"Bradshaw had a foot in both camps. He was the only person who could move easily about both The Briars and Tolliver's home, and he would be the last person suspected. When he badly miscalculated with the mamba, due to Miss Mortimer changing rooms with the colonel, I felt sure he would try again. He knew the house intimately and would have had plenty of time to secrete his loathsome charges."
"And the Ipi idol, Pons?"
"So mush rubbish, Parker. Bradshaw had another office in Colchester. It is not worth the proving now, but he undoubtedly posted the package containing his badly sculptured creation from there."
"This is quite astonishing, Mr. Pons," said Miss Mortimer.
"Is it not, dear lady?" said Pons, rubbing his hands together. "I have seldom met a more cunning adversary. Of course, in the normal run of events he visited both the colonel here and Tolliver. In the one case he had ample opportunity of abstracting specimens — the police have found padded baskets, thick gloves, and drugs to put the specimens in a comatose state, at his house — and in the other equal opportunity to bait his horrific traps.
"He saw his last chance in the long weekend you arranged to celebrate your engagement. And when I invited Tolliver — deliberately, of course, in order to get everyone under the same roof — he thought he had his golden chance. I blame myself that it almost ended in tragedy; I did not, for example, realize that the mamba had already been secreted in your bedroom, far less that your fiancée had exchanged rooms with you."
"No one could have foreseen that, Pons," I said.
Solar Pons shook his head.
"Nevertheless, Parker, it was a close thing. When that attempt failed, I realized that Bradshaw would almost inevitably try again that same night. It takes a great deal of nerve to stage these things, and Vickers's activities in snooping about must have worried him. When I learned that Bradshaw's room was next to yours, Colonel, it became a hundred percent certainty in my mind."
"Some more brandy, Mr. Pons. It has been an experience to watch you at work."
Solar Pons smiled. He looked at the crudely carved statuette on the table, which our client had given him as a souvenir.
"Do not forget my good friend Parker here. He showed quite exceptional courage in facing that tarantula. And his cool head in blowing the mamba to pieces prevented tragedy."
"Pray forgive me, Dr. Parker."
I flushed, for in truth Pons's warm words had touched me deeply.
"You forget your own part, Pons," I said. "When I saw you drive that brute back with the cane…"
"With unexpected results for Bradshaw," said Solar Pons slowly.
"A highly appropriate conclusion from our point of view. And as my great predecessor said in the matter of the Speckled Band, I am not likely to let this man's death weigh very heavily on my conscience."
The Adventure of Buffington Old Grange
1
It was In the spring of 1923 that one of the most extraordinary cases my old friend Solar Pons ever handled came about. Pons had been extremely busy the previous winter and had been absent in Bavaria for some time, engaged in the affair of the archbishop of Metz's candlesticks. Other important cases which claimed his time had been that of the Giant Anaconda, in which the notorious Dashwood, the private zoo keeper had had been sentenced to fifteen years; the Great Copper Alloy Scandal; and the murder of the Honorable Roger Fosdyke on the towpath of the Grand Union Canal, which had aroused such dismay and horror in high places.
Yet of all the notes I kept on Solar Pons's brilliant handling of these affairs, one matter stands out in particular, that of Buffington Grange. There had been showers overnight, and the early view from our windows at 7B Praed Street had presented a chill and damp aspect But the sun shone as I came down to breakfast, and our good-natured landlady, Mrs. Johnson, was beaming with pleasure as she put the covered dishes on our table.
"A fine morning, Doctor, after last night."
"A fine morning indeed, Mrs. Johnson," I said keenly appreciative of the crisp and pleasant aroma of fried bacon and eggs. Mrs. Johnson's smile broadened even further as I rubbed my hands and seated myself at the table.
"Mr. Pons not down yet?" I asked.
Our landlady's eyes widened in surprise.
"Bless you, sir, Mr. Pons has been up for hours. He was out at dawn as I was scrubbing the stove, but said he would join you for breakfast."
I raised my eyebrows, but since Mrs. Johnson did not volunteer any further information I decided to dismiss the matter. No doubt Pons would relieve my curiosity in due course. Indeed, I had no sooner started breakfast and was reaching for my second piece of toast when I heard his light and athletic footstep on the stair.
The door flew open and a disheveled and ruffianly figure erupted into the room. Though I knew it was Pons, I should have been hard put to it to recognize him in the street. He wore a striped jersey and a coarse pair of velveteen trousers such as porters wear. His hair was matted and tangled; dirt streaked his face and a black eye patch over one eye gave him a villainous aspect. He laughed at my expression, revealing a gap-toothed mouth, where he had evidently blacked out several teeth.
"Don't look so dismayed, Parker. I shall wash and change before breakfast."
"I should hope so, Pons," I said with some asperity. "Except that it is the wrong time of year, I could be charitable and suggest that you had been up all night at the Chelsea Arts Ball."
Pons smiled and threw down the canvas holdall he had been carrying.
"Just a small matter of rounding off a few details in a case which had been nagging me of late," he said carelessly. "I have been down to Smithfield Market. It is true that the carcasses came from Surrey. I think that we have our man."
"What on earth are you talking about, Pons?" I said, making decisive inroads into the toast.
"Pray do not bother your head in the matter, Parker."
He rubbed his thin hands briskly together.
"That bacon smells good. Give me five minutes and I will be with you."
I was pouring my second cup of coffee, and only four and a half minutes had passed before a surprisingly transformed Pons sat down opposite me and proceeded to devour the contents of the second heated dish. His face shone with health, his strong teeth were normal, and all the raffish detail had been erased. Even his frock coat looked as though it had just come from St James's.
"Well, Parker," he said, reaching for the coffeepot. "I do declare that the English breakfast is one of the major contributions to civilization in the Western world."
"You may well be right, Pons," I conceded, refilling my own cup.
"Even though there are minor irritations in life," he continued "Such as the failure of the light bulb near the shaving mirror in the bathroom. And your forgetting your new supply of razor blades again."
I put down my fork.
"How did you know that, Pons?"
"I noticed yesterday that the light was fluctuating due to a faulty filament I have not yet shaved this morning due to my little disguise; But when I see that the left-hand side of your face is all stubbled, I conclude that the lamp has finally failed, for it certainly favors the left-hand side. When I further observe that you have cut the right side of your face not once but three rimes, then it is obvious that you have not yet replenished your supply of blades."