"Ah, Parker, we progress. Dr. Garratt's report was at hand. Heathfield tells me that Stanmore died of heart failure before he was stabbed. I suspected as much."
"This is incredible, Pons!" I cried.
Solar Pons chuckled
"Is it not, Parker? But not entirely unexpected. Remember, I pointed out the cyanose condition."
"It is sheer madness, Pons," I went on. "Why would anyone want to stab this man when he had already been conveniently removed? And not only stab him once but several times?"
"Twenty-four, to be exact," said Pons imperturbably. "Garratt is able to count accurately, it appears."
"This becomes more baffling by the moment."
Pons shook his head
"On the contrary, it becomes clearer. There were six doubloons, you will recall And four thousand pounds had been paid in each case to date."
I fear I was becoming even more exasperated, and Solar Pons looked at me in surprise.
"Always remember, Parker, that what is before one, however outré and extraordinary, must represent the truth. It needs only to be read a’right."
"You put great significance on these doubloons, Pons," I cried.
"Exactly," said Pons. "What do you make of them?"
"Stanmore was in the habit of presenting them to his 'clients' as a rather sour way of congratulating them on being bled white, Pons."
Solar Pons nodded.
"Rather colorfully put, Parker, but I get your meaning. Then what was the significance of the six doubloons on the. desk?"
"Perhaps he was preparing six more cases of blackmail, Pons."
Solar Pons shook his head.
"You disappoint me, Parker. You have had plenty of opportunity to observe my methods. I commend the doubloons to you. Say rather that this man was being paid back in his own coin. When we find twenty-four stab wounds, the six golden objects, the noble clients and a multiplicity of fingerprints, the affair becomes relatively simple."
"Simple, Pons!"
I threw up my hands in despair.
"And I postulate that the card stating 'Revenge is sweet' clinches the matter. This was a carefully planned affair, Parker. And the man responsible did not want to be disappointed. The card and the coins point to this. And why did the valet not surprise anyone in the apartment? After all, he could have arrived at any time. There was a lookout, Parker; we may take that as certain."
Pons had been fumbling around for a minute or so and now he shot me a sharp glance.
"You have also forgotten the matter of the peace talks. The duke is heavily involved in those."
I could not resist a sly dig at Pons in retaliation for my present frustration.
"Brother Bancroft should see you now, Pons. Your pipe is over by the window yonder, if you had but the wit to see it."
Pons drew up his eyebrows and fires of humor sparkled in his eyes.
"Touché, Parker, touché. You are developing a definite wit in early middle-age. There is hope for you yet."
And he was soon enveloped in clouds of poisonous blue fumes again.
6
Our destination in Sussex was only an hour's journey by train from Charing Cross, and shortly after midday the following morning we debouched from the small wooden station building to find a pony and trap, sent by the duke himself, awaiting our arrival. We were soon bowling along the dusty country lanes between high banks and blooming hedgerows, with the agreeable scent of freshly cut grass in our nostrils.
"There is a great deal to be said for England at this time of year, Parker," Solar Pons enthused, stretching out his long legs in the trap interior and looking broodingly at the dim blue distances of the far hills as we drove across the undulating countryside.
"I do not think that Elihu Cook Stanmore would agree with you, Pons," I said dryly.
"Ah, there you go astray, Parker. That was a matter between him and his Maker. Stanmore is no doubt where he ought to be, and the world is rolling on its way as it should be."
"No doubt you are right, Pons," I conceded.
At that moment the trap swept around a bend in the white highway and the driver pointed with his whip to iron gates beyond which could be seen a long, low handsome house built of the distinctive golden sandstone so prevalent thereabouts.
"Delamere Lodge, gentlemen."
In a short while we had pulled up in front of an impressive flight of steps which led to the massive entrance portico. A tall, black-bearded man hurried down to meet us. He was such an imposing figure that I thought for a moment it was the duke himself. He was dressed in a suit of shaggy tweeds and he looked at us in a most unfriendly manner from beneath beetling black brows. But his manner seemed civil enough.
He merely murmured "Follow me, gentlemen" and led us through an oak-paneled hall and down a long, green- walled corridor hung with sporting prints and eighteenth- century political cartoons.
"His Grace is in the gun room."
Pons raised his eyebrows but said nothing. At the threshold of the stout oak door which led to our destination the bearded man stopped so suddenly that I almost collided with him. He ignored me and cast his black eyes on my companion, fixing him with a smoldering glance.
"A word in your ear, Mr. Solar Pons. I am very attached to the duke. If any harm should come to him, you will have me to contend with."
Solar Pons smiled pleasantly. He stood quite at ease, taking the measure of the barrel-chested man who barred the way to the door.
"Your function, I take it, was to stand guard during the murder of the late Elihu Stanmore."
The big man stared wildly at Pons, his complexion beneath the beard turning a dark yellow. Then he gave a snarl and started forward.
"I must warn you that you will find my strength equal to your own," said Pons coolly stepping back a pace and putting himself on guard.
The big man's mouth dropped, but before there were any further developments, the door was flung furiously open and a tall, aristocratic-looking man in his mid-thirties, wearing a handsome Vandyke beard, stood framed in the lintel.
"What is this, Jefferies?" he cried, his beard bristling with rage. "How dare you presume to treat my guests in this fashion?"
The big man recovered himself. He looked at the duke not a whit abashed.
"He knows, Your Grace."
"Does he, indeed?" said the duke of Leinster levelly, looking at Pons with a gleam of irony in his eye. "You had better come in, Mr. Pons. I am honored to know you, sir. I must apologize for Jefferies. He has a formidable exterior, but he is completely devoted to my service."
"That is quite understandable," said Pons, taking the duke's outstretched hand. "Allow me to present my friend, Dr. Lyndon Parker."
"I am equally delighted, Doctor. Please come in. You'll take some coffee, gentlemen, and stay to lunch? Ask Mrs. Cummings to make the necessary arrangements, Jefferies, if you'll be so good."
The duke led the way into the gun room, which was a long, high chamber with paneled walls and a vast stone fireplace. The mullioned windows looked out over the spacious grounds, and racks of weapons and trophies of the chase adorned the paneling.
The duke led the way down the room and waved Pons and myself to two comfortable leather chairs. He seated himself at a bench where he had evidently been polishing weapons, for several cutlasses and a saber were laid out on the scarred tabletop.
"You'll forgive me for going on with what I was doing, gentlemen."
Pons nodded and walked down the room, examining the racks of weapons.