Our client made the introductions and led us toward the long table in the center of the room.
"You'll want some refreshment, gentlemen?"
"We have already dined," Pons explained.
He looked with mischievous eyes at me.
"But a drink would not come amiss, eh, Parker?"
"To keep the fog out, Pons," I assented.
Our host busied himself with the glasses, and Pons and I found ourselves with the solicitor as the two lathes went across to the fire. Chadburn Bradshaw had very white teeth and a faint tan on his lean face. His voice had a Scottish accent as he wrinkled his brows in concentration.
"Mr. Pons? Not the famous consulting detective?"
"Hardly famous," Pons replied. "But that is my profession."
"You are too modest, Mr. Pons," said the solicitor with obvious interest "You will find much to tax your interest at The Briars. It has the reputation of being haunted. And on a foggy night such as this…"
He laughed as he turned toward d'Arcy, who came up with brimming glasses, which he pressed into our hands. We went over to join the lathes at the fire.
"Best be careful when you leave, Bradshaw. We nearly had a smash on the way over."
Bradshaw raised his eyebrows, lifting his glass in a toast which included Miss Mortimer and her mother.
"You mean the farm wagon?" Bradshaw asked. "Has that not been cleared yet? Fortunately, I saw it in time."
"That is your bullnose Morris outside, then?" said Pons.
"Yes, Mr. Pons. Nice cars, aren't they?"
"Indeed"
Our host had excused himself and was talking to the lathes, but now he came hurrying over, his face bearing a frown.
"An estate matter, Bradshaw? I hope it is nothing serious?"
The lawyer shook his head.
"Just a routine matter, Colonel, which nevertheless requires your signature. I have the papers in your study and it will take only a few moments."
He paused and I became aware that there was a slight draft. I turned toward the door, noticing by Pons's stiffened attitude that he had already taken note of it. There was an odd silence, and then the taciturn servant in the baize apron shuffled in and silently began clearing glasses from the table. It was obvious that he had been listening to the conversation, and I shot an inquiring look toward the solicitor.
"Curious fellow, Vickers," said Bradshaw sotto voce. "I don't trust him. He's always snooping about, and he knows far too much about the colonel's private affairs."
"Really," said Pons, looking sharply across to where Colonel d'Arcy had paused to give his servant some instructions. Bradshaw shrugged.
"Still, it's no business of mine, Mr. Pons. The colonel picked up Vickers when he was in the army in West Africa and hung on to him. There's no accounting for tastes."
"No, indeed," I said.
Bradshaw was moving off with the colonel when Pons took him by the arm.
"There are one or two matters about this house on which I should like to consult you. Would tomorrow be convenient?"
"Certainly, Mr. Pons. I have an office in Tolleshunt D'Arcy. Anyone will tell you where it is. Shall we say about three o'clock?"
"Don't forget you are coming for the weekend," our host interrupted. "I am having a small house party to celebrate our engagement."
"Well, then, it is indeed providential that we are here," said Solar Pons. "Until tomorrow, Mr. Bradshaw."
The lathes had now come toward us.
"You will forgive us, Mr. Pons," said Claire Mortimer. "The hour is late and my mother and I wish to retire. We look forward to making the further acquaintance of you and Dr. Parker tomorrow."
Pons bent and took her hand. It may have been my imagination, but I thought I saw an anguished appeal in the girl's eyes as she raised them to my companion's.
A short while later we all broke up for the night. Our host accompanied Bradshaw out to his car. I was astonished at Pons's behavior as soon as the two men had closed the front door behind them. He put his hand to his lips and hurried me along the hall, our footsteps muffled on the thick carpeting. We turned an angle in the wall and Pons motioned me to be silent.
It was dark in the alcove and at first I could see only the outline of a figure and something which looked like a table. Light winked on bottles and glasses. Then I saw the manservant, Vickers. He was bending over a glass and carefully measuring out liquid. When he had about an inch in the bottom, he put down his head and sniffed it. He remained like this for a while and then turned to a second bottle. When he had dealt with four in this manner, Pons and I quietly withdrew.
We had already said good night to our host and as we crept up the great staircase, the muffled noise of Bradshaw's car crept away through the fog. We found our chambers without any difficulty, for Vickers had left the doors ajar. When we were out of earshot of the hallway, Pons said, "What do you make of that, Parker?"
"Mysterious and suspicious," I replied, knowing he was referring to the servant's behavior. "It seems to me, Pons, that we have seldom ventured into a darker and more sinister business than the events taking place under the roof of The Briars."
Solar Pons rubbed his thin hands together, and his eyes were twinkling in the dim light of the hallway.
"I have rarely seen a more promising situation. Pleasant dreams, my dear fellow."
And with that he strode into his room and closed the door.
5
The next morning dawned bleakly cold and foggy. Pons was afoot and about long before I made my way to the breakfast table. I saw him through the window in conversation with a man who looked like a gardener, as I greeted my host and his prospective wife and mother-in-law.
It was a lively and pleasant group who chatted like old friends, waited on by efficient servants led by. Mrs. Karswell, the housekeeper, a middle-aged, stately woman with reserved manners which concealed great warmth of character. Miss Mortimer and her mother, who was almost as handsome despite her seniority, put themselves out to be kind, and it was easy to see that Claire Mortimer and our host were deeply attached to one another.
At one point in the conversation she put out her hand impulsively to mine on the tablecloth and said, "Both mother and I are deeply grateful to you and Mr. Pons, Doctor, for your help in the trouble which has come upon us."
I mumbled some banality and as I studied the girl and the colonel, aware all the time of Mrs. Mortimer's inquiring eye upon me, I was disturbingly conscious of Claire Mortimer's fascinating character and the sinister implications of the web which, if Pons were correct, surrounded the couple.
I was almost disappointed when Pons joined us, for the conversation immediately turned into brisker channels. His
walk had invigorated him, and his lean, hawklike face was glowing with the cold and the exercise. He rubbed his hands together as he sat down to do justice to the bacon, eggs, and grilled kidneys heaped up generously on his plate.
"Well, Parker," he said genially during the first lull in the conversation. "I trust you have been employing your time usefully while I was out of doors."
"I trust so, Pons," I replied, uncomfortably aware of Miss Mortimer's eyes upon me.
"I have taken the liberty, Colonel d'Arcy," Pons went on, "of begging the loan of one of your cars from your chauffeur at the stable wing. He seems as amiable fellow and readily agreed, with the proviso that I obtain your authority."
"Certainly, Mr. Pons," said our host with a light laugh. "Metcalfe is a stickler for protocol, I am afraid."
"Another of your West African soldiers?" said Pons keenly.
"No," said d'Arcy, shaking his bearded head. "But he was highly recommended by Vickers and I have been well satisfied with him. Do you wish me to accompany you on your excursion?"