“Which was undoubtedly known to McDonald within the hour. He would know you had an interview at Praed Street this afternoon. You saw nobody when you took the London train last night?”
His sharp eyes held the girl’s transfixed.
She shook her head worriedly.
“No, Mr Pons. Though I had a strange feeling that I was followed all the way from Scotland.”
“You undoubtedly have been. We must be on our guard.” Solar Pons puffed furiously at his pipe, the aromatic blue clouds surrounding him in thick whorls.
“You haven’t told us about Colonel McDonald, Miss Hayling,” I said.
“I am sorry, Parker. It is my fault. I am au fait with the story and had forgotten it was quite new to you.”
“I went to the station that evening, Mr Pons, as I told you. I had to pass the Affric Arms to get to the forecourt. There is a small private bar near the pavement and the window was uncurtained. I glanced in as I went by. Mackintosh was carrying my luggage and had noticed nothing but I could see Ferguson inside, in deep conversation with a man in front of a roaring fire. There was no mistaking him, Mr Pons. The flaming red hair drew my attention to him. The man with him glanced up though I am convinced he could not see me at the window as it was dark in the street. It was undoubtedly Colonel McDonald.”
“You know him?” I said.
“Of course, Dr Parker. Everyone in Inverness-shire knows the Colonel. He is a celebrated, not to say notorious figure. I must say I was alarmed to see him in such intimate circumstances with such an odious person as Ferguson.”
“Why was that, Miss Hayling?”
“Somewhat obviously, Mr Pons, I immediately gained the impression, rightly or wrongly, that he and Ferguson were in collaboration. Or, not to put too fine a point on it, that Ferguson was acting as McDonald’s agent in putting pressure on my family to get our estate.”
“Have you or your family ever had any personal contact with the Colonel, Miss Hayling.”
“So far as my parents are concerned, not that I am aware of. In my own case I have never met the man, though I have read a good deal about him, mostly in the financial press.”
“And you do not like what you read?”
“No, Mr Pons. He is certainly not a sympathetic figure.”
“I see.”
Pons was silent for a moment, his head resting on his breast, his eyes half-closed, as though deep in thought.
“And you have no idea why such a man as Colonel McDonald would have an interest in a small estate like Glen Affric?” Our visitor shook her head.
“No, Mr Pons.”
“Very well, Miss Hayling. You have done well to come to me. There is little point in further discussion. However, I should be very careful while you are in London. Dr Parker will accompany you back to your hotel and I want your promise to stay there until we come to fetch you tomorrow. I believe there is a midday train from King’s Cross, is there not?”
“That is correct, Mr Pons. But you do not believe I am in any danger here in London?”
“It is as well to be on our guard, my dear young lady. I would like your promise, if you please.”
“You have it, Mr Pons.”
The girl got up from her chair, her eyes shining. We both rose also.
“Thank you so much, gentlemen. I feel very much better already.”
“I can promise nothing except that I will exert my best endeavours in your interests, Miss Hayling.”
“One could not ask for more, Mr Pons.”
“If you will just wait a moment while I get my coat, we will be off,” I said.
The girl was silent as we took a taxi to her hotel, a comfortable, middle-class establishment conveniently situated near King’s Cross Station, but she reiterated her promise to remain in her room before we parted. She was to be ready at a quarter past eleven the following morning when we were due to pick her up by taxi. I saw her into the hotel and waited until she had locked herself within her room. She would dine in the hotel restaurant and would have no need to go out again until we caught the express north.
When I returned to 7B an hour later I found Pons sprawled in his armchair in front of the fire in a brown study. Judging by the swathes of dense smoke which filled the room he had been smoking furiously.
“Well, Parker,” he observed on my entry. “What is your opinion of Miss Hayling and her problem?”
“A brave young lady, Pons,” I answered, laying down my overcoat and thankfully seating myself opposite him in my favourite armchair in front of the fire.
“But a dark and difficult business. Though it seems obvious that the crude and murderous activities of the Scottish Land Trust were directed toward the purpose of obtaining Miss Hayling’s estate, I confess I cannot see the point. From what both you and she tell me it has no possible commercial value.”
Pons regarded me through the smoke with very bright eyes.
“You have hit it, Parker. I have already been to Companies House and set my own inquiries afoot. The Trust has ostensibly been set up for the innocuous purpose of recreation and leisure, as they have already suggested to Miss Hayling. They have no need to be more specific than that.”
“You think McDonald owns the company and has set it up for some other purpose?”
“There is no doubt about it, Parker. The scheme bears all the traces of his ferocious methods, though his normal native cunning seems to have deserted him. These crude and blunt tactics with Miss Hayling are not typical of him.”
“Perhaps the man Mungo Ferguson whom he appears to be using as his agent…”
“Perhaps, Parker, perhaps. He may overstep himself. A scoundrel like McDonald has to use the tools to hand and following some of his recent experiences his more genteel and respectable associates may well have been frightened off.”
He smoked on in silence for a few more minutes, while I went to the telephone to let my locum know of the situation. When I had arranged for my leave of absence, I returned to the warmth of the sitting-room to find him immersed in a gazetteer and large-scale maps of Scotland which he was studying intently with the aid of a powerful magnifying glass. As soon as I reappeared he swept everything briskly off the table.
“I must apologise for monopolising our quarters with my little problems. We will leave it over until the morrow. In the meantime if you would be good enough to ring for supper, I would be greatly obliged.”
4
The weather was, if anything, even more inclement when we set off next day. Though there was no rain an acrid fog hung about the capital which gave the streets a deceptively mild air but the biting cold came through, catching one unawares, so that I had to catch my breath and draw the collar of my heavy overcoat about me. We carried only valises so it was only a moment to engage a cab and with the good Mrs Johnson braving the elements to see us off from the top of the steps we had shortly collected Miss Hayling and were en route to King’s Cross.
We had engaged a first-class compartment to ourselves and were soon speeding through the suburbs, the sun attempting to break through the iron-grey clouds which hung over the city. Once north of Welwyn the great locomotive got into its stride and the only indication of our immense speed was the rapid passage of the shadows of the telegraph poles across the carriage windows.
“There is something almost mystical about a great machine,” Pons observed. “And the Scotsman is such a locomotive even in an age which has grown blasé over steam power. Eh, Miss Hayling?”