"That is so, Mr. Pons. Indeed, it will be sixteen years in September."
Dawkins bit his lip.
"Or would have been," he corrected himself.
Pons nodded and walked casually about the kitchen, his eyes darting around the room.
"You seem to keep things extraordinarily neat and tidy, Dawkins."
The valet's thin, pale cheeks flushed.
I do my best, sir."
"What do you know of Mr. Stanmore's business?" asked Pons with deceptive mildness, pulling at the lobe of his ear.
The valet looked surprised.
"Why, nothing, sir. Mr. Stanmore had business ventures all over the world. Something to do with property, I believe. I know my place, sir. I never asked and Mr. Stanmore never volunteered information."
"An admirable arrangement between master and man," said Pons. "Did any of Mr. Stanmore's clients ever visit him at home? Here, for instance?"
The valet shook his head.
"Not here, sir. This was what Mr. Stanmore called his hideaway. He had business callers at his hotel suite. And at one of his country houses occasionally. He came here to relax, he always said. He worked on the collation of his collection of coins and read a good deal."
"I see."
Pons was looking at Dawkins attentively.
"Tell me about this coin collection, Dawkins."
The valet shook his head.
"I know very little about it, sir. I'm no numismatist. But I know it was very valuable and Mr. Stanmore set great store by it."
"And yet he left the apartment unlocked on many occasions, I believe."
The valet flushed again.
"Well, sir, that was understandable. Mr. Stanmore was always on the premises at those times. I had mislaid my key on more than one occasion and Mr. Stanmore disliked being disturbed, particularly by the woman who cleans three mornings a week."
"She has been checked and cleared of suspicion," Heathfield murmured at this point
Pons nodded and went on with his questioning of Dawkins.
"So Mr. Stanmore was in the habit of leaving the front door unlocked on those mornings you or the cleaning woman were due. That seems clear enough. Yet the apartment was locked this morning?"
"Yes, sir. I was a little, surprised, particularly as Mr. Stanmore knew I was due this morning. But fortunately I had my key with me and let myself in."
The valet faltered and lowered his eyes.
"And found Mr. Stanmore at his desk," said Pons gently. "You did not touch anything?"
Dawkins shook his head
"I telephoned the police immediately, sir, and put myself completely at their disposal."
"An admirable procedure," Pons continued "What do you make of those coins on the desk? Doubloons, are they not?"
"I believe they are, Mr. Pons. That was one of Mr. Stanmore's little foibles. Whenever he had concluded a particularly important property deal, he would present a doubloon to his client as a mark of appreciation."
Pons exchanged a keen glance with Superintendent Heathfield
"Indeed A quaint little custom, as you so rightly say. These coins did not come from Mrs. Stanmore's main collection, then?"
The valet shook his head
"No, sir. They were what Mr. Stanmore called imperfect specimens, duplicates and so forth. I know little of coin collecting, sir, but my employer laid great stress on the coins in his collection being in mint condition."
"Thank you, Dawkins. That will be all for the present Hold yourself in readiness in case you should be wanted further."
Dawkins bowed courteously and then bent over the ironing board again as we quitted the room with the superintendent.
"Well, well, Parker," said Pons briskly. "I think we have seen everything of importance for the moment. I will be in touch, Superintendent. In the meantime I will peruse these letters and let you know my conclusions."
4
A few minutes later we were in a taxi driving across London, Pons at my side, his chin sunk on his breast, the opened envelope of documents on his knee before him.
"We are not going back to Praed Street, then, Pons?"
My companion roused himself from his reverie.
"7B? No, Parker. We must see Lady Mary Hawthorne without delay, before this affair goes any further."
"Lady Mary Hawthorne, Pons?" I said in some bewilderment.
"A well-known society lady who is deeply implicated in this matter," said Pons, tapping the bundle of documents on his lap. "I fear she may do something desperate if we do not put her mind at rest."
"I realize I have not had time to read the documents, Pons…"
"Tut, tut, Parker," Pons interrupted irritably, his lean, feral face restlessly turning from side to side. "A glance was enough. It has been in all the papers. Lady Mary is engaged to be married to the Duke of Leinster. It was no doubt that fact that precipitated matters and put a term to Stanmore's life."
He was silent for the remainder of the journey, and it was not until we were hurrying up the steps of a stately mansion near Carlton Terrace that he favored me with any further observations.
"Discretion, Parker, discretion. After the introduction let me do the talking."
"Certainly, Pons," I protested. "I hope I am not noted for my lack of tart."
Solar Pons permitted himself the fleeting ghost of a smile.
"It is not that, my dear fellow. It is just that sometimes your enthusiasm for my methods gets the better of you."
"Better enthusiasm, Pons," I muttered, "than indifference or skepticism."
Pons looked at me wryly without speaking and then pressed the massive brass stud at the side of the door, which animated the electric bell. It had no sooner echoed in the interior than a grave-faced footman appeared on the steps.
"Take this to your mistress," said Pons curtly, handing him his card. Tell her it is a matter of great urgency and will not brook delay."
The manservant raised his eyebrows, his genteel facade visibly breached.
"Please come in, gentlemen," he said in a flustered manner. "I will inform Lady Mary that you are here."
He led the way across a hall whose marble floor was in a black-and-white chessboard pattern and left us in a long morning room with pale lemon walls. Cut flowers were massed in bowls and vases everywhere, and the impression was one of unostentatious wealth and elegant good taste. Pons had crossed to the fireplace wall and was examining a pastel study of a strikingly beautiful woman with jet-black hair.
"If that is Lady Mary, the duke of Leinster is a fortunate man," I ventured over Pons's shoulder.
He gave me an enigmatic smile.
"Is he not, Parker? Yet the course of true love seldom runs smooth, as the well-worn adage says, and I fear that Mr. Stanmore's activities may have put some obstacles in the couple's path."
His observations were dramatically borne out a few moments later when the door to the morning room was imperiously thrown open and the agitated form of Lady Mary
herself appeared before us. The portrait did not do her justice, but her beauty was marred at present by the paleness of her cheeks and the wildness of her eye. She came to the point immediately, unerringly arresting my companion's attention.
"Mr. Pons? Your presence here can only mean one thing!"
"Will you not calm yourself, dear lady? I am sure you will be more comfortable by the fireplace. I see you have already heard the news about Mr. Stanmore?"
"It is useless to conceal it in the presence of such a remarkable mind," said the dark-haired woman bitterly.
She sank into the chair indicated by Pons and regarded us with burning eyes.
"Forgive me, Lady Mary," said Pons abruptly. "I am forgetting the social niceties in the stress of the occasion This is my friend and invaluable colleague, Dr. Lyndon Parker."