“I am sure you have, Inspector,” said Pons drily.
Jamison stepped forward, putting out his hand to the manager, his face red and troubled.
“I am sorry, Mr Hibbert, but circumstances were against you.”
“Think nothing of it, Inspector,” said Hibbert cordially. Jamison shook his head, a curious expression in his eyes. “It has been a lesson to me, Mr Pons.”
“It is a wise man who benefits by experience, Inspector,” said Pons equably.
He glanced over at the clock in the corner of the manager’s office.
“Ah, Parker, it has been a somewhat fatiguing day. If we hurry back to Praed Street I have no doubt we shall be just in time for one of Mrs Johnson’s excellent suppers.”
The Adventure of the Callous Colonel
1
“What on earth are you doing there, Pons?”
I paused on the threshold of our sitting-room at 7B Praed Street in astonishment. It was a bitterly cold morning in early February and I had just come in from a particularly fatiguing case.
On opening the door I was immediately confronted with the spectacle of my friend Solar Pons, his lean, angular figure recumbent on the carpet, his right hand holding the gleaming barrel of a revolver flat against a bolster taken from one of our armchairs. Beyond the bolster was a plaster bust of Napoleon which normally lived on top of a bookcase in the far corner.
Pons laughed and got up, dusting the knees of his trousers. Just indulging in a little amateur theatricals, Parker.”
I glanced down at the mess on the carpet, the rich crimson firelight glinting over the pale surface of the bust. To my astonishment I saw there was a small hole in one side of it and a distinct smell of burning.
“It looks as though your services will be in demand at the Lyceum, Pons, if this goes on,” I said somewhat tartly, noting that there was a hole drilled clean through the bolster.
My companion chuckled, his right hand softly stroking the lobe of his right ear.
“Touché, Parker. You are developing quite a pretty wit of late. I see I shall have to be on my mettle.”
He looked down ruefully at the bolster and the bust.
“But you are right in one respect. I fear my little drama will not be greatly appreciated by Mrs Johnson. If you had been but five minutes earlier you would have heard the muffled explosion.”
I looked at him in astonishment.
“Good heavens, Pons! You don’t mean to tell me you have actually fired that thing in here?”
My friend shook his head.
“Oh, I can assure you, Parker, there was little danger. I had carefully worked out the possible impact. The bullet has just penetrated the surface of the bust, the greater force of the blow having been taken by the cushion. That explains both the crushing impact of the wound, consistent with the unfortunate man having apparently shattered his head upon the stony ground, and the lack of any sound for people who were passing the edge of the Forest only a few hundred yards away. It also had another advantage in that there was no scorching of the wound which would have given the game away in short order.”
I put my medical case down on my armchair and my overcoat on top of it and drew nearer to the fire. I looked at Pons with rising irritation.
“I wish I knew what you were talking about.”
“I am sorry, Parker. I sometimes forget that you are not always au fait with my cases. I was merely conducting a little experiment in ballistics. Though the characteristics of a bullet striking plaster are different from that of flesh, I fancy my theory will stand up in court. Sufficiently, I trust, to put paid to the unspeakable activities of the abominable Mr Horace Mortiboys of Epping.”
His deep-set eyes looked so angry and vengeful at that moment that I was quite taken aback. Then he seemed to recollect himself and stirred as I spoke again.
“I did not realise, Pons. One of your cases, eh? I trust you have now brought it to a successful conclusion.”
“I think we may say so, my dear fellow. Come and sit near the fire. Lunch will be served in a quarter of an hour or so.”
“I must say I could do with it,” I returned. “Just give me a few moments to put my things away and wash my hands.”
When I returned to the sitting-room Pons had tidied the carpet, the bust was back in situ on the bookcase, the damaged side away from the viewer; and the rumpled bolster on one of the chairs. Pons had evidently returned the revolver to his bedroom for there was no sign of it. He sat in his own chair to one side of the fire indolently reading The Times as though he had not a thing in the world on his mind.
After a few minutes he put down the paper and turned his deep-set eyes on me.
“What do you know about Colonel Alistair McDonald, Parker?”
I glanced up from the fire in mild surprise.
“Not a thing, Pons,” I admitted. “Should I?”
My companion shook his head, a faint smile on his face.
“Your field is altogether too specialised, Parker. You have been missing something. Explorer, big-game hunter, stalker, collector of esoteric objects, he also has regrettable criminal tendencies which have made him a good deal of money. At the present time I should class him as the third most dangerous man in Europe.”
Solar Pons tented his slender fingers before him and stared broodingly into the fire.
“In fact he has twice tried to kill me, the most recent occasion being yesterday.”
“Good heavens, Pons! You cannot mean it?” I spluttered. Solar Pons shook his head.
“I wish I were not serious, Parker. A parcel came for me yesterday. If I had not been on my guard, I should not be sitting here talking to you now.”
He glanced over at his desk in the far corner.
Just take a look at that. But please do not touch the thing. I should burn it, by rights, but I am retaining the ingenious toy as possible evidence.”
I got up and crossed the room to stare down at the brown-paper parcel which sat on my friend’s blotter. It had been opened out and a strange wooden idol figure sat in the midst of it. It had a curiously shaped base, with a marked indentation in the front, obviously to fit the thumb of a person holding the image by the base. I saw now that there was a small steel needle protruding from the front of it.
“I do not understand, Pons,” I remarked, as I resumed my seat.
“It is simple, Parker,” Solar Pons commented. “I might have picked it up from the cardboard box but for the fact that I noted a minute hole in the shallow depression in front of the thing. I procured a pair of pliers with which to hold it and with the aid of a heavy ruler I applied pressure. The result was quite dramatic, the needle stabbing forward through the hole. After analysis I found that the needle, which is of the ordinary sewing variety, had been impregnated with a solution of curare, which I need not tell you is a deadly poison, which speedily produces paralysis and death.”
I gazed at Pons open-mouthed.
“But why should this Colonel McDonald wish to kill you, Pons? And how do you know he sent the idol?”
Solar Pons chuckled drily.
“It has all the hall-marks of the Colonel’s ingenious mind, Parker. The thing is entirely hand-made. The carving, the staining with red varnish, the glass-eyes, the skilful painting of the features, and the heavy spring-mechanism, typical of the skilled toy-maker, bear all the signs of the Colonel’s ingenuity. The parcel was post-marked Putney by the bye, so he and his agents are not far away.”
“I still do not understand, Pons.”
“Tut, Parker, the matter is simple enough. A few months ago I was instrumental in exposing a gross public swindle, involving a non-existent housing scheme on the Riviera. The company responsible was headed by puppets, of course, but I have no doubt the Colonel’s hand was behind the thing. He lives in Inverness, incidentally, and the intricate machinations of these schemes are peculiar to him. In fact I am informed by Scotland Yard that inquiries into the fraud may take two years or more, with no guarantee of conviction. The directors of the scheme are figureheads and the police have so far found no visible trace of McDonald in the affair. But I have no doubt my interference has rankled.”