“Remarkable, Mr Pons,” Canon Stacey murmured. “But I still cannot understand what they meant by talking about a killing.”
Superintendent Heathfield shook his head.
“I have gone into that, Canon. Hobbs tells me they were discussing the robbery in the cathedral that night. Blakeney, his companion, a desperate and hardened criminal, was merely stating that he would kill Kramer if he betrayed them.”
“But what did you put in your coded note, Pons, to bring things to a climax last night?”
Solar Pons turned to me, a faint smile on his face.
“The message purported to come from Kramer. It merely said that they would have to move at midnight if they were to get them away. Fortunately, the two convicts were able to discover the whereabouts of the money by that time and they were too busy arguing among themselves over the division of the spoils to realise that a third party had intervened in their affairs.”
He looked around the little circle, his eyes dancing with strange lights.
“A case not without its interesting points, Parker.”
He chuckled.
“Perhaps you will still be able to find time for that fly-tying device which has lain so long unused in your pocket.”
He turned back to the assembled company.
“And now, gentlemen, if you will give me your glasses, it is my round I think.”
The Adventure of the Phantom Face
1
It was a day of heavy hoar frost in early January, the sky bleak and louring and I had just come in to our cosy chambers at 7B Praed Street as dusk fell, having finished a hard afternoon’s rounds. Our admirable landlady Mrs Johnson had a roaring fire going in the hearth and I slumped down in front of it without removing my coat, conscious only of the circulation slowly being restored to my frozen hands.
It was near the hour of tea and I lay back in pleasant anticipation of the hot crumpets and other delicacies which would shortly be ascending to our quarters, borne by our gracious hostess. I was lost in these admirable day-dreams when I became aware of a strange thumping sound which had started up from one side of the room. It seemed to emanate from my friend Solar Pons’ bedroom and as it continued the floor began to creak and the volume of noise reached alarming proportions.
I walked over and tapped on the door but on receiving no reply, threw it open. I was astonished to see my friend leaning over a recumbent figure on the bed, belabouring it savagely with a walking cane. He turned a smiling countenance to my astonished features.
“Good afternoon, my dear Parker! It must be rather cold and inclement without.”
“But warm enough in here, Pons,” I said, glancing at his shirt-sleeved form. “Particularly with such violent exercise.”
He chuckled and I followed his gaze down to the bed. I now saw that what he had been maltreating so violently was nothing more than a bolster from his bed, round which his old smoking jacket had been wrapped. He detached the jacket from the pillow and threw the cane down with a grunt.
“It was a foregone conclusion,” he said, examining the marks on the material carefully. “Undoubtedly the jacket had been replaced after the man was beaten to death. This final verification will put the last nail in the coffin of Mr Ebeneezer Grunwin, I fancy.”
“I wish I knew what you were talking about, Pons,” I said, unable to keep the irritation from rising in my voice. Solar Pons looked at me quickly, resuming his maltreated jacket, his lean, feral features alive with suppressed energy.
“Pray do not disturb yourself about it, Parker. Merely a little problem in which our old friend Inspector Jamison has sought my advice. The East End is well rid of another scoundrel.”
He led me back into the sitting room, rubbing his thin hands together before crossing to his favourite chair by the fire.
“I see you have had a busy afternoon, Parker.”
“Indeed, Pons.”
“A long walk too.”
“That is correct.”
“As far as Aldgate I notice.”
I stared at Pons in astonishment.
“How could you possibly know that, Pons?”
“Because the road is up there, Parker, and the whole area in a devilish mess. They are using tar and a peculiar mixture of a distinctive reddish sand in their preparation of the road surface. When I see such an amalgam on your own toe-caps it is fairly safe to assume you had been Aldgate way for I know of no other public works currently taking place in the capital using this somewhat original mixture.”
“You are right, as always, Pons,” I said grudgingly, taking off my overcoat and sitting down opposite him. Before he could reply there was the sedate and welcome tread of Mrs Johnson on the stairs. She popped her bright, well-scrubbed face round the door-panel with a cheerful smile.
“I thought I heard you come in, Dr Parker, and felt you would not be averse to high-tea on such a cold day.”
“You are certainly correct, Mrs Johnson,” I observed, pulling up to the table.
“We have both taken a good deal of exercise this afternoon.”
Solar Pons chuckled throatily.
“You are developing a pretty wit, Parker. But you are not so far wide of the truth. I have been down river and deucedly cold it was. I only came in myself an hour ago.”
He looked sharply at our landlady as she bustled about the table.
“Is there any sign of the visitor I expected, Mrs Johnson?” A shadow passed across our landlady’s face.
“I am sorry, Mr Pons. I quite forgot to tell you. He called in the early afternoon and was disappointed to find you from home. I suggested he might come again at seven o’clock and he said that would be quite convenient.”
“Excellent, Mrs Johnson. I shall be in all evening and would be grateful if you would show him up as soon as he arrives.” “If you wish I can withdraw after tea, Pons,” I offered. My companion shook his head.
“It will not be necessary, Parker. Mr Michael Balfour has an interesting problem, it appears, and I should be glad of your advice and support.”
“You are surely joking, Pons,” I said, my mouth half full of hot, buttered toast, as Mrs Johnson left the room.
Solar Pons shook his head, pouring tea from the old stoneware pot.
“You under-estimate your gifts, my dear fellow. I derive a good deal of benefit from your homely summings-up of the little problems that come my way from time to time.”
“I know my limitations, Pons,” I added, reaching out for my cup. “Who is this Mr Balfour?”
“He wrote me yesterday from Bredewell House which, assuming my gazetteer is accurate, is in a somewhat remote spot in Essex. He is bothered by a phantom face, it appears.”
He chuckled drily at my expression.
“Those were the exact words he used in his letter, Parker.” “Good heavens, Pons,” I spluttered. “I did not know you had taken up investigating psychic phenomena.”
“And neither have I, Parker,” Solar Pons said crisply. “I fancy there is something a little more down to earth behind it.” “What makes you say that, Pons?”
“Because phantom faces do not kill, Parker, and this thing has killed, apparently.”
“You do not mean to say so, Pons!”
“I was never more serious, Parker.”
My companion put down his cup and looked at me closely, his deep-set eyes glinting with strange lights.
“An apparition so horrific, Parker, that a country gentleman collapsed and died upon seeing it. At least, if we are to believe the stories in the current newspapers.”
“I have not seen them, Pons.”
“That is because your mind is not attuned to the bizarre as is mine, my dear fellow. Kindly pass me that Times from the table yonder.”