The solicitor's face was alight with interest; he drummed his fingers on the desk again.
"You are a very shrewd man, Mr. Pons. There is something, but as to whether I should reveal it to you is another matter."
He hesitated.
"I can assure you that no improper use will be made of the information, Mr. Bradshaw."
"In that case, Mr. Pons…"
Chadburn Bradshaw rose from the desk and crossed to a green iron safe at the side of the room. He rummaged inside it and presently emerged with a brown cardboard dossier tied with red tape. He brought it back to the desk and undid it
"What use you make of this information is up to you, Mr. Pons. But it must be made clear that it must not be seen to come from me."
"That is perfectly understood."
"Well, then. There was another beneficiary of Silas Renfrew's estate, you must know. He was a strange and eccentric man, though he had become a good friend to me over the years."
"You interest me greatly, Mr. Bradshaw. Do go on."
"A distant cousin, George Tolliver, is a secret beneficiary of the estate. He and young Adrian Renfrew were great friends as boys, but later Tolliver went to America: He had a bad reputation there, I believe."
"No one knew of the existence of this legacy?"
The solicitor shook his head.
"Silas Renfrew insisted on this. He felt he had behaved badly toward his relative, I think. Only myself and Mr. Renfrew knew of this. And George Tolliver, of course. He would inherit only on the colonel's death."
"You have not even told the colonel?"
Bradshaw shook his head.
"Those were Mr. Renfrew's precise instructions."
"What was the amount of the legacy?"
"Precisely fifty thousand pounds, Mr. Pons. I have the document."
He took it from the cardboard file as he spoke and came around the desk to hand it to my companion. Solar Pons bent eagerly over it, his keen, aquiline features intent on the detail. He turned the pages over, studying the signatures.
"Excellent, Mr. Bradshaw. You have been extremely helpful. Tell me, how was Mr. Tolliver informed of his good fortune. Did you see him?"
Bradshaw shook his head.
"He was in America at the time. So far as I knew, Mr. Renfrew informed him by letter, enclosing a copy of the document here."
Pons sat deep in thought for a moment longer.
"Have you any idea where George Tolliver is now, Mr. Bradshaw?"
"Not ten miles from where we are sitting, Mr. Pons. He bought a large house in the area some two years ago. I heard of this through my property interests in the district.
Of course, I have not sought him out as it was no business of mine, but the name is the same. And according to reports of his strange manage I have no doubt it is the Tolliver named in the will."
"What makes you say that?"
"Because of the man's weird tastes, Mr. Pons. He has some sort of private menagerie over there. He keeps tropical snakes and spiders among other things, I understand."
"Why, Pons, this is…" I burst out excitedly.
Pons's warning frowns checked my flow and I turned rather shamefaced to the lawyer. But he evidently affected not to notice my discomfort and sat waiting for Pons's next question.
"I am in your debt, Mr. Bradshaw," said he, rising from the chair. "Now it only remains for you to give me the address of Mr. Tolliver, and I will pay him a call. I think we have time before it gets entirely dark, Parker."
An alarmed look crossed Bradshaw's face.
"You will be careful, Mr. Pons. A confidence, remember."
He rose, putting the document back into the cardboard folder.
"Have no fear, Mr. Bradshaw," said Pons, shaking hands. "You have my word."
"Very well, then. Tolliver lives at a place called White- stone Manor. Some nine or so miles outside Tolleshunt D'Arcy. Just take the main road the way your car is pointing and keep straight on."
"Many thanks, Mr. Bradshaw. It has been a most instructive afternoon. Come, Parker."
6
A few minutes later we were humming along the straight, flat road through the marsh country on our way to White- stone Manor. Pons sat at my side deep in thought, his aquiline face clear-minted against the freezing winter background. A low mist was rising again, and for the first few minutes I concentrated on the road, digesting the information we had just received. Finally Pons broke silence.
"Well, Parker, what do you make of it? I know that you are bursting to question me."
"You are perfectly correct, Pons. That man Tolliver and the business of the snakes and spiders. Why, the whole thing fits together as plainly as the nose on my face."
Pons chuckled, taking his pipe from his pocket.
"Does it not, Parker. It certainly seems as if Mr. Tolliver has both motive and opportunity, though how he would insinuate such creatures into Colonel d'Arcy's home must remain conjectural for the moment."
"Such a man could find ways," I said.
"True, Parker, true," Pons nodded, filling the interior of the car with the harsh reek of shag as he lit the tobacco in the bowl of his pipe.
"Old Silas Renfrew was a curious man, certainly, and this bequest throws a fresh light upon matters."
"And remember the manner in which his son died," I continued. "The colonel said his death bore all the symptoms of a bite from a tropical insect."
"I see that your medical as well as your deductive faculties are working well, Parker," went on Pons, shooting me sharp glances from beneath his brows, as he puffed furiously at his pipe.
"But here, if I am not mistaken, is our destination."
Even as he spoke the white palings of a large house were composing themselves in the light mist which had begun to gather. I drove the car up in front of a heavy oak door, one of three in the facade of the ancient timbered house, and switched off the engine. Silence crowded in, broken only by the melancholy cawing of rooks from some ancient elms which overhung the lawn, now heavily carpeted with leaves. It was a somber scene, but Pons was cheerful enough as he got out of the car, rubbing his hands together briskly.
"Quite a Gothic milieu, Parker," he said with satisfaction as he led the way up to the front door, which was already being opened by a severe-looking woman with shingled hair.
"Solar Pons and Dr. Lyndon Parker to see Mr. George Tolliver," said my companion crisply.
The woman inclined her head, no sign of surprise on her pale face.
"You will find him in his laboratory. It is the large barn at the other side of the house."
And with that she slammed the door. Pons chuckled. He was already walking away in the direction indicated, and I had a job to keep up with him as he followed the paved path. The barn indeed was a massive structure — evidently an Elizabethan tithe-barn — and electric lights burned cheerily behind the windows in its white-painted planking. There was an electric bell push set into the door lintel, and its shrill ring was followed almost immediately by a loud exhortation to come in.
It was agreeably warm in the interior and with the warmth was mingled a sharp, animal smell, acrid and unmistakable — like that in one of the mammal houses in the zoo. The first thing I noticed was cages ranged around the walls at this end of the building; they were wire and iron structures, in which dark forms could be glimpsed. There were glass tanks containing fish and reptiles; up at the far end, on a large platform, a Bunsen burner burned palely. There were rows of bookshelves and benches. This was all I had time for as the master of this strange domain was already bearing down upon us.
He was a small, rather mild-looking man with steel- framed spectacles and a shock of whitening hair which hung down low over his brow. He wore a sort of smock over his waistcoat and trousers, and a black-and-white striped shirt looked incongruous in juxtaposition with the greenness of the overall. He held out his hand as he came down the steps from the platform and looked at us alertly.