"A very beautiful young lady, Pons," I replied cautiously.
"Is she not? I fancy young Fernchurch is not out of the wood there yet, unless I am very much mistaken."
"What on earth do you mean, Pons?"
"Nothing," said my companion carelessly, drawing on his pipe. "But she does not seem unduly concerned at her fiancée’s plight."
I sat back in my chair and scratched my head.
"Your line of investigation has succeeded only in confusing me, Pons. Instead of one suspect we now appear to have several. Young Fernchurch had ample opportunity and motive to drop that hammer on his rival's head. Yet you seem convinced that he did not do it."
Solar Pons nodded, his head wreathed in blue smoke.
"Correct, Parker."
"Then you have opened my eyes to other possibilities," I went on. "For example, it seems obvious that Professor Smithers himself could have crossed the landing and have gained the tower by way of the scaffolding without being seen."
Solar Pons chuckled, looking at me approvingly.
"Splendid, Parker. Do continue. You must not leave Miss Smithers out. Her window directly overlooks the scene of the crime."
I stared at my companion in silence for a moment.
"Good heavens, Pons! You surely cannot mean…"
Pons wrinkled his brows and his eyes were serious.
"The female mind is complex and convoluted, Parker. I do not exclude anything for the moment. I am about to investigate yet a fourth possibility. And if I am not mistaken, here is my man now."
As he spoke, the door of the lounge was cautiously opened and a small, rather roughly dressed man came blinking in. He stopped before us, looking from one to the other.
"Mr. Solar Pons? Jethro Dobbs at your service, gentlemen. The hotel porter brought me a message that you wished to see me."
"Indeed, Mr. Dobbs. Won't you take a seat? Let me order you a drink. This is my friend, Dr. Lyndon Parker."
"That's very kind of you, sir. A pint of bitter if you please."
The little man sank into a chair opposite me and sat looking at me silently until Pons had brought the drink over to him. He drank greedily, as though he had not tasted liquid for a month. He put the tankard down on the oak table in front of him with a grunt of satisfaction.
"That's better, gentlemen. How can I help you, sir?"
"There is a good deal of gossip in the town, Mr. Dobbs, over the death of the late Mr. Bulstrode. I understand you were in his employ and that you had a tremendous row some weeks before his death."
The little man's eyes were bright and he paused in drawing his sleeve across his mouth.
"That's right," he said evenly. "Only I don't see as how you could know about it"
"It is common gossip, Mr. Dobbs," said Pons easily. "Would you care to tell us about it?"
"It's no great secrecy," said Dobbs bitterly. "I'm one of the best masons in the business and I should think I know my work."
"Indeed," said Pons soothingly. "You are well spoken of in the town as a craftsman. I trust you found a new position easily enough."
The little man brightened.
"Oh, I'm all right now, Mr. Pons. But it rankled, sir, it rankled. Fired me offhand. Never known a man with such a foul temper."
He looked cautiously round the bar.
"I'm not one to speak ill of the dead, but I'm glad Sebastian Bulstrode has gone. Do you know what happened, sir?"
Pons shook his head.
"I'd just finished a section of wall at the base of the tower. Beautiful job. As fine as you could see within a hundred miles. Then Bulstrode came around. He was in a towering rage. He found fault with everything I'd done. The cement was still wet. He got his hammer, the special one with the crowbar handle, and pulled the whole thing to pieces. Made me mad, I can tell you."
Pons's whole expression was one of alertness and engrossed attention now.
"Did he indeed! Do go on, Mr. Dobbs."
He tugged at the lobe of his ear and fixed our visitor with piercing eyes.
"Nothing much else to tell, Mr. Pons. We had words. High words, I might say. At the end of it he told me to go to the office and get my money. It was a relief, really. Nasty man to work for. Constant tension and upsets. Is that what you wanted to know, sir?"
Pons smiled.
"Exactly, Mr. Dobbs. I have learned more than I could possibly have hoped for. Eh, Parker?"
"Certainly, Pons," I said, trying to keep the bewilderment from my voice.
"You have been most helpful, Mr. Dobbs. Here is a pound for your trouble."
"Many thanks, Mr. Pons."
Our visitor eagerly grasped the note my companion handed him, drained the last of his beer and hurried out with a friendly smile.
Pons chuckled and sat back on his seat.
"What do you make of that, Parker?"
I shook my head.
"I must confess that I am more confused than ever, Pons. This man had as big a motive for killing Bulstrode as anyone else."
"Did he not? This affair becomes more interesting by the minute. But let us just step up to the bar here. We may learn something further to our advantage. There is nothing like small-town gossip for getting at the heart of the matter."
And with that he led the way to the crowded bar at the far end of the room. We refilled our glasses, and I glanced around the lounge while Pons exchanged pleasantries with the hotel manager, who had just come in to confer with one of the barmen.
"Oh, it is six of one and half a dozen of the other," said a loud voice behind me. "There was no love lost between the two men. I hear Fernchurch came near to knocking Bulstrode down on one occasion."
The man addressed, a red-faced character with a thick mustache gave a broad wink.
"Chancing his arm against a man of Bulstrode's size, wasn't he?"
The first man sniggered.
"He thought better of it. Backed away, I hear. But a hammer dropped from the castle walls would do just as well, I reckon."
There was another snigger and the two men moved away. The manager's face was grave.
"I must apologize for that, gentlemen. People will talk, unfortunately."
He shook his head.
"Murder in Maldon! Who would have thought it Such a thing is very bad for the tourist trade, gentlemen."
"I can well believe it," said Pons, gently commiserating. His left eyelid twitched momentarily at me as he took a pull at his glass.
I must confess I was more confused than ever when I went to bed that evening.
7
I was up early in the morning but Pons was earlier still. It was a fine, bright morning, the sun shining and still surprisingly mild for January, especially in the north. He came into the breakfast room just as I was sitting down at our table, his face fresh and alert, as though he had taken a long walk. He rubbed his lean hands together briskly.
"Exercise clears the brain wonderfully, Parker. I have just been for a short promenade around the castle. There is one piece which will not quite fit into place."
"You surprise me, Pons," I murmured, pouring the coffee. "I have a thousand pieces and nowhere to put any of them."
Solar Pons smiled thinly.
"The ratiocinative art continues to elude you, Parker. Ah, well, we are all built differently. But you are a wonderfully stimulating companion."
"Kind of you to say so, Pons," I muttered.
"I have asked Fitzjohn and Fernchurch to join us after breakfast. Light begins to break through. They will meet us at the tower at half-past nine."
And he said no more but attacked his breakfast with gusto.
As we walked up to the castle afterward, I could not resist saying to my companion, "I have another theory, Pons. One that should not be discounted."
Pons stopped momentarily, shielding his pipe from a light wind which had suddenly sprung up.