"Ah, there I cannot follow you, Mr Pons," said our client respectfully, stepping back to the edge of the plinth and lapsing into silence.
"That is your grandfather over there?"
Pons' dancing torch-beam passed on to indicate a smaller effigy, set against the far wall; this carried only a plain marble tablet with the name and dates.
"Simple and dignified," said Pons. "He evidently thought a great deal of your grandmother."
"He worshipped her, Mr Pons. He was buried there according to the wishes expressed in his will. Though wanting to be near her within the Mausoleum, he did not want her disturbed for his interment. In fact, Mr Pons, the raised platform is symbolic, or so my father said. It partakes, in some ways, of the mediaeval."
Pons nodded.
"The allusion had not escaped me, Mr Grimpton. When the inferior in rank slept at the feet of their lord or lady. A rather charming sentiment for the high-tide of the Victorian age."
"You are a man of great sensitivity, Mr Pons."
Pons acknowledged the compliment with a slight bow and his gaze once again raked round the strange chamber in which we found ourselves.
"I think we have seen everything of importance here, Mr Grimpton. A short visit to your house will put most of the salient points within my orbit."
"Certainly, Mr Pons."
We waited outside while the old man locked the great bronze doors behind us.
"How many keys are there to this door, Mr Grimpton?"
"About three, I think, Mr Pons," said Grimpton as we once again re-entered the car and the chauffeur reversed it and set off toward the house.
"And where are they kept?"
"There are two in my study and a third in the estate manager's office, Mr Pons. We keep the building clean, of course, and it is entered for that purpose from time to time."
Pons nodded.
"So that if anyone could abstract the key it would be only the work of a moment to make an impression of it."
"No doubt, Mr Pons, but for what purpose eludes me."
"That is what makes these little problems so intriguing," said Pons with a thin smile. "Pray give me the benefit of your thoughts on the matter, Parker."
"Well, Pons," I said. "Supposing it had been robbery. Thieves falling out, say."
"I am not usually obtuse, Parker, but on this occasion I do not quite follow you."
"The materials of the vault, Pons. The marble flooring and other fittings; the bronze doors themselves, would be extremely valuable."
Solar Pons leaned forward and toyed with the lobe of his ear, his face heavy with thought.
"Distinctly ingenious, Parker. You excel yourself, but I think not. While such a theory might be plausible in a metropolis like London it would hardly suffice out here in the country. And while it is true to say that the materials are extremely valuable, think of all the time and trouble. It would need tools, equipment, many men; to say nothing of a large vehicle to transport such booty away. Yet there are no tyre-marks in the grounds at all that I have been able to discover. And I have particularly looked for such markings. I fear we must look elsewhere for the explanation of this bizarre affair."
Pons turned to our client.
"And we must not forget also, Mr Grimpton, that unless Stokoe were raving, he must have meant something by his enigmatic reference to The Shaft of Death. I would submit it referred to the method of his own demise. He repeated it not once but several times, according to your story."
"Perfectly correct, Mr Pons."
"This is a heavy problem, Pons," I said. "And will need all your ratiocinative gifts."
"Will it not, Parker," said Pons with an enigmatic glance at both of us. And he said nothing further until we were inside the house.
6
As our client had indicated, Penderel Lodge was a rambling old place, but furnished lavishly with taste and discernment. Septimus Grimpton had made certain improvements in the matter of creature comforts and I for one was extremely grateful for the enormous fire which blazed in the great panelled hall to which Grimpton immediately led us on arrival at the house.
The door had been opened by a grave-faced butler with a fringe of white hair at the temples and now he brought whisky in a decanter, together with crystal goblets on a silver tray.
"Pray make yourselves comfortable, gentlemen."
The butler had poured the drinks and we stood agreeably engaged by the mellow flames of the fire when our host recalled the man, who was on the point of leaving the room.
"Are the police still here, Simmons?"
The butler inclined his head, the lights from the chandeliers glinting silver at his temples.
"The main body have returned to Bath this afternoon, sir. Inspector Morgan is working on his notes in the morning room. It was his intention, I believe, to await your return."
"Very well, Simmons. We will see the Inspector in a few minutes. Will you ask Mr Granger to step this way if he has not retired for the night."
"Certainly, Mr Grimpton."
Our host rubbed his hands together and turned to us, his blue eyes frank and level.
"Mrs Shipton, my housekeeper, and Hoskins, the gardener, are available for questioning should you desire to have them here."
Pons looked across at the great grandfather clock in the corner.
"It is past ten, Mr Grimpton. I do not think I will bother them tonight. There will be time enough tomorrow."
"As you wish, Mr Pons."
There came a low rapping at the door and at our host's command a thin, sandy-haired fellow pushed open the door and stood poised upon the threshold. He had an alert expression on his face and his body was coiled like a tense spring so that he reminded me of nothing so much as a wire-haired terrier.
"Little of import to announce, Mr Grimpton," he said easily. "Inspector Morgan is no farther forward, I feel."
"That may well be," said Septimus Grimpton drily, "but I think we must forbear to sit in judgement on the police force until they have had longer on the case. Granger, this is Dr Lyndon Parker and Mr Solar Pons who has come to give us the benefit of his great deductive wisdom in the matter."
The secretary smiled, showing even white teeth and hurried over to shake hands with each of us in turn.
"Welcome, gentlemen. I am a great admirer of your methods, Mr Pons."
"Let us just hope that you will remain an admirer after my departure, Mr Granger," said Solar Pons good-humouredly. "I understand you played a leading part in these mysterious events."
A shadow passed across the secretary's face. At Grimpton's invitation he poured himself a steep measure of whisky and went to stand moodily by the fireplace, facing Pons.
"I do not know what Mr Grimpton has told you, Mr Pons. I chased somebody one evening, yes. But I know as little as anyone else about these strange events. And as for the shocking murder this morning, I cannot for the life of me make any sense of the matter."
"Then you are at one with Dr Parker here," said Pons wryly. "But logic has a way of imparting coherence to otherwise widely disconnected events. We have a series of burglaries or attempted burglaries, in each of which valueless trifles were stolen. We have a murder and a Mausoleum; no visible weapon and a mysterious death-cry of a man evidently of sound mind, for he repeated the same phrase several times."
I shook my head.
"Baffling complexity, Pons."
"Is it not, Parker?" observed Solar Pons mischievously. "But light will break in, I have no doubt, as we proceed."
The secretary shook his head, exchanging a glance with his employer.
"Well, sir, I am entirely at your disposal, if you wish to question me. Similarly, the contents of the study and my own records are freely available. With Mr Grimpton's permission, of course."