“Of course, Inspector. Do come in. We have more or less finished.”
Pons put his hand on Roland Watling’s shoulder.
“Courage, Mr. Wading. I feel sure we shall soon see our way out of this.”
Inspector Rossiter’s face bore a faint, amused smile.
“Come, Mr. Pons. It will do no good to get Mr. Watling’s hopes up. The man who murdered Miss Schneider was a strong, vigorous man. Mr. Watling is young and determined.”
Solar Pons shrugged. There was a wealth of expression in the gesture though his face was impassive.
“That is an extremely fatuous remark, Inspector, if you will allow me to say so.”
The police officer coloured.
“Why so, Mr. Pons?”
“Tut, Inspector, we are talking of a frail old lady who would have been half-mad with fright. A slight young man — as you say — or even a determined young woman could have done it. In short, the field is wide open.”
Inspector Rossiter blew his cheeks in and out a few times without saying anything. Before anyone could break the silence Solar Pons turned to me.
“Come, Parker. We will wait outside while Miss Chambers says goodbye to her fiancé. Be of good heart, Mr. Watling.” “I feel so much better already, Mr. Pons.”
We waited in the police office for the girl to join us. It was cold here, despite the fire, and Pons and I walked slowly up and down to keep the circulation going.
“What do you think, Pons?”
“That young man is innocent, Parker. I would stake my reputation on it.”
“But how are you to prove it, Pons?”
“That is the question, Parker, as a very great Englishman once said. We shall see our way forward a little better once we reach Stonecross.”
-5-
An hour’s journey by taxi brought the three of us within sight of a bleak, windswept village, which crouched in the snow in the lee of great groups of elms. Blue smoke rose from the chimneys in the late morning air but my spirits rose as we were deposited outside the commodious premises of The Dun Cow. After we had registered and taken our bags to our rooms, we re-joined Miss Chambers for a quick lunch. Through the mullioned windows of the cosy dining-room we could see the lonely landscape thickly covered in snow and the dun-coloured sky promised more. Already, it seemed the dusk was setting in, though it was only just turned two o’clock when we three set out to walk the short distance to The Pines.
“I don’t like the look of it, Parker,” said Pons, as we strode along, well muffled against the wind. Our shadows, lean and elongated were thrown on the dirty snow and the wind plucked at the skirts of our garments with icy, probing fingers.
“Like what, Pons?”
“The weather, Parker. We may have more snow before nightfall. It appears we have come just in time, Miss Chambers.”
“Let us hope you are right, Mr. Pons.”
After a steady trudge along the deserted road which ran arrow-straight across the flat countryside we saw black smoke on the horizon and presently made out a group of thickly-clad labourers who were burning timber in a field. Clumps of farm-buildings resolved themselves from the featureless waste and the chug of a tractor could be heard.
As we drew level with the farm a police sergeant wheeling a bicycle came out from the side-track. He had a keen, alert face, now much reddened with wind and his thick black moustache gave him a forbidding aspect. But his face broke into a smile as he caught sight of us and he came forward smartly, leaning his cycle against the frozen hedge.
“Miss Chambers is it not? And, bless my soul, sir, Mr. Solar Pons!”
Pons returned the strong handclasp.
“Sergeant Chatterton, unless my senses deceive me? We last met on that Whitechapel business some half dozen years ago.”
“That’s it, sir. Inspector Rossiter said you would be along today. We can walk together.”
I dropped into step with Miss Chambers in the rear and Pons and the Sergeant walked together, the cycle between them, their conversation chopped into segments by the wind. Pons stabbed with the stem of his pipe at the group of farmhands bunched round the big fire of boughs.
“I see they are felling elm, ash and oak. Excellent wood, but will it not denude the countryside?”
The Sergeant nodded assent.
“Times are hard for farmers nowadays, Mr. Pons. Even the biggest of them are reduced to selling some of their standing timber. Ah, here is Mr. Clive Cornfield himself. Good afternoon, sir!”
A smart, military-looking figure dressed in riding breeches and a heavy tweed overcoat had hurried across to us on catching sight of the Sergeant. He was limping slightly and I saw my companion look quickly at his large, snow encrusted boots.
He saluted the officer pleasantly and cast an approving glance in our direction.
“Mr. Cornfield, this is Mr. Solar Pons, Dr. Lyndon Parker and Miss Chambers. We are just going up to The Pines.”
A dark shadow passed across the farmer’s face. He shook hands with Pons and then myself and the girl in turn.
“Delighted to know you, though it is unfortunately under such terrible circumstances.”
He glanced back over his shoulder and I noticed for the first time a long, low house with high chimneys nestling among the trees.
“I believe you knew Miss Schneider?”
“Indeed, I did, Mr. Pons. A strange and miserly old woman, if you will forgive me saying so. She was not much liked hereabouts.”
“You did not like her very much either, I take it?”
Cornfield stared at Pons for a moment and then burst into a laugh.
“That is not a secret, Mr. Pons. I had a row with her only last Saturday morning, as I expect you know. I had been up there to collect some long overdue money she owed on her share of the new fencing between our properties. She refused to pay, giving as her excuse that she was hard up. I ask you!”
He looked over reflectively toward the big house.
“I believe you were hereabouts when the two servants left?”
“Indeed I was, Mr. Pons. Round about five as far as I can remember. We had the yard-lights on as they passed. But I have told the Sergeant here and Inspector Rossiter all I know. If there is any other way in which I can help please don’t hesitate to call upon me.”
“I see you are limping, Mr. Cornfield.”
“Merely a blister, Mr. Pons. One of the joys of farming.”
With a brief smile he went sauntering back toward the bonfire, while our group continued on to The Pines. The Sergeant shook his head.
“Terrible, Mr. Pons, really, the way the old lady kept people waiting for their money. One shouldn’t speak ill of the dead but it was licensed robbery. I have a list of people interviewed in connection with the murder and I am expecting Inspector Rossiter himself shortly.”
“Indeed.”
Solar Pons turned to me with a bleak smile.
“He evidently does not trust me alone upon the scene.”
“It is not that, Mr. Pons. I think he could learn something from your methods. Good afternoon, George!”
A little, wizened man wearing a dark overcoat and a battered check cap was standing in a gap in the hedge. He hastily put the carcass of a rabbit in his pocket as we drew abreast.
“Good afternoon, Cedric!” he returned with a sly grin. “Back to the scene of the crime, eh?”
“I hope you got that rabbit legally,” said the Sergeant with mock severity.
The little man shook his head sourly.
“We have to do something to keep body and soul together. Even the guvnor’s been feeling the pinch. Times are hard all round. Farmers are no different to the rest of us and a lot will have to sell up if things go on like this.”
We passed by, the Sergeant adding a few muttered words of sympathy and as we gained the drive entrance of The Pines a dark motor vehicle appeared on the low horizon, sinister against the whiteness of the snow.