"You were all out, then?"
"That is correct, Mr. Pons. My wife and children had gone to see relatives. The gardener was on the grounds, it is true, but he saw no one about. It was the maid's day off and Mrs. Salmon — that is the housekeeper — had gone to Melton shopping. She discovered the fire on her return and I arrived a short while after."
Solar Pons made an odd little clicking noise with his tongue and sat forward in his chair.
"It is a pity you did not call the fire brigade, Mr. Old- field."
Our client looked bewildered.
"I do not quite follow, Mr. Pons."
"They are highly expert at detecting the causes of fire."
"Oh, there was no doubt about that, Mr. Pons. There was a half-empty gallon can of paraffin in the kitchen, and an opened box of matches on the floor. The arsonist had made his escape by the back door. There is thick shrubbery nearby, and he could have had cover all the way to the edge of the grounds."
"I see."
Solar Pons pulled at the lobe of his ear again and shot me a piercing glance.
"What do you make of it, Parker?"
"Ghosts do not use paraffin and matches, Pons."
"My opinion exactly, Parker. This is part of a campaign against you, Mr. Oldfield, undoubtedly."
"In truth we did not know what to think, Mr. Pons," said our visitor earnestly. "My wife had read of poltergeist activities and was convinced it was all part of the same manifestations."
"She was undoubtedly right What other events have occurred recently?"
"Voices in the night, Mr. Pons. Whispering and footsteps. But last night something terrible occurred. Something so awful that I decided to come to see you. My wife had been to the cellar for a bottle on this occasion. She had got to the head of the steps when the pantry door silently opened in her face."
Our client's voice had dropped to a whisper and beads of perspiration were starting out on his forehead.
"Imagine her terror, Mr. Pons, when a hideous visage, gray corpselike, was thrust into her own. She was so terrified that she screamed and started backward. She fell down the steps, Mr. Pons. By a miracle, only a week before, I had placed some wicker hamper baskets and some straw as packing for the bottles in the well of the staircase. These broke her fall and she was unharmed apart from shock and bruising. But she is so upset by this that she is still in bed under the care of our family doctor."
Pons had risen rapidly to his feet and was knocking out his pipe on the fender.
This is something which cannot wait, Mr. Oldfield. You have done well to come to me. I will return with you immediately to Buffington Old Grange."
He looked at me, his face alert and alive, his eyes bright and piercing.
"I suggest your razor blades can wait, Parker. Are you free to come? You will need your revolver. Though ghosts are impervious to bullets, I fancy Mr. Oldfield's apparitions may prove to be of rather more solid construction."
I rose from the table.
"Give me three minutes, Pons, and I am your man."
3
Buffington Old Grange proved to be only a few minutes' drive from the village of Melton and since our client had his own car waiting at the station, we arrived at our destination well before lunch. Oldfield had offered to accommodate us at his house, but Pons declined and we first stopped at the Crown Inn, a pleasant hostelry in the village, and secured rooms for the next few days. Our initial view of the Grange was unprepossessing indeed.
Our client's story had prepared us for something somber but I was startled at the strange house which rose out of the thin mist which blanketed this part of Berkshire. The grounds were considerable and well-kept, but the woodlands and the great banks of rhododendrons gave them a gloomy aspect. The house itself, timbered and with dark stone, had fantastic turrets and curious crenellated towers which had been added to the original ancient Tudor structure in the nineteenth century, said Oldfield.
We got out before a large, oak-timbered porch, which made a sort of gallery and sheltered the massive oak front door from the weather. Pons looked keenly about him.
"This is the place where you had your unpleasant experiences with the voice?" "Indeed, Mr. Pons."
Pons's manner was transformed now that he was on the scene of our client's bizarre and horrific adventures. He crossed swiftly to the porch and went rapidly up and down it, his keen eyes observing the details closely. Oldfield and I stood near the front door, our client obviously absorbed by my companion's manner. Pons stopped by some lattice windows at the far end of the gallery.
"What apartment is this, Mr. Oldfield?"
"The kitchens, Mr. Pons. It is a curiously constructed house."
"So I see. Well, there is little more to be learned here. We may as well go inside."
We were met in the dark, paneled hall by a striking- looking woman of about fifty, with jet-black hair coiled at the back of her head.
"The doctor has just been again, Mr. Oldfield. Your wife is resting comfortably."
"Thank you, Mrs. Salmon. These are old friends of mine, Mr. Burton and Captain Parker."
These were sobriquets Pons had insisted on in the train coming down, and now I observed the approval in his eyes as our client introduced us in this manner. The housekeeper, who was smartly dressed in a tweed suit, gave us a half-bow.
"Delighted to meet you, gentlemen. Will you be staying?"
Pons shook his head.
"We are in the neighborhood for a few days only, at a hotel in Melton."
"Very well, Mr. Oldfield. Lunch will be ready in an hour."
Pons held up his hand and drew the housekeeper to one side.
"Mr. Oldfield has been telling us something of the strange goings-on in this house. Tell me, Mrs. Salmon, what do you think about the matter?"
The tall woman had a faint smile on her lips.
"I do not believe in ghosts, Mr. Burton. Old houses make strange noises, and I am sure Mr. Oldfield will forgive me if I say that both he and Mrs. Oldfield are sensitive people."
"And the perfume on the landing."
Mrs. Salmon shrugged.
have smelled it, it is true. It is a very pleasant odor. Perhaps there was once a linen closet there and the aroma of the sachets lingers."
Pons gave the housekeeper an approving look from his deep-set eyes.
"You are a sensible woman, Mrs. Salmon. But what of the fire in the kitchen quarters?"
A shadow crossed the housekeeper's face.
"Ah, that is a different question, Mr. Burton. It could have been serious had I not been at hand. There has been much vandalism around Melton in the past two or three years."
"Well, well, you may be right," said Pons with a shrug. "Thank you, Mrs. Salmon."
He turned to our host as the housekeeper's footsteps died out across the hall.
"There goes a very practical woman, Mr. Oldfield"
Oldfield laughed
"I don't know what we would do without her, Mr. Pons. She has been a great help in our present troubles. In fact we have minimized the problems since we did not want her to think us hysterical or over-fanciful. I told her Mrs. Old- field had tripped on the cellar steps and did not mention the incident concerning myself. Grace, our other servant, is very nervous and easy to upset and there was no point in creating a fuss."
"Very wise, Mr. Oldfield. Grace has seen nothing?"
Oldfield shook his head.
"Nothing, Mr. Pons. I should have heard of it otherwise.
"That is somewhat curious, I would suggest, Parker," added Pons, turning to me. "I commend it to your attention."
We were interrupted by a sudden scurrying of feet in the passage.