“Truly rural,” I observed.
“You are developing a pretty wit, Parker,” said Pons blandly. “But please oblige me by concentrating all your attention upon the road.”
We had not far to go, fortunately, for almost immediately after Pons spoke I noticed the headlights blink out. At my companion’s muttered injunction I pulled the Morris off the lane on to a grass verge beneath a thickly sheltered hedgerow. A second more and both engine and sidelights were off. Pons was already down from the vehicle, striding swiftly along the lane and I was hard put to keep up with him.
-8-
I could hear the door of the Mercedes slamming somewhere far ahead and a moment or two later we saw lights pricking the shadows. We now found a high brick wall at our right hand and I saw Pons glance at it with an expression of concern.
I realised its significance, of course, and made no comment. Pons had thrust his empty pipe into his pocket and the lines of his ascetic features were stern and sombre in the moonlight. The lane widened out now into a gravel concourse debouching into rather grand entrance columns. The big iron gates were thrown back but the brick-built entrance lodge was dark and silent.
Pons paused, putting his hand on my arm. The drive curved through heavy banks of rhododendron and azalea, disappearing in the foliage and the shadow. Lights still showed faintly through the trees so it was evident that the house was not far. On the stonework of the nearest pillar was incised the legend: LANSDALE HOUSE.
“It looks as though it will be safe to walk down the drive,” I whispered.
Pons gave me a warning look and put his fingers on his lips. He pulled me swiftly back into the shelter of thick clumps of shrubbery which grew up against the outside walls at this point. I heard the thin, sharp sound of a door slamming a fraction later. Heavy footsteps sounded on the gravel and then a bright yellow light winked on in the mass of wrought iron that arched over the gateway.
A high, squeaking noise followed which set my teeth on edge. Someone was evidently closing and locking the gates for there followed a heavy clatter and then the rattle of a chain. There was silence for a few moments; the light went out again and the heavy shuffle of the footsteps ceased. The far slam of the door sounded and Pons relaxed.
“It does not always pay to follow one’s original instincts, my dear fellow,” he whispered. “We must find some less obvious way in.”
He eased slowly out from the bushes and I followed. Apart from the cottages Lansdale House was apparently the only house for miles as thick belts of woodland stretched away into the far distance. Pons looked thoughtfully through the bars of the locked gates to where the lodge sat dark and brooding.
“Interesting, Parker. Another small verification of my theories.”
“I do not follow, Pons.”
We had drawn away now and were walking very quietly and cautiously on the long grass in the shadow of the wall.
“There are no lights from the lodge, Parker. Either the people there are sitting in darkness or they have very thick curtains inside — or possibly shutters. And there was no bell on the gate.”
“I still do not quite see the point, Pons.”
“Tut, Parker, it is obvious. The people in the house do not wish to be disturbed; cannot be disturbed. If the lodge is empty and deserted and the gate locked and there is no means of contacting the people at the mansion, then any possible visitor is frustrated in his intentions. These people dare not draw attention to themselves. And any incautious person who tried to walk down the drive or open the gate, when it is closed, would be prevented from doing so by the person or persons in the lodge. Who are obviously on the look-out.”
“You read a good deal more into it than I, Pons. It sounds very sinister.”
My friend furrowed his brow.
“It is sinister, Parker. Dark and sinister.”
“But why did they not stop the Ambassador, Pons?”
“Because he was expected. And they obviously knew his vehicle for he drove straight through without stopping, as we observed. Now, let us see whether a turn at right-angles will serve our purposes.”
We had reached the end of the wall now, a couple of hundred yards farther on and there was nothing bordering the lane but a wire fence and a low, straggly hedge, which had many gaps in it. Pons was already over and I followed cautiously.
Once through the hedge we were in more or less open fields, broken only by heavy clumps of trees. The glimmer of a large pond in the far distance reflected back the moonlight. The brick wall continued at our right but as we advanced farther into the open country it gave way to a wire fence and heavy shrubbery. Pons grunted with satisfaction as the glimmer of the houselights showed again, above the tree-tops.
“We are in luck, Parker. If we cannot find a gap somewhere along here to suit then I will retire from practice.”
I smiled to myself.
“Somehow I cannot see that happening,” I whispered.
I had no sooner got the words out of my mouth when, rounding a heavy clump of bushes I blundered into a solid shape. For one horrifying moment, as the great body loomed over me, I thought we were discovered. I had my revolver out when Pons’ steadying hand on my arm brought me to myself. The intruder resolved itself into the form of a horse, which went snorting away into the darkness of the trees.
“Good heavens, Pons!” I spluttered. “That gave me a fright.”
“It was quite understandable, my dear fellow,” said my companion drily. “Let us hope that the animal has not aroused the household. There is always the possibility there may be guards in the grounds.”
I stared at him thoughtfully.
“What on earth are you expecting here, Pons?”
“There is no time to explain, Parker. MI is still quiet at any event. I think this will do nicely.”
So saying he eased himself quickly through a large gap in an old chestnut spile fence that bordered the estate at this point. When I followed him I found we were on the far side of the thick shrubbery which fringed the drive. We were quite close to the house here.
We moved cautiously through the undergrowth, keeping away from the area of the drive and in the deep shadow. The house gradually resolved itself into a vast Victorian pile, overhung by massive cedar trees and with a huge porch modelled on the Palladian style. In the drive in front were the Mercedes-Benz driven by the Ambassador and two other vehicles, one of which I recognised as an Austin saloon.
The drive curved to the left and we followed it, keeping well into the shadow. There was a stable block here and obvious servants’ quarters for we could hear water running and the clink of dishes being washed. Presently the paved area of the stables gave out but we continued in the same direction and came on to rough grass which led in turn to smooth lawn and formal gardens.
I continued behind Pons who moved unhesitatingly down the vast red-brick facade of the house. We were on a tiled terrace now, with clumps of statuary at intervals and clipped box hedges bordering it. There was an overpowering smell of magnolia from somewhere.
Up ahead yellow oblongs of light stabbed the gloom, imprinting the dark silhouettes of the French windows upon the terrace. I had my revolver out again but my companion motioned to me to put it away. We were now obliged to cover the few remaining yards to the lighted casements extremely cautiously as it was obvious they were wide open and I could smell the strong odour of cigar smoke on the still July air.