"The two men have talked right enough this past week, Mr. Pons," he observed. "But I would like to hear the whole thing from your own lips."
"And so you shall," observed Solar Pons coolly, taking a sip from his glass of port.
"You may recall, Mr. Oldfield, when first you sought my advice, that I then told you I did not hold with ghosts in any shape or form. It was obvious to me from the beginning and before ever I came to Buffington Old Grange,
that a human agency was behind the diabolical happenings within these walls. What interested me even more was the reason for these manifestations."
Solar Pons shot me a penetrating glance from his deep-set eyes.
"You may remember, Parker, that when we examined the cellar I was particularly interested in the patch of light- colored cement. That had special interest for me."
"I must confess its significance had escaped me, Pons," I said. "Though with hindsight I realize its importance."
Pons smiled thinly.
"It was already clear to me, even in Praed Street, that someone wanted possession of Buffington Old Grange. For what purpose was not at that time evident. But the house had been empty for a long period before Mr. and Mrs. Oldfield purchased it, and it seemed logical to assume that something in the house had great interest for a person or persons unknown. Hence the campaign of terror to which the occupants were subjected. And on my arrival it did not take me long to realize that the housekeeper, Mrs. Salmon, was admirably suited to this role.
"She had entree to every part of the house; the whole strings of the manage were in her hands; and she further impressed me as a woman of very great daring and steady nerve."
"Oh come, Pons," I protested. "I saw only a very competent woman devoted to the interests of her employers. Why, she even risked her own life to put out the fire in this very house."
Mr. and Mrs. Oldfield stared at me and even the inspector looked discomposed.
Pons slowly shook his head, a strange smile hovering about his lips.
"That she had first started, Parker. Remember that."
Before I could interject any further remark he went on rapidly.
"My conversations with the maid and the gardener, the only other two members of the domestic staff, quickly convinced me that they could not possibly be responsible. I concentrated therefore on Mrs. Salmon. It was further obvious that some event in the remote past held the key to the bizarre occurrences within this house. It had been empty a long while, so there had been ample opportunity for anyone to explore it in the past. But it became clear as the case progressed that Mr. and Mrs. Oldfield had purchased the property at a time when some exterior event had occurred. To make sense of this I had first to find out what happening in the remote past might be responsible. I therefore consulted the newspaper files at your excellent library, Inspector."
"I begin to see your drift, Pons," I said.
Solar Pons leaned back at the table and tented his fingers, his eyes twinkling as he looked at me.
"Do you not, Parker? Let us just recapitulate. Mrs. Salmon was intent on driving her employers from the house. To do that she deliberately indulged in a campaign of terror which did not shrink from frightening a child half out of her wits and even went on to attempted murder. She capitalized on these old stories of the miser, Jabez Kemp, and his Hanging himself in one of the upper rooms of the property. I'm sure you'll forgive me for mentioning this in front of these children of tender years, Mrs. Old- field?"
Mrs. Oldfield, a handsome woman now quite recovered from the strain of the past months, smiled indulgently.
"Children are more resilient than you might think, Mr. Pons. They are quite absorbed in your narrative, now that they know there is nothing supernatural within these walls."
"There was nothing supernatural, Mrs. Oldfield. Mrs. Salmon was the all-too-human agent. It was she who sprayed the lavender perfume on the landing; she who supplied the whispering and footsteps; she who donned that hideous mask to frighten your children. That was why you heard a guttural voice, Mr. Oldfield. And when that failed to drive you out, she hid in the pantry and tried to push you down the stairs, in turn. Whether either or both of her employers were crippled or killed was a matter of complete indifference to her. She had to drive you out in order to get at that money."
"I quite see that, Pons," I said. "But I don't understand about the fire."
"Elementary, my dear Parker. Mrs. Salmon set it herself. She was the only person who could have done so. The gardener, who was working in front of the house, told me he had seen no one. Mrs. Salmon therefore came back to the house by the kitchen entrance, unseen. She had just lit the paraffin when Mr. Oldfield unexpectedly returned home. She had no option but heroically to attempt to save the property by putting out the blaze herself. In so doing she undoubtedly genuinely burned herself, which added to the verisimilitude of the story she told Mr. Oldfield, of an intruder."
"But what was the point, Pons?"
Solar Pons clicked his tongue again.
"If the house were destroyed, Parker, Mr. and Mrs. Old- field and their family would have to leave. Whether permanently or for a few months made no difference. The fire would not affect the cellars. If Buffington Old Grange had been gutted, all the gang had to do when the fuss had died down would be to move in one dark night and remove the stolen money."
"And the voices, Mr. Pons?" said Oldfield. "We heard strange voices. They were not hallucination."
"Mrs. Salmon was a woman of many parts," said Pons dryly. "She had been an acrobat, a ventriloquist, and a circus performer among other things. I found that out from a perusal of the newspaper files, and an old photograph of her as Madame Mantalini clinched the matter. To a trained ventriloquist the thing would be child's play. As soon as I arrived at the house, I saw that the voice you heard on the porch that dark night, Mr. Oldfield, could easily have emanated from the open kitchen window farther along. All Mrs. Salmon — or rather, Mrs. Elizabeth Walton — had to do was to wait in the darkened kitchen until you returned and put your key in the door."
"You keep saying Mrs. Walton, Pons."
"That was self-evident from the newspaper files, Parker. A series of daring robberies in the Melton area ten or eleven years ago was the most startling and outstanding event which had happened in this quiet place this century. Apart from the death of the recluse in this house. I soon saw from the newspaper account that there was nothing unusual in the old man's suicide. Instead, I concentrated on the robberies. John Roberts and Ezekiel Walton, two of the most desperate rascals who ever embarked on house-breaking exploits were the culprits. Walton was married to Madame Mantalini — or Mrs. Salmon as you knew her, Mr. Oldfield. The trio traveled the country with fairs and circuses, Madame Mantalini providing the facade of circus performer, while the other two worked as stevedores. We have that from their own lips. I soon saw from the advertisements in the local newspaper that the fair or circus had played in the vicinity of Melton when country houses were robbed. The trio would first familiarize themselves with the new district, mark down a particular house, and commit the burglary on the last night they were in the neighborhood. By the time the crime was discovered, the circus would be miles away."
I see, Pons!" I said. "I should have paid more attention to those advertisements."
Solar Pons exchanged a slow smile with Inspector Oldale.
"Do not blame yourself, Parker. I already knew what I was looking for before I ever went to the library. The gang had their biggest haul at Melton when the fair played here again. They had marked out the empty house as an ideal cache. They spent the night concealing their booty and cementing it into its cellar hiding place, while the country was turned upside down for them. But later they were caught and sent to prison for ten years, though Mrs. Walton disappeared."