Jamison to follow."
The police car had turned into Westbourne Grove now, and the driver was idling along the curb, apparently waiting for Heathfield's instructions. The latter rapped on the glass partition.
"Stop here."
He waited until the engine had been switched off.
"I will be brief, Mr. Pons. Stanmore's body was found this morning by his manservant Dawkins at about eleven o'clock — that is, only some four hours ago."
"That seems rather late, Superintendent."
"Dawkins has duties at Stanmore's hotel suite, apparently," replied Heathfield. "He lives at the hotel When he had finished there, he came on to his employer's flat, letting himself in with his own key. He found Stanmore lying dead as I have described, and immediately called his local police station.
"The inspector in charge realized the gravity of the affair when, the duke of Leinster's name was discovered in Stanmore's records. Scotland Yard informed the Foreign
Office and your brother Bancroft immediately suggested…
"That I should be called," Pons concluded with a smile. "Well, well, Brother Bancroft is wise to be concerned. Is the duke not currently engaged in peace talks at Geneva?"
The superintendent nodded gravely.
"Quite frankly, Mr. Pons, even if your brother had not interceded, I should have called you in any case."
"This becomes more flattering by the minute, Parker. Please continue, Superintendent"
"Well, Mr. Pons, in the short time available we have given the flat a thorough combing, as you can imagine. Stanmore was in his study, sitting at the desk, the dagger driven deeply into his back."
"You have traced the weapon?"
Heathfield shook his head.
"So far as we can make out it does not belong in the flat It is a big, heavy, Eastern thing with a brass handle."
"And the gold doubloons?"
"Stanmore has a penchant for such things. He is something of a collector. These Spanish coins are of the type among his collection. I do not think they are of any great significance."
"Do you not, Superintendent? And the message?"
Superintendent Heathfield smiled wryly.
"There we have a large field, Mr. Pons."
"The flat had not been broken into?"
Heathfield shook his head.
"There are no signs of forcible entry, there was no great disturbance in the rooms, and, so far as we can see, nothing has been stolen. Stanmore's blackmailing records were in a locked safe in the study. We only found the key by forcing a locked drawer in his desk. Apparently his murderer had no time to seek out incriminating letters or suchlike."
"Unless he had an appointment with Stanmore, collected the material, and then took his revenge," said Pons.
Heathfield shook his head.
"Unlikely, Mr. Pons. We have established from the man-servant that no one knew of the Westbourne Grove address, which Stanmore rented in an assumed name. This was the reason he often left the door unlocked so that his man and the cleaning woman could come and go freely."
Pons frowned, his mobile features serious.
"Yet the servant used his key to gain entry. From what you say, someone could simply have walked in through an unlocked door, committed the crime and walked out again, dropping the latch behind him."
Heathfield nodded.
"It would appear so, Mr. Pons."
"Then that would rule the secrecy theory out of court," said Pons crisply. "Someone must have, known of Stanmore's secret address or he would still be alive. It is incredibly difficult to keep such matters from the wider world. Well, well, it does give us some promising material on which to work. How could Stanmore have been surprised in such a manner?"
"You will see in a few moments, Mr. Pons. His desk in the study is in the middle of the room, opposite the fireplace, and he sits with his back to the door."
"So that the murderer could have opened the door and have walked quietly across to get within striking distance," said Pons. "The manservant is trustworthy?"
"We have more or less eliminated him from our inquiries, Mr. Pons. Dawkins had been with Stanmore for fifteen years and was devoted to him."
"A curious devotion," I interjected.
"Was it not, Parker?" said Pons, turning to me. "So much for theorizing. Now, if you will just be good enough to descend, we shall see what Elihu Cook Stanmore, six gold doubloons, and a piece of pasteboard have to tell us."
2
The apartment of the murdered man was a luxuriously appointed suite of rooms situated on the third floor; Heathfield took us discreetly up the back stairs so that few people could have been aware of our arrival. A conservatively dressed plainclothes detective was sitting on a divan in the corridor, smoking, looking indolent and relaxed, but in reality missing nothing. He was already at the door unlocking it before we reached it.
A tall gray-haired man with gold spectacles was standing by a table in the entrance hall, fumbling in a small leather bag as we entered. He looked sharply at the superintendent.
"He has been dead since about eight o'clock this morning," he said. "Instantaneous, of course. I can't tell a great deal until we get him to the mortuary."
Superintendent Heathfield nodded
"This is Dr. Garratt. Allow me to introduce Mr. Solar Pons and his friend and colleague, Dr. Lyndon Parker."
The doctor came toward us, a faint flush on his features, and shook hands.
"A distinct pleasure, gentlemen. I have been an enthusiastic follower of your career, my dear sir."
"You are too kind," said Pons deprecatingly. "I fear there is little here to engage such small talents as I possess."
The doctor pursed his lips.
"That may be, Mr. Pons. And I should imagine few would mourn Mr. Stanmore's passing. In my duties as a police surgeon I have seen many things, but I cannot say I shed any tears during my examination this morning."
Superintendent Heathfield smiled grimly.
"Dr. Garratt is familiar with Stanmore's history," he explained. "He has strong views on such matters."
"With which I heartily concur," I could not help asserting.
Solar Pons looked amused.
"Well said, Parker. But we are wasting time. If you would lead the way, Superintendent, we will set to work."
The death chamber into which Heathfield now led us was a long, tastefully furnished study, with heavy velvet curtains at the windows; the windows themselves opened onto an inner courtyard and the blank wall of an adjoining building. The secluded setting was no doubt one of the reasons Stanmore had selected it for his activities, I reflected, looking around me.