“Ah! I am not surprised. The development we have been waiting for, Parker.”
I nodded.
“You believe the Colonel to be responsible?”
Solar Pons’ face was as grim as Mackintosh’ own.
“I know he is, Parker. When and how did this happen?”
“Early this morning, Mr Pons. The body has been taken to the mortuary in Inverness. I met a local constable on my way to fetch you and he gave me the news. Apparently Ferguson slipped at a steep part of the ravine, fell and broke his neck. Foul play is not suspected.”
A bitter smile twisted Pons’ lips.
“It bears all the ear-marks of the Colonel. He is a worthy opponent, however evil and warped. Ferguson had served his purpose and had become too dangerous, Parker.”
“Even so, Mr Pons,” said Mackintosh steadily. “It is a bad business.”
“You are quite right, Mr Mackintosh,” my companion observed evenly. “I accept your implicit moral judgment. Now, we must put final matters in train.”
“What are you going to do, Pons?”
“Send a telegram to the Colonel at Ardrossan Lodge, Parker. I have a mind to bring him into the open. My challenge is one he will find it difficult to avoid.”
I felt somewhat alarmed at his words and looked at him anxiously as we took our seats in the trap.
“I would like you to find the local post-office and send this telegram for me,” Pons told Mackintosh, who had now clambered into the driving seat.
“Certainly, Mr Pons. It is only a few hundred yards.”
Pons pulled an old envelope from his pocket and sat smoking furiously as we rattled down the narrow street, his brows furrowed and concentrated as he wrote with a stub of pencil on the back of the envelope. He looked at it with satisfaction as we drew up in front of a large granite building. Mackintosh’ eyes opened wide as he glanced at the envelope when Pons handed it to him. My companion rummaged in his pocket and gave him a guinea.
“Please keep the change.”
“Thank you, Mr Pons. Would you like me to go to the village for a reply when we arrive back?”
Pons shook his head.
“I think not. It is my belief that the Colonel will come in person.”
My astonishment re-echoed Mackintosh’ own as the gardener hurried into the post-office.
“What on earth did you put in the telegram, Pons?”
“Something he could not resist, Parker. I appealed to his vanity.”
And with that I had to be content as Mackintosh soon returned and in a few moments we were rattling on our way back to Glen Affric. Pons was silent for most of the journey, only breaking into conversation once.
“Tell me,” he said to Mackintosh when we were within a mile or two of our destination. “Does Miss Hayling have a radio at the house?”
The driver glanced at him in surprise.
“Oh, yes, sir. There are two at the main house and I myself have one at my cottage.”
“Excellent. You did not listen to the weather forecast this morning, by any chance?”
“Indeed I did, Mr Pons. Such things are vital to country folk in areas like this.”
Pons smiled faintly, taking the pipe from his mouth.
“Do you happen to remember what was predicted for Scotland?”
The gardener hunched his shoulders, his eyes fixed forward over the pony’s back.
“Fine in the morning with local mist in mid-afternoon, thickening at nightfall.”
“Good,” said Pons with satisfaction.
He rubbed his hands.
“It is certainly fine this morning. They might be right for once, eh, Parker?”
“Of course, Pons,” I agreed. “But I fail to take the point.”
“It would not be the first time,” said he, with a twinkle in his eye. “It was just a notion which had occurred to me when sending the telegram, but it could be a vital one. I would stake my life that the Colonel would go for rifles. He is a crack-shot and a master of the stalk.”
“Really, Pons…” I began when we started our steep descent of the hill near the stream, and we had to alight to assist the pony. Our arrival at the house had been noted and Miss Hayling herself stood on the front steps to greet us. She looked pale but her manner was collected.
“A friend has just telephoned from the village to say that Mungo Ferguson is dead.”
She put her hand impulsively on my companion’s arm.
“Oh, Mr Pons, what does it mean? Goodness knows I have no reason to mourn his death but it is a dreadful thing nevertheless.”
“Your sentiments do you credit, Miss Hayling,” said Pons, a kindly look in his eyes. “But unless I miss my guess this business will soon be over. I must just ask you to be patient a little longer.”
“But what does it all mean, Mr Pons?”
“It means that Colonel McDonald will be here shortly,” said Pons sombrely. “I have sent him a telegram this morning which should resolve the business.”
There was a look of shock in the girl’s eyes but she forbore to question my companion further.
“No doubt you know best, Mr Pons. In the meantime lunch is waiting.”
And she led the way into the house.
11
All through lunch Pons had been silent and abstracted and he sat watching the windows which commanded the driveway as though he expected something to materialise at any minute. The sun shone brightly despite the cold and threw the shadows of the mullioned windows across the cheerful, panelled room in which we ate.
The girl had been restrained though her curiosity was obvious and we had chatted desultorily on a number of mundane topics. Afterwards, we took coffee in a small room which overlooked the front porch. We had eaten early and it was still only a quarter to one when I became aware of Mackintosh’ sturdy form hovering on the front steps. I glanced at Pons and realised instantly that the gardener had taken up his position on my friend’s instructions. He took the pipe from his mouth and addressed himself to our hostess.
“Miss Hayling, you have been extraordinarily patient and trusting in the extreme. In all my long experience I have known few persons of your sex who have exhibited such courage and character.”
The short speech was an unusual one for Pons and I saw the girl flush with pleasure while Mrs McRae shot a glance of approval at Pons.
“I know you have my welfare at heart, Mr Pons,” the girl said in a low voice. “I am content to leave the explanations for later.”
“You shall have them in full, Miss Hayling,” said Pons. “In the meantime I shall have to ask you to trust me a little longer. I would like you and Mr and Mrs McRae to withdraw to the upper floors of the house and leave this matter to Dr Parker and myself.”
“By all means, Mr Pons.”
The girl got up obediently and followed the housekeeper out of the room.
“What on earth, Pons…” I was beginning when my friend rose to his feet with astonishingly alacrity and put his hand on my arm.
“Ah, he has risen to the bait, Parker.”
I followed his glance through the window to find the shimmering image of a white Rolls-Royce Silver Ghost purring to a stop in front of the main entrance. By the time Pons and I had joined Mackintosh a tall, military figure was descending.
“Just stay within earshot, if you please,” said Pons to Mackintosh sotto voce and the burly gardener withdrew a dozen paces or so to the bottom of the steps.
There was no sound in all the great park except for the cawing of rooks in some ancient elms in the distance and the measured tread of feet in the gravel as the tall figure came toward us. I don’t know what I had expected but the actuality was a shock. A smartly-dressed but almost emaciated old man with a aunt face, hook-nose and iron-grey moustache. The only things alive in the dead white face were the burning yellow eyes which were fixed unwinkingly upon Pons. Colonel McDonald came to a halt at the foot of the steps, without a glance at myself or the gardener.