I was exasperated to find that my companion had handed me yet another yellowing newspaper from the file of the Melton Chronicle. I first noted another circus announcement, again featuring Madame Mantalini.
"Really, Pons," I said. "I cannot see the point in all these old journals. I hope you have not stolen it from the library."
Pons chuckled.
"Put your mind at rest, my dear fellow. I am keeping well within the law. The librarian had a spare copy of this
issue in the cellar. I shall return it to him when the case is over. Just cast your eyes over it if you would be so good."
I soon saw what he meant. In fact the headlines of the main item were so large that it would have been difficult to have missed them. They occupied nearly half the top of the front page of the newspaper, which was dated 1912. I shot a sharp glance at Pons, who puffed away unconcernedly, his eyes on the ceiling.
The heading read:
TEN YEARS FOR MELTON ROBBERS…
SECRET OF £100,000 BURGLARIES
GOES TO PRISON WITH THEM
And underneath, in smaller type:
Walton and Roberts Defiant as Judge Sentences Them.
Pons remained silent so I read on. The report began: "Mr. Justice Strange sentenced the convicted robbers, John Roberts and Ezekiel Walton to ten years' imprisonment for burglaries in the Melton area totaling £100,000, at Reading Assizes yesterday.
"The convicted men, who confessed to robbing a large number of country estates in Berkshire of cash and valuables, had steadfastly refused to say what they had done with the stolen property. Ezekiel Walton, the elder of the accused and admitted ringleader, defiantly abused the Judge when sentenced and Mr. Justice Strange referred to him as 'one of the most dangerous rogues in England.' Walton's wife, Elizabeth, is also accused of complicity in the crimes but has fled and her whereabouts are not currently known."
I read on in mounting bewilderment, and at length threw the newspaper down. "Interesting, is it not, Parker?'*
"Well, yes, Pons," I said. "But I don't see how it could help us."
"Do you not, Parker? Surely it would give your mind some interesting facts to work on."
"I fear not, Pons. Old robberies and burglars in prison, to say nothing of hanged misers and ancient auctioneers' advertisements, suggest little to me!" Solar Pons shook his head with a wry chuckle. "You may well be right, my dear fellow, but I must just follow this matter through. We shall heed that newspaper
so take good care of it I suggest you turn in early tonight because we may have a long day tomorrow. I am just going to stroll down to the local police station and have a chat with one of their detectives. These people usually have long memories."
"Really, Pons," I said. "Your mind works in peculiar ways, sometimes."
"I cannot deny it," he said with an enigmatic smile. "Meanwhile, just think about things. I am sure all will become clear to you."
And with a mischievous wave of his hand he left the room.
We breakfasted early the next morning and were soon back at our client's home. He had put off his business affairs for a few days, partly because of his wife's health and partly to be at Pons's disposal. When we were closeted alone with Oldfield in his study, Pons came quickly to the point It was a warm, sunny day, and the light spilling in through the mullioned windows gave Pons's lean, feral face an unaccustomed glow.
"I have come to certain conclusions about your case, Mr. Oldfield. So far as I can see there is but one way to resolve it You and your family must leave the house as soon as possible. Can you be ready to travel by tomorrow?"
My own face must have looked as astonished as our client's.
"You cannot be serious, Mr. Pons! I thought you did not believe in ghosts."
Mr. Horace Oldfield's features were the very picture of dismay and apprehension.
"I have not changed my opinion in that respect, Mr. Oldfield. Pray do not distress yourself. The removal is temporary only and entirely for your own good."
The accountant's attitude changed to one of relief. He leaned forward at his desk.
"Ah, I follow you, Mr. Pons. You are on to something?" Solar Pons nodded, rubbing his thin hands together with suppressed excitement.
"I have a theory, Mr. Oldfield. How it will work out I cannot be exactly sure. But to put it into operation, Buffington Old Grange must be absolutely deserted to all intents and purposes."
He held up a warning finger to stop the obvious flow of questions that were on the brink of our client's tongue.
"No one must know of this but ourselves. That is imperative. Not even your wife. All I require is a key of the house, preferably to one of the back doors. Leave the rest to Dr. Parker and myself."
"Delighted, Mr. Pons. Anything to clear up this dreadful mystery. But what about the servants?"
"Everyone must be out, Mr. Oldfield. I do not care what excuse you give. That should not present any great problem."
"No, indeed, Mr. Pons. I could say that we are going on holiday and that the entire place is being redecorated."
Solar Pons shook his head.
"That will not do at all, Mr. Oldfield. An empty house is the only bait that will serve. Well, well, I must leave you. But the servants must take a holiday too."
"Very well, Mr. Pons. Mrs. Salmon has relatives in London to whom she could go. There is no great difficulty about the maid. Her home is in Melton."
"There is no problem about the gardener, I take it?"
"No, Mr. Pons. He lives out. But I cannot very well exclude him from the grounds. He would think it most odd."
"Of course not, Mr. Oldfield."
Solar Pons was silent for a moment, his hand pulling reflectively at the lobe of his ear. Then he turned to me.
"We shall have to risk it, Parker. He will leave the grounds at dusk, I take it?"
"Certainly, Mr. Pons."
"Very well. There is little more to be said. I think the sooner you are out the. better, Mr. Oldfield. Can you be ready by tomorrow afternoon?"
"If you wish it, Mr. Pons."
"That is settled, then. We will leave you to make the necessary arrangements. But I cannot emphasize strongly enough that your entire family must be seen in Melton publicly on the point of departure, whether you go by train or motor car."
It shall be done, Mr. Pons," said our obedient client.
Solar Pons rose and Horace Oldfield fervently shook his hand.
"I trust you implicitly, Mr. Pons, and I am hoping that this black cloud which has been hanging over us will soon be lifted."
"Leave it to us, Mr. Oldfield. Come, Parker. We have much to do before tomorrow, and I must just check our arrangements with the local police. Remember, Mr. Old- field, not a word to anyone about the real purpose of your departure."
And Solar Pons strode out of the room so briskly that I had a great deal of difficulty in keeping up with him.
6
"Everything is going according to plan, Parker."
Solar Pons handed me the binoculars with an approving smile. We had borrowed them from our client, and they were of powerful magnification. Pons and I were sitting on a fallen log in a clearing on a hilltop about half a mile from Buffington Old Grange. From our commanding position, concealed ourselves, we had an excellent view of the road, the surrounding houses, and the Grange itself. I focused the eyepiece and the image of the drive, bluish and sharp in the clear afternoon light, sprang into clarity.
Mrs. Salmon, the housekeeper, accompanied by the maid, was walking down Mr. Oldfield's drive. Both carried suitcases and their steps were evidently bent toward Melton: the housekeeper for the railway station, the girl to her own home. They paused for a while to chat with the gardener, whose wheelbarrow was stationed near the main gates. I watched them for a while, as they resumed their journey, until a bend in the road cut them off.