"Nor anyone else for the moment. Thank you again, Hoskins. Here is a pound for your trouble. No doubt you can put it to good use at your local hostelry."
The gardener's face brightened and he took the note with alacrity, transferring it quickly to the pocket of his corduroy trousers.
"Good day to you, gentlemen. And if there's anything further you require to know, I'm usually to be found on this side of the house."
There was a smile on his face as Pons resumed his walk and I kept at his side, refraining from asking any questions as I could see that his agile mind was revolving a number of possibilities. Five minutes more took us to a mellow brick stable block, on top of which a cupola was set, the sunshine winking back from the gilt hands of a clock which now indicated the midday hour.
A groom in riding clothes was forking straw in a corner of the stable yard and readily pointed out the estate office, a comfortably appointed chamber, obviously part of the estate manager's private house. Pons rapped on the glass-panelled door but there was obviously no-one there so after a momentary hesitation he pushed open the door and we walked in.
A large mahogany desk; several shelves of books and box-files of farm accounts; a swivel chair; and two filing cabinets almost filled the interior. A beaker of hot coffee stood upon the desk surface, steam still rising from it, so it was obvious the occupant had stepped out for only a few moments.
A decent thick-pile rug covered half the parquet floor and a cheerful fire burned in the brick fireplace, before which a red setter was languidly sprawled. It took no notice of our entrance, except to regard us with a liquid eye, and then dropped back again, apparently satisfied, to its motionless contemplation of the flames.
We had been standing there for perhaps ten or fifteen seconds when the door which obviously led to the house beyond was flung violently open and a huge, red-faced man with a yellow moustache, dressed in a hairy tweed jacket and riding breeches, glowered at us.
"No trespassing allowed," he said crisply. "I shall oblige you to state your business."
"If you will have the kindness to introduce yourself we shall do the same," said Pons imperturbably.
The military gentleman's puce expression deepened. "I know who I am," he grunted. "Captain Mannering. Estate manager. Who are you?"
"Solar Pons. This is my friend and colleague, Dr Lyndon Parker. We are the house-guests of Mr Grimpton." "Indeed."
Mannering stared at us in an offensive manner and then sat down at the desk in front of his beaker of coffee. He did not ask us to sit but continued frowning at the wall in front of him.
"I am investigating the murder of the man Stokoe," said Solar Pons. "I should like a glimpse of the key of the Mausoleum which I understand is kept in this office."
Pons' request had an electrifying effect on the Captain. He went white, swallowed once or twice and his face gradually assumed a mottled aspect.
"As if the police were not enough," he muttered under his breath.
Then he turned his head to glare with bloodshot blue eyes at my companion.
"Who are you to question me?" he demanded. "You are not a police officer. Of what concern is it to you?"
"Nevertheless, I should like to see that key," Pons went on imperturbably.
The Captain's hand crashed down on to the surface of the desk with a vehemence which made the coffee beaker jump and slop half its contents on to the blotter. The Captain rose to his feet. Pons was a tall man but this formidable figure seemed to tower over him.
"I must warn you, Mr Pons. Don't meddle in my affairs."
There was a mocking smile on Solar Pons' lips as he stared steadily at the other; in the end it was the Captain who lowered his eyes.
"You are being extremely foolish, Captain Mannering," Pons said quietly. "However, it makes no matter. You are only postponing the inevitable. Come, Parker."
We left the figure of the Captain standing at the desk as though turned to stone. Once across the stable yard Pons burst into a short laugh.
"Well, Parker, what do you think of our Captain Mannering?"
"What a rude brute, Pons," I said hotly. "His behaviour is extremely suspicious."
"Is it not, Parker."
"When I tell Grimpton how he has behaved he will make him give up the key," I said.
Solar Pons put his hand on my arm.
"No, no, my dear fellow, it will not do. We must not alarm him."
"But the key is vital, Pons. He must be made to give it up."
"If he has it, Parker," said Solar Pons enigmatically. "Eigh, Pons?"
I stared at my companion in irritation.
"The Captain strikes me as an extremely frightened man, Parker. Just let me have your thoughts upon this little problem."
"It gets darker and deeper, Pons," I said.
"Does it not? But just apply those latent ratiocinative gifts I have so assiduously tried to cultivate."
"We have a murder and no discernible motive." "Capital, Parker!"
Solar Pons' eyes were sparkling.
"We have a mention of a Shaft of Death which clouds the issue still further."
"Pray continue."
"A massive wound, no weapon, and a knife which Inspector Morgan insists is the murder instrument and yet which cannot possibly fit, if all the facts are correct."
"You continue to sparkle, Parker. You are showing an amazing grasp of the problems."
"A gypsy who has a possible motive for the crime, swears he is innocent. The secretary is somewhat reticent, it seems to me."
"Ah, you have noticed that, have you?"
"Captain Mannering is acting in a highly suspicious manner. As estate manager he is familiar with the Mausoleum. The specifications of that building are missing from Grimpton's study. Even the gardener, Hoskins, does not believe a knife inflicted Stokoe's wound."
I stopped and stared with disbelief at Pons' widening smile.
"Good heavens, Pons. Hoskins is a strong and powerful man. As you yourself said, he knows how to wield heavy tools. You cannot mean it! Even Hoskins himself admitted that the blow which felled Stokoe could have been dealt with the obverse side of a pickaxe!"
"Could it not, Parker. You have admirably summed up some of the slight difficulties which beset one of the most interesting problems which has ever come my way. But here we are at the house again. Our little walk has quite given me an appetite for lunch."
9
The afternoon passed quietly. Pons was absent for a while, and I heard him talking with Granger the secretary. I took a short walk about the grounds after lunch and observed the gardener in the distance. I kept an eye on him but despite my efforts at remaining under cover he soon spotted me and retreated into the glasshouse by the lake with a highly suspicious air, it seemed to me.
I took a circular route that brought me within viewing distance of the main gates and attracted by the noise of engines noted the two police vehicles, no doubt containing Inspector Morgan and his sullen gypsy prisoner. To my surprise, instead of coming toward the house, the vehicles disappeared through the entrance of the estate and shortly afterward the hum of their motors died in the distance.
I continued my walk with many questions occupying my mind and on my return to the house found Septimus Grimpton and Pons walking up and down the terrace. As I hesitated Pons caught sight of me.
"Don't go, my dear fellow. Mr Grimpton and I are merely discussing a few details of the estate."
The old scholar shook his head, his fringe of white hair whipped about by the rising wind.
"This is a baffling business, Mr Pons. I don't know what I should have done without you being here. We might all be murdered in our beds."