Oldfield's face lit up.
"Come and meet the children, gentlemen."
He led the way into a bright and airy morning room whose dark and low oak beams were offset by the white
walls and light-colored furniture. Two little fair-haired girls were standing shyly inside the door, waiting to be greeted by their father.
"Dulcie, Sally," said Oldfield. "This is Mr. Burton and Captain Parker — two old friends of mind who will be around here for a few days."
The two little girls smiled gravely and then ran forward to embrace their father.
"How do you do, gentlemen?" they chorused, and our client so far forgot his current anxieties as to burst into laughter — a laughter in which pride was mingled with parental affection.
"You will forgive me, I'm sure but I must just run up and look after my wife. The freedom of the house is yours. We lunch in an hour; in the meantime look about as much as you want. If there is anything special you require to know, Mrs. Salmon will be most helpful."
"Thank you, Mr. Oldfield," said Pons. "Come, Parker."
He waited until the children's eager footsteps and the more measured tread of our client had ascended to the first floor and then seized me by the arm
"Gently, friend Parker. I think we will first try the cellars, though I fear the scent may be cold."
He put his hand to his lips and led the way through the morning room in the direction of the kitchen quarters. This was empty for the moment, though dishes and pans were simmering on the big range. The fire damage had long been repaired, but Pons spent some time examining the room, deep in thought, while I stood by, secretly irritated by the melancholy dripping of a tap in the sink.
When he had finished, Pons unlatched the door and led the way into the garden where a light mist was still billowing, though the sun was struggling to break through. He found, as Oldfield had indicated, that thick bushes extended up to the window, and the flagged path would normally have borne no indentation of footprints. We followed the path, which zigzagged through the grounds until it joined the main graveled drive.
"It would have been too easy, Parker," said Pons, creases of concentration appearing on his brow, "let us see what the cellars have to offer."
The third door in the kitchen proved to be the one we sought, and we descended the large stone steps, which evidently belonged to the foundations of the older house. There was a narrow landing lit by a dusty electric bulb and Pons spent some time there. He was particularly interested in the pantry door. I was astonished to see him produce his magnifying glass and study the hinges.
"Freshly greased, I see," he observed. "That is significant, Parker, as I'm sure you will have noted."
"I do not follow you, Pons."
Solar Pons clicked his teeth in a manner I always found irritating.
"Come, Parker, you are not living up to my training. Surely it is elementary. Someone deliberately greased those hinges so that whoever hid in the pantry with murderous intent could open the door and creep silently up on Mr. and Mrs. Oldfield without being detected."
The image Pons conjured up in that dusty place was so sinister and oppressive that I instinctively started back.
"Heavens, Pons! There is a diseased mind at work here!"
Solar Pons smiled grimly.
"Diseased perhaps, but devilishly cunning, Parker. And I think we have come just in time to avert tragedy."
We next descended to the cellar, and Pons spent some time looking through the wine bins and pacing the musty aisles between the ancient pillared archways. There was electric light here also, and he spent some time examining the flagstones. An area of newer cement also interested him, and his alertness and concentration increased, if anything, during this time.
We were returning up the steps when our host himself came hurrying down.
"Lunch is ready, Mr. Pons," he said in low tones. "Have you discovered anything?"
"All in good time, Mr. Oldfield," said Pons with a thin smile. "I have a number of hypotheses but insufficient data. If you are agreeable, I will tour the remainder of the house after lunch. I should also like a word with your wife, if she is strong enough."
"By all means, Mr. Pons."
"Then," said Solar Pons as Oldfield led the way up from the cellars, "friend Parker and I will take a little trip into Melton. I have a mind to undertake some research at the local library."
"Research, Mr. Pons?"
Our host looked astonished.
"I have often found that old newspaper files are an excellent guide to the locality, and Melton seems a most interesting part of Berkshire," said Solar Pons, his smile broadening at the look of dismay and disappointment on Oldfield's face.
He put his hand on the other's arm.
"I am looking for causes, not effects, Mr. Oldfield. A little patience, and a great many things will be made clear."
4
"Now, Parker, let us just hear your views on the strange events which have befallen Mr. and Mrs. Oldfield."
Pons and I were walking across a narrow stone bridge spanning a stream, which meandered across the approaches to the small town of Melton. The sun was shining now and the mist had quite dispersed, the golden rays sparkling on the moisture on the red-tiled roofs of the neat and prosperous community. We had lunched with Oldfield and his daughters in an ancient paneled dining room and, immediately after, Pons had discreetly toured the building while I had remained chatting with Oldfield and his housekeeper, who seemed a highly intelligent and resourceful woman.
We had not spoken of the strange events at Buffington Old Grange and neither had Pons made any direct reference to it until now. I waited until a single-deck omnibus whose destination was Reading had thundered across the bridge, before I again ventured into the road and continued walking toward Melton High Street
"Well, Pons, I must confess none of it makes much sense. The whole thing seems pointless."
"Does it not, Parker. But a pattern is beginning to emerge."
"This nonsense about the miser…" I began, but my companion interrupted me.
"There, Parker, is one of your graver defects, if you do not mind me saying so."
"The legends are preposterous, Pons," I went on. "Hanged men and footsteps on the ceiling…"
"Pshaw, Parker," Pons broke in, his brows knotted in concentration. "Look beneath the legends, man. There is a solid basis of fact. That is why we are going to Melton Library. I find that an hour among the files is highly conducive to the ratiocinative process."
And so saying, he clamped his empty pipe between his teeth and led the way down the busy main shopping street of the bustling little town.
The library itself was surprisingly large, and when Pons produced his card and had it sent in to the chief librarian, we were admitted to an inner room, where there were extensive files of the Melton Chronicle dating back into the mid-nineteenth century. Pons rubbed his hands with satisfaction, selected one of the dustiest of the files, and laid it down on the table.
He looked at me quizzically.
"This may take some time, Parker. There is really no necessity for you to stay. I am sure you have urgent matters of your own to attend to."
"Well, I would like to look around the town, Pons, now that we are here," I said.
Pons's eyes twinkled.
"I understand from the guidebook that they serve an excellent sherry at the Saracen's Head. Give me an hour or so, there's a good fellow."
I left him chuckling dryly to himself and spent an agreeable interval wandering around that pleasant Berkshire town.
I took Pons's advice; both the Saracen's Head and the sherry were extremely good, and I returned to the library a little before three o'clock considerably refreshed both in mind and body. Pons had an expression on his face that I knew well.