"Very well, Pons," I said, stirring my tea. "I will make the arrangements with my locum."
"And in the meantime, my dear fellow, we have a gazetteer and an excellent selection of guidebooks on the shelf yonder. No, Parker, I think we will wait until after tea, if you please. I find that melted butter and art paper do not go well together."
2
"Bath I think it is, then, Pons?"
The sitting-room was blue with tobacco-smoke and Pons and I, sprawled either side of the fire with whiskies at our elbows, had grown weary of the maps and guides which littered the table in front of us.
"It would appear to combine elegance and Roman antiquity with the benefits of urban entertainment such as can only be provided by a large city, Parker," said Pons languidly. "It is many years since I was last there and it is certainly one of the great cities of Europe. You are positively inspired this evening, my dear fellow."
"All I am worried about is whether we can get away in time, Pons," I said. "I have arranged things with my locum and it would be annoying, not to say disappointing, if I had to cancel."
Pons raised his eyebrows.
"I do not follow you, Parker."
"Now you are being obtuse, Pons," I could not resist saying. "Are you really telling me that if an interesting case arises before Monday, you will turn it down?"
Solar Pons smiled a thin smile as he took the pipe from his mouth.
"A point, Parker, a definite point. You are developing quite a pawky sense of humour of late."
He blew out a cloud of aromatic blue smoke and eyed me seriously.
"My dear fellow, I have given you my word. We have both been stretching ourselves. I guarantee that we will be on that train on Monday morning."
With that I had to rest content but I must confess I spent an uneasy week-end, only really relaxing when we were safely ensconced with our luggage in the taxi on the way to Paddington on Monday. It was a dry, sunny day and my spirits rose considerably. Pons too was unusually affected by the weather and even hummed a bar or two of a popular air in a tuneless monotone until I begged him to desist.
We lunched on the train and I watched the rich countryside unfold beyond the windows in a euphoric dream, conscious that Pons was again buried in his magazine and making elaborate calculations in pencil on its margin. In midafternoon we descended at Bath Spa Station and hailed a taxi. It was a bright, dry day still with scudding clouds and Pons looked with satisfaction at the Georgian buildings of the creamy local stone as we drove up Manvers Street and onward to the Grand Parade, leaving the massive pile of the Abbey on our left.
The taxi turned right over the elegant Pulteney Bridge with its shops in the style of Florence and Pons looked at the foaming race of Pulteney Weir as we crossed the Avon, the scale of the city slowly being revealed to us.
"I was not mistaken, Parker," said Solar Pons with satisfaction. "Roman Bath. Still one of the most elegant cities of Europe, I think."
"Undoubtedly, Pons," I replied. "I trust you will find much to occupy you here."
"The prospect certainly seems a little less arid than it did in Praed Street a few hours ago," Pons conceded drily. "Though whether I shall think so at the end of a week spent in these Georgian surroundings is another matter."
"Come, Pons," I said with some asperity. "This is my holiday too. We must just make the best of it."
"You make it sound a penance, Parker," said Solar Pons with a wry laugh as the taxi passed through Aura Place and pulled up at an imposing hotel in Great Pulteney Street. Our rooms were ready and after we had registered and unpacked, I met Pons in the lobby and suggested afternoon tea at the Pump Room.
"I must say, Parker, you are throwing yourself into the role quite thoroughly. But it sounds a not unpleasant idea."
He consulted his watch.
"It is just after four. An apposite hour."
Before we could leave the lobby, however, there was an interruption, as the receptionist came over from her rosewood desk at one side of the spacious entrance.
"Mr Pons? This just came for you, Mr Pons."
I looked at Pons resignedly as the girl handed him the telegram.
"Not bad news, Pons?"
Solar Pons' lean face lit up and he rubbed his hands together briskly.
"Good news, Parker. It seems that my services are needed."
He handed me the form. It was addressed Pons, c/o Hotel Glendale and simply said:
MUST CONSULT YOU MATTER LIFE AND DEATH.
8 P.M. THIS EVENING YOUR HOTEL.
SEPTIMUS GRIMPTON.
I sighed and handed the form back to Pons.
"This is supposed to be a holiday, Pons."
"Is it not, Parker."
Solar Pons looked at me sideways in a conspiratorial manner as we descended the steps of the hotel and set off in the direction of the centre of Bath. It was dusk and lamps were blooming along the broad vista of Great Pulteney Street and the grace and symmetry of the houses made one think we were back in the eighteenth century.
"Who on earth is Septimus Grimpton, Pons?"
"Your guess is as good as mine, Parker. I have never heard of the man."
"He has certainly heard of you, Pons," I said somewhat bitterly. "And how did he know you were staying here?"
"Possibly the good Mrs Johnson released our address in Bath, Parker."
I shook my head.
"That is a great pity, Pons."
"On the contrary, my dear Parker, Mrs Johnson was merely following out instructions."
"But we have just arrived, Pons," I protested. "And if you have to return to London.. "
"My dear fellow, I shall not be returning to London. If Mr Grimpton is calling at our hotel, is it not likely that he lives or has business in this neighbourhood? I hardly fancy that he would travel all this way from London just to consult me, especially when Mrs Johnson would have acquainted him with the fact that it is my holiday."
I stared at Pons for a moment as we crossed the bridge over the Avon and turned left into Grand Parade.
"That puts a different complexion on the matter, Pons."
"Does it not, Parker. And now let us absorb the unique atmosphere of this extraordinary city. Observe the almost magical way in which the Abbey rises from the dusk. If I am not much mistaken England's first Archbishop began its building."
We crossed the street and wandered through the precincts to where the lights of the Pump Room beckoned from the shadows. The area was crowded with shoppers and tourists and the red afterglow of the sun yet lingered in the west, turning the upper stones of the ancient Abbey Towers to carmine.
The rococo splendour of the Pump Room engulfed us and as we sat waiting for the buxom waitress to bring us tea, Pons glanced round the vast hall with its Chippendale furniture, absorbed in his study of the faces of the people who sipped their tea or ate their Bath buns, while their conversation rose like the murmur of the sea to the high ceiling far overhead.
An eight-piece orchestra on a dais at the far end of the huge room struck up a Strauss waltz and Pons turned back to me with an ironic smile.
"You are in your element now, Parker."
I waited until the waitress had put down the tea-tray, conscious of the toasted crumpets and other delicacies that were spread out on its silver surface.
"You must confess that it has a certain charm, Pons." Pons nodded.
"Oh, I give you that, my dear fellow. As a holiday it has much to commend it. As a way of life it would soon pall."
"I could not agree more, Pons," I said. "But as we are on holiday let us just enjoy it."
And with that I bit with satisfaction into my first crumpet.
3
We were sitting in the lounge of the hotel at a quarter past eight when a page-boy came in, followed by an elderly man dressed in a thick overcoat with a fur collar.