“They found a three-quarters empty petrol can near the scene of the fire. It was obviously deliberate. The police were called in but found nothing.”
Solar Pons blew out a little plume of smoke from the corner of his mouth.
“What do you make of that, Parker?”
“Why, coercion, Pons,” I said. “The Land Trust wants Miss Hayling’s property badly. Now they are putting on pressure to force her out.”
“Splendid, Parker,” said Solar Pons, a twinkle in his eye. “You really are improving all the time. Those are my thoughts exactly and though the conclusion is a trite and obvious one it appears to me that my training is beginning to bear fruit. The question is, what does the Land Trust really want? And why should anyone desire such a remote and isolated property, which has no obvious commercial value.”
“Exactly, Mr Pons,” put in Miss Hayling. “Farming is a depressed industry anyway and despite the Trust’s explanations, the one obvious use to which the land could be put is ruled out, because the estate is unsuitable for that purpose.
The timber might be of some value, if it could be cut and marketed, but even that qualification is doubtful.”
“There is more to come, Pons?” I asked.
“Oh, a deal, Parker, a deal. I must apologise for these constant interruptions, Miss Hayling, but such sifting and evaluation of points as they arise, together with the comments of my good friend the doctor here, are a valuable factor in refining the ratiocinative processes.”
There was a dry and humorous expression on Pons’ face as he spoke and I saw little sparks of humour dancing in the girl’s own eyes.
“Well, Mr Pons, as I have already informed you by letter, things got rapidly worse. I had no sooner been apprised of the fire when something even more serious occurred. Mackintosh, the gardener surprised someone in the shrubbery one dark evening a few days afterwards, and was attacked in consequence. He struck his head on a stone bordering the driveway as he fell and briefly lost consciousness.
“But he is a strong and vigorous man, fortunately, and came to no permanent harm. As soon as he was himself he roused the household, the police were called and a search made of the neighbourhood. But the terrain is hopeless as there are so many places of concealment and the perpetrator of this outrage was never found. On receipt of that news I immediately made my way from Norwich and took up residence at Glen Affric.”
“When even more serious events took place, Miss Hayling.”
“Indeed, Mr Pons. But not before being preceded by two letters, both signed by Mr Mungo Ferguson, and both repeating the original offer of the Land Trust.”
“You took no notice of them?”
“Of course not, Mr Pons. On these occasions I did not even bother to reply. But one afternoon, a fortnight ago, I had returned from a brisk walk on the hillside when I heard voices from the stable area. I found Mr McRae, my steward, having a fierce argument with a huge, red-bearded man dressed in riding clothes. He had come up in a dog-cart and the pony had been tied to the railings. McRae had found him wandering about the property uninvited, which had led to words. But he raised his hat civilly enough to me and introduced himself, asking for a private interview. I did not wish to invite him into the house and decided to keep McRae within earshot, so we walked a few yards away to talk.
“He introduced himself as Ferguson and again repeated his offer from the Land Trust and when I refused, somewhat vehemently, he became abusive. I think he had been drinking and it was then, in the course of the interview, that he made an improper suggestion.”
Miss Hayling paused and her cheeks were pink, her eyes gleaming with the recollection. Solar Pons’ own deep-set eyes turned on her sympathetically.
“An improper suggestion, Miss Hayling?”
“Yes, sir. It was one no lady could repeat to a gentleman. I am afraid I lost my temper completely. Ferguson was holding a riding crop loosely in his hand as we talked and I seized it and beat him about the head and shoulders with it. He was so surprised that he retreated rapidly. I threw the whip after him, he got quickly up into his trap and with many curses drove rapidly off and good riddance to him.”
“Well done, my dear young lady,” I could not resist saying and Solar Pons looked at the pair of us, a slight smile playing around his lips.
“And what did McRae do all this time?”
“He was as astonished as Ferguson, Mr Pons. But there was no doubt he approved.”
“Which brings us to three days ago.”
“That is correct, Mr Pons. I felt thirsty after retiring to my room and came down to Mrs McRae’s kitchen to get a glass of milk. It was late — or what passes for late in the Highlands — just turned half-past eleven, and I was passing a side-door to get to the kitchen when I heard a sound outside. There was only a dim light burning in the far hallway and the rest of the building was in darkness.
“I distinctly heard a foot grate on the stone step outside and then the iron door-latch was lifted once or twice as though someone was testing to see whether it was locked. I can tell you, Mr Pons, it was somewhat unnerving at that hour of night in such a lonely place to hear and see such a thing.”
“I can well imagine, Miss Hayling. You called out, I believe?”
“I shouted, ‘Who is there?’, more to keep my courage up than anything else. The latch was abruptly released and I heard the sound of hurried footsteps on the flagged path outside. I put on the outside porch light and went out to see who it was, but there was nothing.”
“That was a brave thing,” I said.
“But extremely unwise, Parker,” Solar Pons admonished. And to the girl.
“You did nothing further that night?”
“No, Mr Pons. I re-locked the door, got my milk and went to bed. But I was much troubled in my mind though I did not mention the matter to Mr and Mrs McRae. AU the staff had been greatly disturbed by these incidents and I had no wish to lose their services. Which brings me to yesterday afternoon.”
Pons’ client paused as though recollecting her thoughts and went on in a low, even voice.
“I had been out for a walk after lunch and my ramble had taken me to the northern portion of the estate, which abuts Glen Affric, a wild and lonely place, bordered by one of our local mountains of the same name. It was cold, grey and overcast and I had heard shooting earlier.”
“Surely it is not the season?” I said.
Miss Hayling shook her head.
“No, but there are many local people who shoot rabbits and other small creatures for the pot during the winter months, so I took no particular notice. I was standing on the path, looking up the glen, taking in the romantic charm of the scene and thinking about nothing in particular when there came another shot, much closer this time. Mr Pons, it was aimed at me and the bullet passed through the bushes only four or five feet from my head!”
3
There was a long silence which I felt incumbent upon myself to break.
“Good heavens! This is serious indeed!”
“Is it not, Parker,” said Pons, rubbing his thin fingers together, suppressed energy evident in every line of his frame. “What did you do next?”
“I am afraid I panicked, Mr Pons. I took to my heels down the path and did not rest until I was safe in the house again.” Solar Pons nodded sombrely.
“You have done wisely, Miss Hayling. This is a black business. That shot was undoubtedly intended for you.”
“But what does it all mean, Mr Pons?”
“That is what I intend to find out. I have formed tentative theories but must wait until we are upon the ground before testing them. That was when you sent me the telegram?”
“Yes, Mr Pons. Some weeks earlier I had remembered my father once speaking of you in connection with some case you had solved. It was then I first wrote you and apprised you of the situation and our ensuing correspondence has been the only thing which has strengthened my resolve in this business. I had Mackintosh get the trap and take the telegram into the village post office for transmission.”