“I appreciate the fact,” said Pons gravely. “Parker, if you would be so kind as to show our visitor out.”
When I returned from the lower hall I found Pons sunk in a brown study, his chin resting on his hands, his eyes sombre and drawn to brilliant points of light.
However, he roused himself as I drew near.
“You have your revolver handy, Parker?”
“Indeed, Pons,” I replied with surprise. “I do not understand your question.”
“No matter. We may have need of it before this business is through. I take it I can rely upon your support?”
“Indeed, Pons,” I said somewhat stiffly. “You know you can always rely upon that.”
I sat down in the armchair opposite him and studied him closely.
“You have something in mind, Pons?”
He nodded somewhat impatiently, his eyes narrowed almost to slits.
“I am poised on a knife-edge, Parker. I have almost all the threads of this affair in my hands. But my suppositions are circumstantial only. And if I go wrong there may be a dreadful tragedy.”
I made an instinctive movement in the chair.
“In what way may I help you, Pons?”
“By being a catalyst, Parker. You are always that. And by giving me your always valuable support. Are you free this evening?”
I nodded.
“Most certainly, Pons.”
“Excellent!”
He rubbed his thin hands together.
“I have taken the liberty of telephoning our usual establishment to hire a motor vehicle for the next two or three days. It should be here shortly. In the meantime, while we are waiting, I should be glad if you would fetch your revolver and a box of cartridges.”
“Certainly, Pons.”
I complied though still somewhat puzzled and when I returned to our sitting-room I found Pons standing at the window, looking down at the street.
“The vehicle has arrived, Parker. It is the machine you have been used to driving on previous occasions. Mrs. Johnson has brought up the keys. She will be up again directly with some sandwiches and coffee. We shall have to wait until it is almost dusk before we set out and I am only sorry we could not delay until you have had a more substantial meal.”
“It does not matter, Pons,” I said. “I have not yet read all the details of this baffling business.”
Over the coffee I perused the newspaper headings and the two related stories at my leisure; both the events detailed in the financial pages, as I have already indicated, seemed interconnected with the trouble in Paragonia which occupied the front two pages of the newspaper. I put it down at last and sat regarding Pons who was draining his second cup of coffee at the table opposite.
“Just who is this Tiger Marceau, Pons?”
He chuckled grimly.
“About the most dangerous man in South America, Parker. A born adventurer and saboteur, the son of a French father and an American Indian woman. He has been behind nine-tenths of the mischief in that unhappy corner of the world for the past dozen years or so.”
“I see you have studied him, Pons.”
“Have I not, Parker. Such exotic animals interest me as much as the zoo-keeper absorbed in some rare but savage beast which is put in his charge.”
“But how is he concerned here?”
Pons picked up his pipe and tapped its bowl against an ashtray, making a sharp, explosive sound in the room.
“You may be sure he is one of the linchpins, Parker. Titus O’Hara, the President and purportedly the strong-man of Paragonia, is nothing but a puppet figure. Mark my words, Marceau is behind the trouble there, with O’Hara making all the required noises. The Tiger is aptly named. He is a professional assassin, a trained saboteur and a deadly killer. From what I have read this case of Foy’s bears all the earmarks of his methods.”
“I must confess I am absolutely confused at all this, Pons. Hydro-electric schemes; Foy’s involvement; Tiger Marceau and O’Hara; everything is disconnected in my estimation.”
“Yet there is an overriding link,” said my companion sombrely. “It was idiotic of me not to see it sooner. Let us just pray we are in time.”
He sprang to his feet suddenly, as though invisible machinery had instantaneously animated his limbs.
“It grows dark, Parker. Now, if you are ready, we must be off!”
-7-
I moved along the tall brick wall, keeping close behind Pons, the velvety shadows of leaves across our faces. I had left our hired Morris tourer in a quiet side-street a short distance away and we had walked to Hugo Foy’s residence. We had found an unlocked side gate and now skirted the vast garden, making our way toward the lit bulk of the house.
Twice we had had to pass the entrance gate because of a patrolling policeman but now all was quiet, the only sounds the occasional soft footfall of a passer-by on the dusty pavement in the distance and the soft whisper of even more distant traffic.
“You are certain Foy is at home, Pons?”
Pons nodded, his voice low and urgent as he replied.
“There is no doubt about his movements this evening. I have had Brother Bancroft take care of that.”
I paused in surprise.
“The Foreign Office, Pons?”
“Naturally, Parker. They were already au fait with the outlines of the affair and when I pointed out the possibilities to Bancroft he was swift to move, despite his bulk.”
There was a faint smile on his face as he turned back to the house and put his finger to his lips. We were now within the shadow cast by a vast cedar tree at the edge of the lawn and from this vantage point, unseen ourselves, though the brilliant moonlight picked out every leaf and blade of grass, we waited, our eyes fixed upon the entrance steps of Hugo Foy’s mansion and the yellow lozenge of light imprinted upon the frosted glass of the front door.
We had not been there more than twenty minutes when the faint hum of a car strengthened to a loud rumble. Pons drew me back into the deepest shadow of the tree-trunk.
“This may perhaps be something, Parker. Let us hope so.”
Yellow beams of light from car headlamps swept up the gravel and as near as I could make out in the moonlight a large, gleaming closed car of the very largest and most expensive type crunched to a halt in front of the entrance steps. There was obviously another driveway to the house which allowed access for motor vehicles.
“Goodness, Pons,” I murmured, “that is an imposing-looking vehicle.”
“Is it not, Parker. A Mercedes-Benz, I fancy.”
I glanced at his dim face in surprise.
“I did not know you were an expert on motor-cars, Pons.”
“Neither am I, Parker. But with these night-glasses I should be hard put to it to mistake the distinctive motif on the bonnet.”
I saw now that he had a small pair of binoculars to his eyes and he focused them impatiently as the door of the automobile slammed to. A few moments later a bulky figure in evening dress hurried up the steps. He was evidently expected for the porch-light winked on momentarily and the front door was rapidly opened to admit him, and as rapidly closed behind him, while the light went off.
I glanced at Pons again but held my peace, contenting myself with straining my eyes through the moonlight to where the Mercedes stood. I could now see that there was no chauffeur; the man in evening dress had evidently driven himself. I saw something else too; a large piece of coloured cloth limply moving at the front of the bonnet.
“What on earth is that, Pons?” I whispered. “It looks like a flag.”
“It is a pennant, Parker. The Mercedes is a diplomatic vehicle. Unless I miss my guess it comes from the Paragonian Embassy.”
I looked at him sharply.