Solar Pons shook his head, strange lights glinting in his eyes.
“You confuse cause with effect, Parker. You are taking things the wrong way round.”
“I do not understand, Pons.”
Solar Pons chuckled, taking the pipe out of his mouth, as we turned a corner and left the village behind us. The mist was down close to the road now, masking the fields and the surrounding marshland.
“It is my conviction that the man responsible for Boldigrew’s death took advantage of the popularity of this mask in the district. It was a question literally of a mask sheltering behind a mask. You heard what the man at the shop said. Draw your own conclusions.”
“I am all at sea, Pons.”
Solar Pons cleared his throat as though expressing exasperation.
“It is as clear as day, my dear fellow. He was forced to change his tactics.”
My brow cleared.
“The shopkeeper, Pons?”
Solar Pons had a mocking smile on his face as an impressive Edwardian building of red brick began to compose itself from out of the mist in front of us. The large iron gates to the gravelled drive stood ajar and on the topmost stone of each of the red-brick pillars which flanked the gates, the legend: THE GRANGE was chiselled.
Our footsteps set birds scuttering in the undergrowth as we walked down the front drive to the great pillared entrance porch. The front door was opened at our ring almost immediately, and a bearded Indian servant with a gentle, melancholy face above his sober black frock-coat ushered us into a tiled hall. The mournful sound of a flute sounded from the depths of the house and there was a faint smell of incense in the air.
Pons had sent in his card by the servant who returned almost immediately to bid us to follow him. He took us through a suite of three interconnecting rooms, each furnished sumptuously with many rugs, Oriental carpets and with carvings on the walls; each with a profusion of brass ornaments and bamboo furniture. It was all too florid for my taste and my expression must have shown my feelings all too well for Pons gave me a brief, ironic smile.
The servant tapped on a mahogany door in front of us and ushered us into a study containing many leather-bound books; a bright fire burned in the grate of the carved chimney-piece and there were many weapons hanging on the walls not occupied by books. I noticed kukris, swords whose handles were ornamented with precious stones; and a rack containing blowpipes and darts tipped with bright birds’ feathers.
“Heavens, Pons!” I mumbled. “This place is like a museum or armoury.”
“Is it not, Parker,” said Pons, looking around him with evident interest and pleasure.
The owner of The Grange had been sitting at a desk near the fire, evidently writing, for he now rose and put down the pen in his hand and stood waiting near the fireplace to receive us. A tall, impressive-looking gentleman with a black beard and cruel eyes which looked like a hawk’s in his brown features, he was yet courteous and reserved. With his impeccably cut tweeds he could have been mistaken for an English country gentleman at a distance. His voice, when he spoke, was low and cultured.
“Good morning, gentlemen. This is an unexpected honour.”
“Ah, you have heard of me, then?”
Ram Dass bowed gently from the waist, extending a slim, well-manicured hand toward us.
“Who has not, Mr Solar Pons?”
“You are too kind, Mr Dass.”
The tall man smiled ironically as he shook hands with us in turn.
“Please be seated but I am afraid your visit has been wasted, Mr Solar Pons.”
My companion’s eyes were bright as he stared at our host. “In what way?”
“Come sir. It is obvious. There have been strange happenings in the village of Tidewater. Mr Boldigrew died under mysterious circumstances. I had had numerous rows with his bailiff and it is no secret that my household is regarded with some hostility in the neighbourhood. I have expected the police before now. So when your card was brought in I was not surprised.”
“You are frank at least, Mr Dass,” said Solar Pons.
He looked at the tall man as he re-seated himself at the desk.
“It is my upbringing, sir.”
Ram Dass bowed ironically.
“You also sound rather bitter, if I may say so,” said Pons. The Indian’s eyes held a strange expression.
“Ah, you have noticed that.”
“It is not difficult to read it, Mr Dass.”
“I have learned to school my emotions but you are very perceptive, Mr Pons. And I will anticipate your next question by saying that I am not at all related to the gentleman who lost his money in my native country.”
“Ah, you know that story. I had not supposed for one moment that you were.”
Our host seemed nonplussed and stared at my companion with unconcealed surprise.
“Then why are you here, Mr Pons, if it is not an indiscreet question?”
“It is merely that I wish to see everything for myself, Mr Dass,” said Solar Pons easily.
“And now, we have taken up too much of your time altogether.”
He rose from his seat and I followed suit, looking blankly from one man to the other. The Indian had a fixed smile on his face and his eyes were glittering in a rather sinister manner, I thought.
“If I may presume to give advice to such a gifted criminologist…”
Solar Pons bowed.
“By all means.”
“My advice, Mr Pons, is look closer to home!”
Pons smiled somewhat grimly.
“I take your point, Mr Dass. Good morning. Come, Parker.”
We followed the silent servant out through the interconnecting rooms again.
“Well, Pons,” I said sotto voce. “He is a cool one.”
“Is he not, Parker.”
“Did you see all those blow-pipes and other weapons, Pons?
He seemed rather too prepared for our visit. And what did he mean by telling you to look nearer home?”
Solar Pons smiled enigmatically.
“It is all of a piece, Parker. It really has been a most instructive morning.”
We were being ushered out the front door by this time and I had to descend the steps at a rapid trot to keep up with my companion.
“Then you have learned something?”
“By all means, Parker. But in my turn I do not understand your talk about blow-pipes.”
“Well, the atmosphere is most sinister, Pons.”
Solar Pons looked at me with a mocking smile as we strode on through the thickening mist.
“Hardly grounds for suspicion of murder, Parker. You will have to do better than that.”
“Blow-pipes have been used for murder before, Pons.”
My companion stared at me incredulously.
“But the window was closed and locked, Parker. And the post-mortem findings… Nevertheless, you have stumbled upon an interesting point, however inadvertently.”
I felt my face growing red.
“It was just a suggestion, Pons.”
“You really must learn to use your brain-power to greater advantage, Parker,” said my companion reprovingly. “Now, in a few minutes we shall be back in Tidewater and should have time for just one more call before lunch.”
“Where might that be, Pons?”
“At George Sainsbury’s office in Tidewater High Street, Parker.”
I looked at Pons uncomprehendingly.
“Sainsbury?”
“He is Boldigrew’s family solicitor, Parker. I received this note from him by messenger this morning. We have been so busy I have not had time to mention it until now.”
He passed me the sheet of legal notepaper; it was headed, 3 Milton Buildings, High Street, Tidewater. Written in longhand, it merely said: “Dear Mr Pons, I should appreciate an urgent consultation with you. Would midday today suit you, at my offices? Please confirm by return. Yours, George Sainsbury.”