“This is the only catch to the bottom central window?”
“Yes, Mr Pons. It is supposedly burglar-proof. As I intimated, Uncle Charles did not have too complicated a system here, as he liked to open the window to speak to visitors.”
“So I believe. You have shutters inside, I see.”
“That was another of my uncle’s eccentricities, Mr Pons. They are of teak, reinforced with steel, as you will observe. They were always closed and secured with the patent steel bars fitted, before the household retired.”
“Would you open the window for me, please.”
Balfour stepped forward and made two complex movements with his right hand on the shining steel catch at the top of the window.
“It is a two-stage lock on top, Mr Pons. These were fitted during the past year.”
“Hmm. Presumably, after your uncle received the threats?” “It could be so, Mr Pons.”
Again the troubled look on the nephew’s face.
“Let me just try this.”
Pons leaned forward and slid the window up. It went easily and I noticed there were steel runners at the sides, which appeared to be liberally greased.
“They make no noise, either.”
“That is correct, Mr Pons. Now just see what happens when you close the window.”
Pons pulled at the lower sash. The cold air and thin streamers of fog which had been wreathing into the room was cut off immediately as the window slid smoothly home, with a barely audible hiss.
“Now try and open the window, Mr Pons.”
Balfour smiled as Pons struggled to raise the casement. Even by manipulating the catch and exerting all his strength he was unable to make the window budge.
“It is simple once you know the knack, Mr Pons. It is nothing more than these two small buttons, operated first in clockwise and then anti-clockwise directions, which release the internal bolts.”
Pons did as our host directed and after a moment or so the window slid open. Pons closed it again, dusted his hands and drew the deep red curtains.
“Excellent,” he said drily. “It has just proved one of my tentative theories.”
“That Mr Boldigrew could not have been touched by anyone outside the window, Pons?”
“Perhaps, Parker.”
My companion was silent for a moment. Then he seemed to recollect himself, going soft-footed about the elegant room, now and again taking down a book. He sat at the desk for a while and measured the distance between it and the window. He turned to me.
“Pray be good enough to go to the window, Parker. Just stand behind the curtain for a moment and tap on the glass.” “Behind the curtain, Pons?”
Solar Pons smiled at my expression.
“If you please, my dear fellow.”
I did as he suggested, feeling a slight crawling of the scalp as soon as I got behind the curtain and saw the blanket of oily fog curling against the glass. I drew the curtain to behind me and rapped three times sharply on the glass.
“Excellent, Parker. Your signal is clearly audible from the desk, even with the curtains closed.”
I regained the room and crossed to my companions. Balfour had stood, a silent and worried figure, all the while, saying nothing, though his eyes anxiously searched my companion’s face. Solar Pons sat on at the desk, his thin fingers tented on the red leather surface before him.
“The sequence seems quite clear. Mr Boldigrew was seated at the desk or was at least somewhere between the desk and the shelves by the window. If he had been any farther into the room he would have been unlikely to have heard the sort of taps friend Parker just made. He crossed to the window, drew the curtains back…”
“Saw this horrible face and collapsed,” I said. “Mr Balfour heard the fall from the staircase outside and rushed in.”
“Thank you for your expert reconstruction of events, Parker,” said Solar Pons blandly, searching in his pocket for his pipe.
“You think the thing tapped to attract his attention, Pons?”
“It is entirely likely, Parker. We have heard that the gentleman was in mortal fear and it seems fairly obvious that he would keep the study window curtained after dark. If the shutters had been drawn over the windows, he would not have heard any tapping or, indeed, have been able to hear the sound. Mr Balfour, who did not have the window curtained did not hear any tapping when the face appeared to him.”
“That is so, Mr Pons,” put in young Balfour. “Though my uncle kept strong precautions so far as locking and bolting the door were concerned, he would not secure the shutters until late at night, just before retiring. He felt too enclosed, otherwise.”
“I am surprised,” I said. “He had turned the house into a fortress.”
“Indeed, Parker,” said Solar Pons quietly. “I believe you said, Mr Balfour, that the entire estate devolves upon you now that Mr Boldigrew is dead?”
Balfour pursed his lips.
“On me entirely, Mr Pons. As I have said, the sum involved is considerable. We have not yet gone into it because it is too soon after my uncle’s death. Indeed, he was only buried last week.”
“Just so,” said Solar Pons softly.
Our client again appeared troubled in his expression.
“His lawyer, Mr Sainsbury, would no doubt be pleased to elucidate further, Mr Pons.”
“All in good time, Mr Balfour,” said Solar Pons quietly, drawing on the stem of his pipe.
We were sitting so when there was a deferential tapping at the study door which made our client jump. A moment later Mrs Bracegirdle had appeared in the opening.
“Dr Sherlock has called, Mr Balfour. He knew you were due back tonight and wanted to know if there was anything he could do to help.”
“He has already done quite enough for the household,” said her employer. “But we should be pleased to see him just the same.
“He is waiting in the drawing room, sir.”
Just tell him we shall be along directly.”
The housekeeper withdrew and Pons turned to our companion inquiringly.
“Dr Sherlock, as my uncle’s oldest friend has handled all the arrangements, Mr Pons. I do not know what I should have done without him. The inquest was quite an ordeal but thanks to the doctor things went smoothly and as painlessly as these things can be.”
“I am glad the doctor has called,” said Solar Pons, getting up from the desk. “I should be glad of the opportunity to ask him a few questions.”
“You will find him more than helpful, Mr Pons.”
Back in the drawing room we found our host’s visitor warming his hands before the fire. He was an amiable, sandy-haired man in his early sixties with gold pince-nez perched on the end of his nose and a rather fussy manner. He came forward from the fire as soon as we were announced.
“I hope my visit is not inopportune, gentlemen?”
Balfour shook his head and introduced us.
“Mr Solar Pons! And Dr Lyndon Parker. This is indeed an honour. I have followed your adventures with the keenest interest, Mr Pons.”
Solar Pons took the doctor’s hand with an amused smile. “You must blame your medical colleague for any little exaggerations in the narratives, doctor.”
Dr Sherlock’s faded blue eyes stared at me ingenuously.
“I am sure that a scientific man like Dr Parker would not be prone to such a failing, Mr Pons.”
He turned back to Balfour.
“I trust that all is well with you, Mr Balfour. If there is anything at all I can do…”
“You are more than kind, doctor,” our host added. “When I told Mr Pons of the trouble that has fallen upon Bredewell House he and Dr Parker insisted on returning to stay with me a few days.”