The inspector looked reproachfully at Pons and two tiny spots of red started out on his cheeks, but he said nothing — only waited while Pons went down on hands and knees on the thick boards, examining the trench with his pocket flashlight.
"A pity you did not call me sooner," he grunted. "Tradesmen and the rain of the past day have done much to obliterate detail which might have told us a good deal. I shall have these boards up as soon as it gets light."
Jamison cleared his throat.
"I think you will find the area beneath the boards may tell you something, Mr. Pons," he said stiffly.
"Let us hope so," my companion replied, looking keenly about him as we walked up the drive, to where the large, squat, three-storied mansion of the late Professor Mair stood frowning across a broad lawn to the shrubbery which screened it from the road. The house was a blaze of light and it was evident that our arrival was expected, for a constable ran down the broad front steps toward Jamison, and the massive front door was already being opened by a trimly dressed parlormaid as we ascended to the portico.
The house had an air of suppressed mourning and one could feel tragedy in the air as Pons and I followed Jamison across a large hall floored in marble. Electric lights in a massive brass lantern illuminated the broad-balconied staircase up which Jamison hurried to the first floor. Pons was darting keen glances about him. A knot of servants stood talking in monotones on the wide landing, but they broke up and went about their duties as our group arrived.
The scene of the tragedy was guarded by a plainclothes detective-sergeant who had a muttered colloquy with his superior before ushering us past the shattered rosewood door which had shielded the entrance to the professor's study. It was a broad, high room lit by green-shaded lamps: two in ceiling fittings, one on the cluttered desk, and another standard lamp which stood near the paneled fireplace.
The fire had long burned out and the place struck dank and chill; the reason for the coldness was obvious from the thing which sprawled incongruously in the center of the room, amid documents, upturned drawers and other debris. I have long been inured to scenes of postmortem squalor in my profession, but I have seldom felt the thrill of horror which this room evoked in me.
The body of Professor Mair was spread out in bizarre fashion, his hands crooked in agony about the heavy shaft of the steel-tipped javelin which transfixed his body to the carpet beneath him. Blood had seeped from the wound and made heavy stains on the rug and on the parquet around it.
The professor was a man of about seventy, with a snow-white beard which was thrown back, at an acute angle; the mouth with the broken, decayed teeth was wide open, as though he had been in the act of screaming as he was cut down; and a dark necklace of blood had run from the corner of his mouth onto the collar of his smoking jacket. The blue eyes were wide and staring. It was an horrific and appalling sight and even Pons seemed visibly shaken.
We stood in a hushed semicircle about the remains for a few seconds and then Pons was himself again; he dropped to his knees with a magnifying glass and busied himself in an examination of the area round the body.
"Nothing of importance there, Mr. Pons," Jamison put in heavily. "We haven't overlooked theft, of course, but these are just papers connected with the professor's work."
Pons nodded without replying. He was on his feet again now, his keen eyes stabbing about the room. Then he crossed toward the door, taking off his hat and overcoat which he placed on a chair. He came back to me.
"Your department, Parker. Just give me your opinion, would you?"
"Certainly, Pons."
Jamison brought in a bundle of sacking from a pile near the door and I knelt gingerly upon it to carry out my examination. I avoided the javelin, but Jamison observed, "We have tested for fingerprints, Doctor. The murderer wore gloves."
Pons was already near the windows, giving them his usual meticulous examination. He paused on the floor between them, his magnifying glass passing inch by inch across the flooring.
"You are certainly right about one thing, Inspector. No one has been out that way."
Jamison exchanged a satisfied look with the detective-sergeant, who had come back inside the room and was an interested spectator of the proceedings. Pons next went around the entire room, dismissing the serried ranks of
books, which took up three sides, with hardly a glance. He examined the shattered door carefully, noting the key still in the lock. He spent more time on two large cupboards which flanked the door. The inspector caught the question in his eyes.
"Files, according to Clarence Moffat, the professor's secretary. But there's been nothing disturbed there, so far as we know."
Pons already had the left-hand door open and was examining the linoleum-covered floor of the interior. He pulled open one or two of the mahogany drawers at the rear of the cupboard and gave the contents a cursory glance. Then he went over to the right-hand cupboard and repeated the process. I noticed he had one of the small envelopes in which he collected specimens ready to hand.
He was at my elbow as I completed my examination, a necessarily brief one in the absence of my case of instruments. "Rigor mortis has long set in," I said. "Death would have been instantaneous and probably some time yesterday afternoon."
Jamison nodded portentously.
"The same conclusion drawn by the police surgeon," he said. "Of course we shall know more after the postmortem, but I thought you'd prefer to view the body in situ, Mr. Pons."
Pons nodded.
"Extremely thoughtful, Jamison. Is there nothing further, Parker? Would the javelin have penetrated at one stroke, for example?"
I took hold of the shaft, now that there was no need for caution.
"It's certainly a heavy and fearsome weapon, Pons," I began. "Hello, it's quite loose!"
Even as I spoke, the javelin broke free of the wound and clattered to the floor. Pons had a curious expression on his face. But he said nothing and was already turning to the area above the fireplace where a number of weapons were hung in ornamental display on the wall.
"Obviously this came from the pair here," he mused, his eyes hooded and seemingly half-asleep. He pulled a heavy Malay kris from its scabbard and used it to point at the inspector.
"Seems rather a strange feature of the decor for a man of peace like Professor Mair, wouldn't you say, Inspector?"
Jamison looked puzzled.
"I don't quite see what you're driving at, Mr. Pons. I believe some of these things originally belonged to the professor's brother, who was a widely traveled man."
"If you have finished with my services, Pons," I said somewhat testily, I'd be glad to be allowed to rise from my knees."
Solar Pons permitted himself a somewhat bleak smile in that oppressive room of silent death.
"Certainly, my dear fellow. Do forgive me. I was quite absorbed in this little problem before us."
He looked from the corpse to Jamison and then crossed to the fireplace to replace the kris in its scabbard. The envelope had already been returned to his inner pocket. I removed the sacking and dusted my trousers.
"I think we have seen everything of interest for the time being," said Pons crisply, picking up his hat and coat. "And now,if you will allow me, I should like to question the professor's immediate family."
"They are gathered in the morning room," Jamison volunteered. "There is some refreshment if you would care to partake…"
"Thank you but we have already dined," Pons told him. "And now, if you will lead the way, I shall be glad to learn what the late professor's nearest and dearest have to tell
4
As we were descending the main staircase to the hall, a thin, fussy-looking, middle-aged man in a rusty black frock coat and striped trousers came out of one of the ground-floor rooms. He turned a startled face up toward us and I could see the thin strands of black hair shaped carefully across but not concealing the baldness of his head.