Basil Copper
The Recollections of Solar Pons
For “the lost Lenore,”
Stefanie Kate Hawks,
Beautiful Collaborator,
Gracious Lady,
Superb Artist,
With my Love and Admiration.
#01 REGARDING SHERLOCK HOLMES
#02 THE CHRONICLES OF SOLAR PONS
#03 THE MEMOIRS OF SOLAR PONS
#04 THE CASEBOOK OF SOLAR PONS
#05 THE REMINISCENCES OF SOLAR PONS
#06 THE RETURN OF SOLAR PONS
#07 MR. FAIRLIE'S FINAL JOURNEY!
#08 THE DOSSIER OF SOLAR PONS
#09 THE FURTHER ADVENTURES OF SOLAR PONS
#10 THE SECRET FILES OF SOLAR PONS
#11 THE UNCOLLECTED CASES OF SOLAR PONS
#12 THE EXPLOITS OF SOLAR PONS
#13 THE RECOLLECTIONS OF SOLAR PONS
#14 SOLAR PONS-THE FINAL CASES
The Adventure of the Mad Millionaire
-1-
“Good afternoon, Doctor!”
“Good afternoon, Colonel!”
I had been enjoying an after-lunch walk in brilliant sunshine alongside the Round Pond in Kensington Gardens in perfect July weather when the robust tones of a familiar voice broke into my reverie. Though I had answered automatically and mechanically it took another split-second before I fully recognised Colonel Mortimer, a retired Army officer who was a former neighbour of mine when I lived in Chelsea for a brief period.
Mortimer was a striking figure, well above average height with a great hooked nose above his tobacco-stained cavalry moustache. But he always dressed impeccably and this afternoon he wore a startling off-white tropical suit with a pale blue tie and carried an elegant-looking Malacca cane. He fell in alongside me as I continued along the gravel walk and we were both silent for a moment, enjoying the extraordinarily beautiful weather. After a minute or two as we continued in silence, Colonel Mortimer shot a surreptitious glance at his watch.
“I am glad I have run into you, doctor. I have recently come across something that might well interest your friend Solar Pons. An acquaintance of mine has gone stark, raving mad.”
“Indeed,” I said, shooting him a sharp glance. “Would you not do better to consult one of my medical colleagues who specialises in mental disorders?”
He gave a throaty chuckle, slashing at a tangle of weeds at the edge of the Pond with the ferrule of his cane.
“It is not that sort of madness, doctor. No, believe me, there is something deep behind it which is beyond my fathoming.”
We had turned toward the edge of the Gardens now and the faint hum of traffic was becoming audible as it converged upon the Albert Memorial, while the great dome of the Albert Hall was rearing above the trees.
“Have you time for tea, doctor?” Colonel Mortimer went on.
“I have all the time in the world, Colonel,” I said.
“In that case what say you to Harrods? I have not been there for some considerable time.”
“As you please,” I said, though I was somewhat surprised by his choice of venue.
Some while later, when we were settled in the coolness of the restaurant in that elegant emporium the Colonel seemed to have thought better of his earlier confidence. He mumbled awkwardly to himself over the delicious watercress sandwiches; tapped with his teaspoon irritatingly on the edge of his cup as we made short work of the scones and jam; and hummed discordantly to the obvious discomfiture of the people at the tables round about as we rapidly created inroads into the strawberries and cream.
It was not until a second silver-plated teapot had been placed before us that he seemed to come to a decision.
“I must ask you to forgive me, doctor. I am not usually indecisive but I really do not know if I am doing right in this matter.”
“So I noticed,” I said unhelpfully, reaching for the last of the chocolate éclairs. “However, you have not yet committed yourself and even talking to me does not constitute a commission in the eyes of Pons.”
“That is certainly true,” said Mortimer, not at all flatteringly in my opinion, and he fixed me with what I was wont to call his cavalryman’s glare. I have seen it freeze waiters at more than twenty yards off and it certainly had a discouraging effect on me this afternoon.
“Oh, believe me,” the Colonel went on, “I am not breaching any confidence you may be sure. And what I am about to tell you is something which might have been observed by anyone in close proximity to Foy.”
I stared at him across the wickerwork table which stood on the red-tiled floor in an elegant bower of roses, while the thin, reedy tones of the five-piece orchestra which played for tea-dances there, ascended to the fluted iron roof-columns.
“You don’t mean Hugo Foy, the millionaire financier?”
The Colonel glanced at me in slight surprise.
“Do not tell me that you know him?”
I shook my head.
“Good heavens, no. I hardly move in such exalted circles.”
The Colonel closed his lips round a portion of strawberries and cream with satisfaction. I realised that the taste was not the only cause of his state of mind; he was pleased because I had admitted that while I might not mingle with millionaires I recognised that it was a perfectly right and proper thing for him to do so. I swallowed my amusement at this irreverent thought and concentrated on what the Colonel was saying.
“He is a near neighbour of mine at The Boltons and we are occasional partners at bridge parties together. I am merely concerned in case he might feel I was responsible for causing an unwarrantable interference in his affairs.”
“That is something you must decide for yourself,” I said.
I could not resist adding, with considerable self-satisfaction, “It means nothing to Pons. He is used to mixing with the
crowned heads of Europe and mere millionaires are ten a penny in his book.”
Colonel Mortimer swallowed a mouthful of tea the wrong way, glared at me over his cup with one eye, said “Quite” in a dead voice and snapped his mouth shut. I savoured the moment a little longer.
“Tell me, Colonel,” I said. “Just why should you consider your friend to be mad?”
“Acquaintance,” said the Colonel sharply. “Nothing more, I hasten to assure you.”
He fixed me with a piercing glance.
“What would you say to a man who rides in his motor-car naked in the moonlight; wears white drill trousers with a dark City suit; and uses a billiard cue to hole his ball on the golf course!”
I goggled at my companion.
“And those are only a few examples,” Mortimer went on. He would have said more but I put up my hand.
“There is no need to elaborate, Colonel. I think you would do better to avoid repetition by coming straight away with me to see Pons.”
There was a certain smug satisfaction in the Colonel’s eye as we finished the meal.
-2-
Solar Pons put the tips of his thin fingers together, leaned back in his armchair and blew a cloud of fragrant blue smoke at the ceiling. The windows of our sitting-room at 7B Praed Street were wide open to the fragrant summer air but so hot had been the day that I could see little beads of perspiration standing out on Colonel Mortimer’s forehead as he sipped appreciatively at the ice-cold beer I had plied him with.
It was evening now and a mauve dusk crouched at the windows, stained yellow with the flowering of the early street-lamps and window signs.