"Ah, Parker," said Pons, rising from his place by the fire. "That should be the mysterious Mr Grimpton if I mistake not."
It was indeed for the old gentleman gave a start as he caught sight of Pons' lean, tall figure, dismissed the page-boy with a coin and hurried toward us through a sea of leather arm-chairs.
"Mr Solar Pons? It is indeed good of you to see me on your holiday, my dear sir. As you will have guessed, I am Septimus Grimpton."
"Pray sit down, Mr Grimpton. You will find this seat nearest the fire more comfortable."
Our visitor seated himself, unbuttoning his coat.
"I hope my telegram did not inconvenience you, Mr Pons, particularly as I understand this is the first day of your holiday."
"Not at all, Mr Grimpton. I gather that it is a serious matter on which you wish to consult me. This is my friend and colleague, Dr Lyndon Parker."
"Delighted to meet you, doctor."
Septimus Grimpton rose from his chair and gave me a half-bow as he seized my hand. He was a man of some seventy years of age, though of vigorous aspect and with a rosy complexion almost like that of a child. He had snow-white hair which hung over his forehead in careless wisps, and his tufted eyebrows waved in comic manner behind his gold pince-nez as he talked. One of the most striking things about him was his vivid blue eyes which made his face come wonderfully alive.
Pons had gone to stand by the fireplace and was studying our visitor with more than usual interest.
"A countryman and a scholar I see, Mr Grimpton. One used to taking notes in public places such as libraries or the rooms of learned institutions."
"Why yes, Mr Pons. You know me?"
The blue eyes had swivelled in an arresting manner to hold Pons in their unwavering stare. Solar Pons shook his head with a smile.
"You are of vigorous build and your complexion denotes the man who is much in the open air. Yet there is something of the scholar about your manner and tone of voice. When I find that combined with the slight stoop which comes from hours spent over books I deduce a gentleman of scholarly pursuits."
"And the libraries and institutions, Pons?" I could not resist putting in.
Solar Pons chuckled.
"Mr Grimpton is dressed expensively and in perfect taste. Yet I see from his high quality overcoat that the cuff of the right arm is nevertheless frayed and ink-stained. That comes only from his habit of resting his forearm on a table or desk while writing."
"But the public institutions, Pons?" I persisted.
Solar Pons shook his head and made a slight clicking noise with his tongue.
"You know my methods, Parker. It is only in public institutions or libraries, where conditions are often chill in winter-time, that the searcher after knowledge would keep his overcoat on."
I gave our visitor a wry smile.
"There is no catching you out, Pons."
"You do me too much honour, Parker. But you have not corroborated my findings, Mr Grimpton."
Our visitor shifted in his chair and his eyes sparkled behind the pince-nez.
"It is only because I am struck dumb with admiration, Mr Pons. You are correct in every respect. It is obvious my confidence in coming to you is not misplaced."
"You live in the neighbourhood, Mr Grimpton?"
"At Penderel Parva, Mr Pons, a small village just outside Bath; in fact, only half an hour's drive from here."
"Might I ask how you discovered my whereabouts?"
'That is just it, Mr Pons. A wonderful stroke of fortune. I was at my wit's end. I was so worried about this bizarre affair that I was about to set out for London to seek your advice. But some providence made me first telephone your London address and the good lady there told me you were staying in Bath and very kindly provided the name of your hotel. I am so sorry to cut into your holiday with my problems."
"I am at your disposal, Mr Grimpton," said Pons. "Other people's problems are my holiday so far as I am concerned and you seem to have your share of them if your telegram is anything to go by."
"You are too kind, Mr Pons. I think I can promise you something out of the ordinary. And money is no object."
Pons held up his hand.
"I never discuss terms, Mr Grimpton. I have a fixed fee and I never deviate from it, save when I remit it altogether."
Our visitor smiled gently at Pons and pushed his straggling white locks back from his eyes.
"My apologies, gentlemen. And now, to the purpose of my visit."
Septimus Grimpton's face had changed now and he had a strange, bleak look in his eyes that suddenly made one aware of his age.
"I live at Penderel Lodge, sir, a large house of a rambling nature, in extensive grounds outside the village of Penderel Parva," he commenced.
"It was built by my grandfather, Sennacherib Grimpton, a notable eccentric of Bath and a man who had money and taste but whose later life was clouded by his growing miserliness and a number of tragic events, which began with the premature death of his wife, my grandmother."
Grimpton gave a deferential smile and added, "I mention all this in some detail, Mr Pons, because I wish you to have the background of this strange affair firmly in your mind."
"Pray go on, Mr Grimpton."
"My life has been lived much out of the world, Mr Pons, though in earlier years I travelled extensively on the Continent in pursuit of my scholarly and bibliophile interests. I have one of the finest libraries in the West of England. A bachelor, I live with my secretary and domestic staff at Penderel Lodge, which descended to me on the death of my father some eighteen years ago. So much for detail, Mr Pons."
Solar Pons leaned casually against the mantel, his deep-set eyes fixed unwaveringly upon our visitor.
"The strange events at Penderel Lodge began some eight months ago, Mr Pons. They are a complete mystery to me; to my housekeeper, Mrs Shipton; and to my secretary, Jocelyn Granger. There were strange noises in the night; footsteps; doors slamming in the dead hours. I was several times disturbed and made the rounds of the house but was never able to find anything amiss.
"Then things took a more serious turn. We have had several burglaries, Mr Pons…"
Solar Pons made a low clicking noise with his tongue and held up his hand.
"Pray be precise as to detail, Mr Grimpton."
The blue eyes swivelled from me to my companion.
"Well, Mr Pons, none of it makes much sense. About three months ago I was aroused one night by a loud crash. Both Mrs Shipton and myself made a search but were unable to discover any intruder in the house. But we discovered a number of books in my library had slipped to the floor. We questioned my secretary and the servants in the morning but no-one knew anything about it."
Solar Pons pulled at the lobe of his ear in the manner long familiar to me and stared reflectively at our guest.
"Could the books have collapsed from the shelves of their own accord?"
"It is barely possible, Mr Pons, for the shelves are raked slightly backward to prevent just that."
"What were the volumes?"
"Nothing of importance, Mr Pons. Merely bound records relating to the estate in my grandfather's time. Worth nothing in monetary terms."
"I see. Please go on."
"There have been two burglaries since, Mr Pons. One, a month after the incident just mentioned. I saw lights coming from my study on this occasion. They shone on my blind and awoke me. I must have disturbed someone because I found the French windows open and a number of things missing."
"You reported this to the police?"
"Certainly, Mr Pons. But nothing followed. It was a dry night and there were no footprints on the terrace." "What had been stolen?"
-That was the ridiculous part of it, Mr Pons. Quite worthless things. A bronze ashtray from my desk; a pair of candle-snuffers; and a pewter vase principally."