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"A distinguished-looking gentleman, Mr. Pons," Mrs. Johnson murmured. "He waited for upwards of half an hour and then said he had an appointment. He will try and get back later this evening. I told him you took supper at eight o'clock."

"You did quite correctly, Mrs. Johnson," said Pons. "And thank you."

He turned bitterly to me as we mounted the stairs to our quarters.

"You see, Parker, what a mere forty minutes from home to mail a few wretched letters may lead to. Here I have been this past month or so becalmed in a desperate sea of aridity so far as criminal happenings in the metropolis are concerned, and I am abroad the one evening a client calls."

Now, as I recalled the circumstances when Pons drew attention to the stick, I could not repress a slight tendency to mischief.

"I should not attach too much importance to this, Pons. Our visitor may have merely wished to read the gas meter."

Pons's eyes twinkled.

"I appreciate your effort to lighten my somber mood, but I think not, Parker. Pray take up the stick and give me your opinion."

Thus bidden, I crossed to the side table, where our visitor had laid it, and brought it back to my comfortable chair by the fire.

"Some African wood, evidently."

"Good, Parker, good," said Pons, settling himself back and raking about with a metal instrument in the bowl of his pipe.

"A fairly new stick, which nevertheless has had hard wear."

"Elementary, my dear Parker. The fact tells you nothing?"

I turned the stick around. It had a handsome handle of some darker wood and a brass ferrule.

"The ferrule is much worn, indicating that the bearer is lame."

"Highly speculative, Parker," said Solar Pons, stretching himself in his chair and tamping a fresh wad of cut tobacco into his pipe.

"And the plate on the shaft which I can see plainly winking in the firelight from here?"

"I was saving that for the last, Pons," I said. I was endeavoring to read as much as possible from the actual stick."

"Most laudable, Parker," murmured Pons, half enveloped in blue smoke again. He put his matchstick down in a brass tray at his elbow and looked speculatively at the correspondence pinned to tie mantel with a heavy jackknife.

"Presented by his friends of the U.P.C. to Col. J.H. d'Arcy, U.D.C. on the occasion of his retirement, March 3, 1921."

"A handsome piece," I went on. "The colonel, presumably the owner of the stick, is elderly. Hence his retirement. A civic post evidently."

"A notable reading, Parker," said Pons with a grunt. "Can you tell us more from the inscription?"

"Very little, Pons," I said. "Though the lettering is fairly obvious. It is a local government matter. Naturally, I cannot say precisely but roughly it could be something like 'From his friends of the Upper Penge Council to Colonel d'Arcy of the Urban District Council.'" "Well done, Parker," said Pons with a short laugh. He gave me a look of approval with his deep-set eyes.

"I trust I have not overlooked anything of major importance, Pons," I added with somewhat justifiable pride.

"Just hand me the stick a moment, like a good fellow."

I passed him the object in silence and waited while he examined it by the light of the reading lamp behind his chair.

"Most commendable, Parker," he exclaimed at length. "There are only a few major points you have overlooked."

"And pray what might those be, Pons?"

"So far from being a cripple, Colonel d'Arcy is an active, vigorous man, in his prime, certainly not more than fifty- five years of age."

"Come, come, Pons," I protested.

"In addition he has certainly nothing to do with local government, far less Upper Penge Council, which I suspect does not even exist," went on Pons imperturbably. "He was in the colonial service until last year and served in an administrative capacity in West Africa. They tend to retire early in such climates."

I could not forbear a smile.

"Really, Pons, this is going a little far. But it will be easy enough to disprove when Colonel d'Arcy arrives."

"Or prove, Parker," said Pons quietly. "He keeps a bull mastiff also, if I am not mistaken."

He held up his hand to stop my flow of protestations.

"The stick is of West African hardwood, the handle of another variety of hardwood found in that corner of the world. It is a presentation stick as is clear from the inscription. It therefore follows that Colonel d'Arcy may well have served in the army in those parts and stayed on in the colonial service."

"It is possible, Pons," I admitted. "But how do you deduce that he is vigorous?"

"This is not the stick of a lame man," said Pons decisively. "He has had it only a year. It was a presentation stick in which he takes some pride. The brass ferrule is quite worn, which indicates much walking, to my mind. Moreover, the ferrule, as you will see, is worn quite evenly

all the way round, which indicates that the colonel rotates it in his hand as he flourishes it That is not the action of a person suffering from lameness."

"You may be right, Pons," I said. "But my stab at local government is just as likely to be correct as your colonial background."

Solar Pons shook his head with a mocking smile.

"Try Urundi, Parker. We may well then arrive at a presentation from the Urundi Planters' Club to the local, district commissioner."

I was silent for a moment.

"You know the man, Pons?"

Solar Pons shook his head and again turned his attention to his pipe.

"And the dog, Pons?"

"There are strong indentations on the shaft of the stick which suggest that a dog is in the habit of carrying it for his master. The impressions are broad and widely set apart, though not easy to see because the wood is hard and the stick is black. Nothing but a big dog would make such."

"It is a long shot, Pons," I submitted.

"We shall see," said my companion urbanely. "For Mrs. Johnson has just gone to the front door and there, if I am not mistaken, is the footstep of our man on the stairs now."

2

Mrs. Johnson's cheerful, well-scrubbed face appeared in the doorway.

"The gentleman I was telling you about, Mr. Pons. Colonel d'Arcy."

Pons and I rose as the room appeared to shake. Colonel d'Arcy was indeed an enormous man, more than six feet tall and proportionately broad. He wore a large checked overcoat against the bitter cold outside and carried a black homburg in his hand. His open, bearded face had a deep tan, and piercing blue eyes looked first at me and then at my companion.

"Mr. Solar Pons? I deeply regret this intrusion, but I simply must consult you."

"Pray come in, Colonel d'Arcy. I regret that I was not at home when first you called. Please take a seat here by the fire. This is my friend, Dr. Lyndon Parker."

"Glad to meet you, Dr. Parker."

The colonel gave me a bone-crushing grip and paused to take off his coat before sitting down. Pons excused himself and left the room to removed his dressing gown. When he reappeared a few seconds later, he had resumed his jacket and his face had the alert look I had not seen for some weeks. Mrs. Johnson had hovered by the door to see if there was anything we required and now quietly excused herself and left.

I had been rather puzzled by a low panting noise which had persisted for some minutes, and as I moved to offer the colonel some liquid refreshment, my foot touched something and there was a low growl.

Colonel d'Arcy sprang up with a sharp apology.

"Come here, Toto! I hope you do not mind the liberty, Mr. Pons, but I brought my dog with me to town today. He is extraordinarily attached to me, and I did not want to leave him at home, for he pines if I am away for any length of time."

"I am sure he will be no trouble, Colonel," said Pons, looking at me quizzically. "A bull mastiff, I see. Carries your stick, no doubt?"