He stopped to take another sip of the port before resuming.
"The people hereabouts had only seen her in makeup as a fair or circus performer. It was a simple matter for her to change her name, personality, and identity and find work in the area as a housekeeper."
"She was watching the Grange to see that no one disturbed the money, Pons!"
"Exactly, Parker. Which she did admirably. She was an extremely patient woman. Imagine her dismay when Mr. and Mrs. Oldfield bought the house and commenced to renovate it. But being a woman of great resources and nerve, she did not despair. She knew the new owners would need someone to run the place and with her excellent local references she was first on the scene to offer her services as housekeeper and to prepare the tragicomedy."
"But why did she wait so long, Pons?" I said.
Solar Pons shook his head.
"The men were still in prison, Parker. She could do nothing until they were released. I called on Bancroft who obtained some Home Office information for me. Walton and Roberts were released a year ago."
"Exactly the time the ghostly manifestations began?" I said.
Solar Pons nodded.
"Mr. and Mrs. Oldfield did not take a holiday the first year they were at the Grange. There was too much to do. That gave me a vital clue. The check with Bancroft revealed the men's release date. They waited a while until the occupants should go away on holiday. The Oldfields, however, showed no inclination to do so and hence the conspirators had no alternative but to then begin the campaign to drive them out."
"Which led me to seek your advice, Mr. Pons," said Horace Oldfield fervently. "It was the most sensible thing I have done in my life."
"Well, well, Mr. Oldfield," said Pons soberly. "It had been a terrifying experience but all has come right in the end. Justice has been done and more than done in the case of Mrs. Walton, who would undoubtedly have killed one of you if it had not been for a merciful providence. I hope that it has not put you off living at Buffington Old Grange?"
Oldfield exchanged a long look with his wife.
"It has certainly not done that, Mr. Pons. I am sure we shall be very happy here now."
"There, Parker," said Solar Pons. "We have achieved something at least. I for one will remain extremely content with that."
He leaned forward and raised his glass in a silent toast to our host and hostess.
"And it will be good to get Dr. Parker Spruce and tidy again."
I stared at him in bewilderment.
"I am not sure I know what you mean, Pons."
Solar Pons chuckled. He held out his hand to me and placed something in my palm. It was a packet of new razor blades.
The Adventure of the Hammer of Hate
1
"A fine day, Parker."
My old friend, Solar Pons, rubbed his thin hands briskly as he sat down to breakfast in our comfortable bachelor quarters at 7B Praed Street
"Exceedingly, for the time of year, Pons," I agreed.
Though it was January, the weather had been extremely mild and a strong sun shone redly on the hatless and somewhat bewildered throngs of pedestrians in the street below, who were obviously unaccustomed to such benevolence on the part of London weather.
"Crocuses already out at Kew."
I looked at Pons suspiciously, conscious of the faint smile lurking about his lips.
"You seem to have a remarkable interest in horticultural matters, Pons, if you don't mind me saying so."
Solar Pons cracked an egg with delicate precision and put his spoon fastidiously into the white.
"Ah, Parker, if you had been communing with nature as I have been recently, you would not think it quite so remarkable. My vigil in the Paxton greenhouses and my subsequent apprehension of Mullett have made me more appreciative of the extraordinary flora of this planet"
Light broke at last
"You mean this business of the Kew murder and the arrest of the head keeper, Pons. I thought the deductive reasoning behind it too brilliant for Jamison. I did not know you had been retained."
"I had to work in the utmost secrecy, Parker. And my innate modesty prevented me from taking any credit in the public press. I was content to leave the official limelight to our old friend, Inspector Jamison."
"You are too generous sometimes, Pons," I said.
Solar Pons smiled diffidently, leaning forward to pour himself coffee from the silver-plated pot.
"Perhaps, Parker. It is kind of you to say so. But what have we here?"
He sat forward in a familiar attitude, and a moment later I caught what his keen senses had already discerned, the beat of running footsteps in the street below. Then there came a crash as the front door slammed and the scrambling rush of someone in a tremendous hurry on the staircase.
The door suddenly burst open without so much as a knock and a disheveled figure almost fell forward onto the breakfast table. I sat with my coffee cup poised halfway to my lips, staring in astonishment at a young man, hatless and coatless, who glared at us with wild eyes.
"Mr. Solar Pons? You must help me, Mr. Pons. I am the unhappy Eustace Fernchurch. I tell you, sir, that I did not commit the murder!"
Solar Pons had risen from his seat, a half-smile on his face, and now went forward to proffer a chair to our agitated visitor.
"Pray compose yourself, Mr. Fernchurch. You have the advantage of me. No, it is all right, Mrs. Johnson."
The alarmed figure of our landlady had appeared in the doorway, but on being reassured by Pons, withdrew with a worried look at the young man slumped in the chair. He looked gray and exhausted, and I rose to offer him a cup of coffee, which he accepted with an expression of mute thanks in his hunted eyes.
"Now, Mr. Fernchurch," said Pons; reseating himself and gazing intently at the pitiful figure before us. "You seem to think that we should know you."
"I should have thought the whole world would have known me by this morning," said Fernchurch bitterly. "It was in all the newspapers."
"Ah," said Pons. "We have not yet perused them. It is only a quarter past eight. You took an early morning train, then?"
Our visitor looked startled. He put down his coffee cup and struggled up in his chair with a somewhat more animated air.
"You know me, Mr. Pons?"
My companion shook his head.
"But you still have a return ticket clutched in your right hand. If I am not mistaken, it is one issued by the London and Northeastern Railway. If you have come from the north, it naturally follows that you took a train at an early hour to arrive in London at this time."
Fernchurch appeared to recollect himself, shook his head painfully once or twice, and put the ticket slowly in his pocket.
"You are perfectly correct, Mr. Pons. I caught the express as soon as I knew the police were dosing the net around me."
Solar Pons made a little clicking noise with his tongue. He tented his long, sensitive fingers before him and looked at our visitor expectantly.
"That was extremely unwise, Mr. Fernchurch, if you will allow me to say so. The British police, though they may sometimes be slow and occasionally obtuse, are seldom corrupt in their larger workings. If you are innocent, as you say you are, you will have little to fear."
Our visitor shook his head again.
"You do not know the circumstances, Mr. Pons. Everything is against me. The whole town thinks I killed Bulstrode. I had to flee."
"And by so doing, proved your guilt in the eyes of the world," said Pons crisply. "Indiscreet, Mr. Fernchurch. However, it is past mending now. You must just tell me your story, and we will see what we can do to right things as we go along."