"It is just a feeling, Pons. Supposing Mr. Smithers did not wish his daughter to marry either Bulstrode or Fernchurch. It would have been an excellent way of disposing of both of them."
Pons puffed steadily at his pipe before replying.
"It is a little farfetched, Parker. Bulstrode had already been removed from the arena and I am sure that a fond parent with his daughter's welfare at heart could well have dissuaded her from marrying Fernchurch if he had been so minded. The engagement had already been broken off once, remember. However, it is a possibility which we should not exclude…"
He broke off as Fernchurch himself appeared beneath the archway. He hurried toward us immediately.
"I have just been talking to my fiancée, Mr. Pons. She is deeply grateful for what you have done. She is eager to meet you and answer any questions you may put. I must get home, now but you have only to stop by."
"And where might the young lady live, Mr. Fernchurch?"
Our client looked embarrassed.
"I am sorry, Mr. Pons. I took it for granted you knew. Miss Smithers and her father live in quarters in the tower, just next to Professor Smithers's office. That is Evelyn's window there, just above us."
"Indeed."
Solar Pons drew back and I followed his glance upward to a large open window about fifty feet from the ground. There was scaffolding above it and below it, and I could see that Pons was inordinately interested for some reason.
"We shall be up in a few minutes, Mr. Fernchurch," he said by way of parting. "I have just one or two more inquiries to make, if you will excuse me."
He watched our client hurry away down the street, his bearing much more erect and confident than it had been when he staggered into our rooms in Praed Street. Pons smiled thinly.
"It seems to me that that young man seems more pleased at regaining his fiancée than in the prospect of having a charge of murder removed from over his head."
"He is young, Pons," I said. "And when one is in love…"
"Tut, Parker. Pray do not cloud the issue with such romantic irrelevancies. Now, just one thing more to do on the ground."
His next procedure puzzled me exceedingly, but I said nothing, watching in silence as he went over to the builders' materials stacked along the base of the wall. He selected a piece of sacking and carried it out from the wall, first craning his neck up to look at the battlements far above, then adjusting the sacking on the ground. When he had folded it to his liking, he secured it firmly with several heavy stones.
His next action seemed more curious than ever, for he proceeded to fill his pockets with small pebbles from a pile in a corner. He chuckled as he caught sight of my expression.
"Come along, Parker. All will be made clear in due course."
We ascended the staircase once again but instead of repairing at once to Professor Smithers's quarters, he led me past the stolid form of the constable and up onto the heights of the tower.
"I shall be a few minutes, Parker. If you have better things to do, pray do them."
I looked at Pons sharply but there was nothing on his face to explain the irony in his voice.
"I will just sit here in the sun and smoke, Pons," I said.
Pons nodded affably.
"No doubt you will find it a three-pipe problem," he said.
And with that he stepped around the tangled mass of builders' material and disappeared from view. I sat down on the large balk of timber once occupied by the unfortunate Fernchurch and set my thoughts roaming in the tangled web in which he found himself. I had been ruminating for some minutes and had been vaguely aware of odd noises from the far side of the tower when a sudden gust of wind drew my attention to the fact that I was becoming chilled. I rose abruptly and moved over to the edge of the battlements. I could not see Pons at first but then made him out, crouched in an embrasure, an intent look on his face.
I quietly crossed to his side, and as I did so the reason for his strange actions on the ground became apparent. The court below was silent and deserted for the moment and as I watched, Pons released a small pebble. It flew true to the dun-colored patch of sacking below, hitting it with a thump before bouncing against the wall.
"Excellent, Pons," I said. "This was evidently the spot from which the hammer was dropped."
"Was it not, Parker," said Pons carelessly, turning away and. brushing his hands. He pulled out the remaining pebbles from his pockets.
"Seven direct hits out of thirty is a fair score under the circumstances, though I commend the size of the sacking to your attention."
He said nothing more, and a few moments later we descended to the landing, where the constable pointed out the door to Professor Smithers's private quarters.
Pons's rap brought a tall, fair-haired girl to the entrance. Her eyes widened when she saw us and her smile was just a little forced.
"Mr. Pons? Mr. Solar Pons? Eustace has been talking to me about you. And this would be Dr. Parker? It really is most good of you to help us in this way."
She held out a slim hand for me to take and ushered us into an oak-paneled hall with a flagstone floor which had evidently once formed part of the ancient castle keep. There were several doors opening off the hall and one of them was ajar. Before Pons could reply, a cadaverous, sour-faced individual In a rusty black frock coat darted from the sitting room beyond, with an irritated expression on his face.
"Not 'us,' Evelyn. How many times must I tell you Young Fernchurch is on his own."
Professor Smithers, for it was evidently the castle curator, came toward us blinking shortsightedly. He shook hands with Pons and myself in a distinctly chilly manner,
"You must forgive my apparent bad manners, Mr. Pons, but we have been greatly plagued of late. Not only Inspector Fitzjohn but police officers of every type and description, some of them hardly civil."
He sniffed.
"The press have made so much of this that it has seriously interfered with my work. I hope you are not going to add to my difficulties."
Pons smiled thinly, his sharp eyes taking in every detail of the ill-assorted couple before us.
"I do not think you need worry, Professor Smithers. Publicity is not my forte, as my friend Dr. Parker here will tell you. And I have been retained privately by Mr. Fernchurch. I fancy the official police would hardly care to acknowledge my presence here."
Professor Smithers slightly unbent and relaxed his glacial manner.
"In that case, Mr. Pons, we are at your disposal. Though I fear I shall be able to help you very little. My daughter knows a good deal more about it."
"Indeed."
Pons looked politely at the girl, and there was an awkward pause until our host became aware that we were still standing in the hall
"We will be more comfortable in the sitting room, gentlemen. Please forgive me."
The girl preceded us into a magnificent apartment, which was lined from floor to ceiling on the far wall with leather- bound books. At the left a stone fireplace contained a massive log fire. Elsewhere the stone walls had been plastered, and in place of the bleak flags of the hall outside, waxed floorboards reflected the flames of the fire. On the far right the wall was curved, evidently forming part of the tower we had observed from outside, and a large curved window was obviously the same one we had seen from below. A quick glimpse at the scaffolding outside confirmed that this was so.
Professor Smithers went to stand impatiently by the fireplace while we seated ourselves on a low divan facing him. After a brief hesitation the girl sat in a high, straightback chair, placed so that she could observe both us and her father. To my eyes she seemed nervous and ill at ease.
"I will not keep you long," said Solar Pons, "and my questions are mainly directed to Miss Smithers. Your fiancée, Mr. Fernchurch…"