“There is little to be learned here, Parker,” he said briefly. “But then I did not expect there to be. I should like to see the crypt now, if you please, Mr Miggs.”
“Certainly, sir.”
The verger led the way at a fast trot, fussy and full of self-importance and I could see a wry smile creasing Pons’ features as I followed my friend down the steps. There was no-one else in the crypt so we were free to carry out our examination unhindered.
“Now exactly where were you standing when you saw this apparition?” Pons asked.
Canon Stacey gave a nervous glance over toward the scaffolding and sarcophagus in the corner.
“By this tomb here, Mr Pons.”
He led the way and Pons took up the position indicated by him.
“I see. That squares perfectly with what you have already told us.”
Pons stood for a moment, the fingers of his left hand pulling reflectively at the lobe of his left ear. Then he walked back down to the tomb of Bishop Lascelles. As the Canon had told us a heavy wooden lid temporarily covered the top, where the massive stone original had previous rested. This itself was on the paving at some distance, with a rope barrier around it.
“What was the exact purpose of this lid, Canon?” Pons asked.
“Why, Mr Pons, it was a question of time, you see. It was quite an undertaking getting the original off and then we had to remove the body. It could not be done in a day or anything like it, as our masons had to have scaffolding to lift the inner shell with the Bishop’s remains. So we had the wooden cover made to conceal the inner coffin while the work went on. There was so much to be done here, you understand, that we should have had to have closed off the crypt to the public for months otherwise.”
“I see.”
Pons bent down and picked up a long thin strip of material. I glanced at it and saw that it was a wood shaving. I saw Pons’ gaze resting on the various tools scattered about in this corner.
“And the lid was lifting by itself, you say? Or rather under the pressure of a hand and arm within the sarcophagus?”
Canon Stacey swallowed and turned a little pale. Looking round the dim crypt I had an idea of the shock the experience must have given him; even with the four of us here it was an atmospheric, evocative place “That is correct, Mr Pons. I shall never forget it.”
“I am not surprised. Let us just see what weight we have to deal with.”
Pons lifted one end of the lid.
“Oh, yes, it is not all that heavy.”
He casually levered it to one side so that we could all look within at the dry, ancient stonework of the interior.
“There was nothing there, as you see, Mr Pons.”
“Exactly, Canon.”
Solar Pons stood looking reflectively down into the tomb. I saw that holes had been drilled through for the heavy bolts of the lid and helped Pons to replace it in its original position. Solar Pons dusted his hands, his eyes bright as he glanced at me.
“I think I have seen enough, Canon. Thank you, Mr Miggs. It has been extremely enlightening.”
Canon Stacey had an eager expression on his face.
“You have learned something, Mr Pons?”
“I have learned a good deal. Whether I shall be able to draw any valid conclusions from my data remains to be seen. Come, Parker.”
And he led the way from the crypt.
6
“Now, my dear fellow, let us just have your invaluable thoughts on this matter.”
We were sitting at ease in the hotel dining room, having just concluded dinner, in that agreeable interval between the dessert and the entrance of the coffee and liqueurs. I fiddled with the fly-tying vice in my pocket, conscious that the original purpose of our holiday was fast becoming as the substance of a dream.
“You think this Herr Koch might have something to do with the extraordinary events in the Cathedral, Pons?”
“It is not beyond the bounds of possibility, Parker. You will have observed that Mr Miggs’ account of the article in the basin of that fountain was extraordinarily similar to the thing we ourselves picked up in the crypt this morning.”
“You think it was another message, Pons? In code?”
“It is extremely likely, Parker. Though the code itself is childishly simple.”
“I did not find it so, Pons.”
“That is because you are not bringing your mind to bear upon the subject, Parker.”
“Enlighten me, Pons.”
We were sitting in a secluded corner with no-one else near us and Pons waited until the waiter had brought the coffee and glasses of cognac before he produced a slip of paper from his pocket.
“I have the original safely upon me, Parker, but I do not wish to display it in a public place, for obvious reasons.” He thrust a folded sheet of paper toward me.
“I made an exact copy. You have it there. Let us just see what you make of it.”
I smoothed out the paper and looked at the roughly inked characters upon it. Some of the symbols were hard to make out.
“Done in a hurry, Pons. There are many mistakes.”
My companion shook his head.
“I think not, Parker. Slowly and laboriously indited by one of inferior education and extremely dull mind.”
I stared at Pons in astonishment, replacing my coffee cup in my saucer.
“How can you possibly say that, Pons?”
“For the simple reason, my dear fellow, that a number of the letters are crossed out. The man had only the elementary rudiments of his own alphabet.”
I stared at the groups of letters.
“I see the crossings out, but why slowly and laboriously? Just as easily hurriedly and carelessly, surely?”
Again Solar Pons shook his head.
“You will notice, Parker, that the worst-formed symbols, apart from those scratched out, are all upon the right-hand side. Surely that suggests an obvious explanation.”
I shrugged helplessly.
“Not to me, Pons, I am afraid.”
“That is only because you are not giving the matter sufficient attention. The message was obviously written within the Cathedral near dusk.”
“But why, Pons?”
“Because of the light, Parker. Whoever wrote this message, sat in the western aisle of the cathedral to catch the last of the light. The right-hand edge of the paper was in semi-darkness, which was why he had such difficulty. It was obvious the light had almost gone altogether.”
“But why would he wait until darkness, Pons? And why was he in the Cathedral at all at that time?”
Solar Pons chuckled.
“Ah, if we knew that, Parker, we would know a good deal. It is my guess that one of the men surprised by Canon Stacey wrote this.”
“I see, Pons! I must confess I am completely baffled. Why on earth would they be hanging about here? And I am still no nearer to deciphering the message.”
I looked at it again. All I read was: SNN CZMFDQNTR VD LTRS VZHS. Three letters were crossed out and made again and Pons’ careful copy emulated all the blurred and wavering lines of the letters I had already noted in the original. I put it down at last.
“I am afraid it is no use, Pons.”
My companion gave a thin smile and lifted his cognac glass to his lips. He replaced it on the table with an expression of satisfaction.
“Excellent, Parker. They have a first-rate cellar. You will find the answer on the unfolded portion of the paper beneath your hand there. The writer simply transposed the letters of the alphabet. One merely shifts the entire message to the right, as it were.”
I turned the paper over.
In Pons’ strong black capitals I now read: TOO DANGEROUS. WE MUST WAIT.
I looked at my companion in stupefaction.