Solar Pons sat sunk in thought for a minute or two, while the Inspector regarded him with a faint smile.
“It is not so easy is it, Mr. Pons? Everything points to Mr. Watling’s guilt.”
“That is nonsense, Inspector!” Miss Chambers interrupted hotly. “It is purely hearsay. Rollo did not arrive at The Pines until seven o’clock and according to you his aunt had already been dead an hour.”
“We have only his word for that, Miss,” said Inspector Rossiter with a polite smile. “The evidence is circumstantial only, I must admit, but it is extremely strong. And we have had this statuette valued and it is certainly worth upwards of £3,000.”
“Ah, the famous Hound of Hell,” said Pons, coming out of his reverie. “Might we have a look at it, or have Scotland Yard retained it?”
“No, Mr. Pons, we have it in the cupboard yonder. It was brought up from London by one of their Chief Inspectors, but the Yard agrees with us on the line we have taken in regard to Mr. Wading.”
“Nevertheless, I should like to see it.”
“By all means, Mr. Pons. I have the key here.”
The Inspector rose and crossed over to a stout oaken door in the corner. He wrestled with the key for a moment or two and on opening the door, produced a strong metal box. He brought this over to the fire and opened it with another key. From it he produced an exquisitely fashioned statuette which he laid on the edge of the desk almost reverently. Instinctively we three visitors had risen and crowded round as the Inspector produced it. It was indeed a strange, almost bizarre object.
Miss Chambers’ description had prepared me for something weird but I must confess I felt a little prickling of the scalp as I stared at the terrible object the Inspector had produced from the strong-box. The lamplight of the office glistened on the dull, silvery surface of the dreadful beast with bared jaws which savaged the throat of the fur-clad man who cowered in the branches of the tree and vainly tried to protect himself.
There was something evil emanating from the inanimate surface of the metal and I think even Pons’ phlegmatic nature was affected, though he showed nothing on the surface, merely clamping strong teeth over the stem of his empty pipe. The little group was quite small but the genius of the unknown sculptor had infused such detail and finely wrought minutiae into the work that it had a baleful life that quite transcended the scale on which it was wrought.
“Nasty-looking thing, isn’t it,” said Inspector Rossiter phlegmatically. “No wonder they call it The Hound of Hell. It certainly doesn’t seem to have brought much luck to your fiancé, Miss.”
“Even so, Inspector,” said Pons evenly. ‘This thing could hardly have affected the course of events. Parker and I have our feet firmly on the ground and we are dealing with material facts, not legends, however horrific they may be.”
Rossiter shrugged and put the thing back into the metal box, before restoring it to the cupboard. He made no further reference to it, merely remarking, “I suppose you’ll be wanting to see Mr. Watling now?”
“If it will not be too much trouble, Inspector.”
“By no means, Mr. Pons. I will have him brought to the office for you. You’d no doubt prefer to see him without me being present?”
“That is extremely tactful of you, Inspector,” said Solar Pons, a faint smile on his face.
He looked thoughtfully after the receding form of the Essex police officer as he walked ponderously over toward the door.
When it had closed behind him he observed sotto voce, “An extraordinarily shrewd brain behind a stolid exterior, Parker. He will go far, mark my words.”
He smiled at Miss Chambers.
“However, he has an undisciplined mind at present, which he is not using to its best advantage. He is entirely upon the wrong track in this instance.”
“How can you be so sure, Pons?”
“I rely on my judgment of human nature, Parker. The sincerity of this young lady is beyond question. Young Watling had no need to murder his aunt.…”
He broke off as there came a tap at the door and a constable ushered in a worried-looking young man with dark hair, who was stylishly but untidily dressed. He blinked about him and then the girl had run forward and they were enveloped in each other’s arms. I coughed and faced toward the fireplace but Pons seemed entirely at his ease and waited until the engaged couple had come to themselves again.
“There is no doubt that you are Mr. Watling?” he chuckled, extending his hand to the young man, who was heavily flushed as he glanced from his fiancée to the lean form of Pons. He took my companion’s hand and pumped it as though he would never let go.
“It is indeed good of you to concern yourself with my wretched affairs, Mr. Pons. I swear to you by the God above and by all that I hold dear that I am innocent, sir!”
He was so vehement and his face so changed and wild that Pons took him by the arm and led him to a chair by the fire.
“Do not distress yourself, Mr. Watling. You have had a harrowing experience. Just a few questions only and then we shall be off to Stonecross to see what facts we may glean from a closer examination of the circumstances.”
“Very good, Mr. Pons.”
“You say you arrived at the house at seven?”
“At a few minutes before, Mr. Pons. It had been snowing all afternoon but had just stopped.”
“Did you notice any marks of footprints in the snow on the drive?”
“Oh, there were many, Mr. Pons, coming and going.”
Pons nodded, his empty pipe still clenched between his teeth.
“Did you notice in particular, the marks of those rubber boots, alleged to be those of the murderer, which ran from the road to the house and then to the woodshed? The ones which miraculously disappeared into thin air once they had arrived at their destination.”
Watling smiled wanly at Pons and then at the girl, who stood looking anxiously at him.
“Not particularly, Mr. Pons. There was no need for me to do so.”
“Just so. But the police took you back to The Pines, surely?” “Yes, sir. On Sunday afternoon. But I was too dazed at my arrest to take much notice in daylight.”
“But the marks were pointed out to you?”
“Yes, Mr. Pons. The only thing I noticed was that the footprints were small and narrow, like a woman’s or a child’s.”
Solar Pons’ eyes were drawn into slits now as he sucked at his empty pipe.
“Like your own, Mr. Watling. If you do not mind me saying so, you have remarkably slim, small feet for a man.”
Wading gave a wry smile.
“That is so, Mr. Pons. But I should imagine there would be thousands of men with similar feet.”
“You may be right, Mr. Wading, but we are dealing with a few feet only which trod the snow in the area round The Pines and with yours and the man who strangled Miss Schneider in particular.”
The young man nodded sombrely.
“It seems that I am entangled in a web, Mr. Pons. You are the only man who can break it.”
“That I hope to do,” said Pons steadily. ‘To succeed I must have every assistance from you possible.”
The door opened at that moment and Inspector Rossiter poked his head diffidently in.
“I hope I’ve given you enough time, Mr. Pons?”