“Come, Parker!” he said urgently, guiding me down the pavement. “We must find a cab. There is not a moment to lose or vital evidence may be missing!”
“I am sure I do not know what you mean, Pons!” I said in amazement.
“I have been blind, Parker,” said my companion as a cab turned the end of the crescent and pulled up obediently in response to his signal.
“We must get back to Chelsea at once.”
“You are not going to see Miss Thornton, then?”
“Tut, Parker, that is quite unnecessary for the moment. Though I had arrived at certain theories the matter now becomes blindingly simple.”
“I am glad you think so, Pons,” I retorted with some asperity.
Solar Pons’ deep-set eyes were fixed somewhere on a corner of the cab roof and it was obvious that his thoughts were far away.
“It is now just a question of deciding how the facts fit these new circumstances. We shall see, we shall see.”
Back at Tregorran’s residence Relph showed us quickly to the studio and then withdrew. Constable Mecker had just come on duty again and looked as surprised to see us as I felt. But he showed us in with a welcoming smile.
“I did not expect to see you back, Mr. Pons, but you are most welcome, gentlemen.”
Solar Pons nodded sympathetically, his sharp eyes darting about the studio.
“You are finding it dull, of course?”
“The time does drag, sir. But I suppose one must get used to that in police routine.”
“Indeed,” I rejoined. “I have had many a long and boring vigil with Mr. Pons here in the course of some of his cases.”
“Thank you, Parker,” said Solar Pons crisply, but the little lights dancing in his eyes showed that he had not taken offence at my somewhat crass remark.
Pons moved over to Tregorran’s easel, his casual manner belied by the sharpness of his eyes. He looked at the debris of the unfortunate artist’s lunch which still stood by its side.
“Special export lager, with a gold foil seal, Parker. An expensive brand, too. That has great significance.”
“I fail to see it, Pons.”
“That is because your efforts are diverted in another direction altogether, Parker. Let us just consider the texture of this sandwich.”
To my astonishment he picked up the crust of the sandwich left on the plate. The exclamation he made as he suddenly hurried toward the door almost startled me. I followed him down the corridor toward the glassed-in porch.
“The dust, Parker,” he muttered. “It told a plain, unmistakable story, yet I did not read it aright. There are two impressions; one of Mrs. Mandeville’s tray and the other of a single beer bottle and tumbler.”
“I cannot…” I began when Pons rudely interrupted me and opened the inner porch door. He stood in silence for a moment looking at a large ceramic jar that stood midway between the two doors. It was obviously used as an umbrella stand because two sticks, one with a silver handle, were thrust into it. Pons’ aquiline nostrils were quivering.
“Do you not smell it, Parker?”
Then I caught the same odour, an unpleasant, stale smell as of greasy food. Pons peered into the depths of the jar and gave a sharp exclamation of satisfaction.
“What do you make of that, Parker?”
I peered in over his shoulder.
“Good heavens, Pons! A plate of cold soup and something that looks like blackberry tart with cream.”
Solar Pons smiled dreamily.
“Apple tart, I think you will find, Parker. Mr. Tregorran’s lunch, undoubtedly.”
He turned back to the inner door and examined it carefully.
“There is a keyhole here, partly concealed by the scrollwork. That almost completes my case, I think. No, Parker, I am not yet quite ready to divulge the details. For that you must wait until tomorrow evening.”
He led the way back into the house and downstairs at a trot so rapid that it left me breathless. Mrs. Mandeville, who was up to her elbows in flour in the kitchen, shared my surprise.
“Mr. Tregorran’s lunch, Mrs. Mandeville,” rapped Pons. “I omitted to ask you yesterday. It is of the utmost importance. What did you serve him?”
The housekeeper dried her hands on a cloth.
“Onion soup, his favourite, Mr. Pons. A bottle of his special export lager. And apple tart with cream. I like Mr. Tregorran to eat properly, though he often makes do with sandwiches if I am not careful.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Mandeville,” said Pons quietly. “I have one more piece to fit in the jigsaw but I think you have solved the problem for me. Come, Parker. I must crave Jamison’s indulgence in the matter of the police laboratory and then write a letter. In the meantime I am afraid you must contain your impatience as best you can.”
-5-
It was almost seven o’clock when I arrived at our cosy sitting-room at 7B Praed Street the following evening. I had a somewhat complicated case in the suburbs and had dined at a restaurant in Wimbledon on my way back. Pons had been enigmatic in the extreme all the previous evening and today had been absent on some mysterious errand in the morning. But when I saw him at lunch-time he had a sparkle and suppressed excitement in his manner. He rubbed his thin hands together and shuffled some official-looking documents so persistently that I twice had to ask him, at the lunch-table, to desist.
Afterward he wrote a message which he sealed in a plain envelope, addressed it to a destination he did not disclose and despatched it by special messenger. He chuckled as he sat by the fire, his spare form bathed in misty sunshine which straggled through from the street outside.
“If that does not bring our quarry to the net nothing will, Parker!”
I am completely in the dark, Pons,” I said, somewhat bitterly.
My friend laid a soothing hand on my arm.
“The philosophers counsel patience, Parker. In the mind that is once truly disciplined, as the good Marcus Aurelius has it… In a few hours you shall know everything that I myself know about this matter. When do you expect to return this evening?”
“At about seven, Pons.”
My companion nodded.
“Excellent. I have arranged the appointment for eight o’clock. You should be in good time for the drama.”
Now, as I entered the sitting-room, I was surprised to see that it was dark and completely empty. I switched on the light and was puzzled to hear a somewhat furtive step that seemed to come from my bedroom. I had not gone half a dozen paces across the room when Pons himself entered from his own room, blinking about him in the strong light.
“Apologies, my dear fellow. I felt rather tired after tea and have been catching up on my arrears of sleep.”
I looked at him sharply. Such a situation was most unusual for Pons but he did yawn once or twice and his hair was rumpled so I assumed that he had been lying down fully clothed in the dusk of his bedroom.
He looked alert enough now and bustled about, pulling up a third chair toward the table and looking sharply at the clock. He stopped in front of a mirror and put a careless hand up to smooth his hair.
“Now, Parker, we have only to possess ourselves in patience and with a little luck your friend Tregorran may cheat the hangman yet.”
I stared at Pons in undisguised amazement.
“I have seen you do some remarkable things, Pons, but we know from the evidence and from the witnesses that there can be no doubt that Aramis Tregorran strangled his own wife.”
“There is no doubt about it, Parker,” said Pons calmly. “Yet in my opinion he is entirely innocent.”
My jaw dropped and I gazed at my companion with mingled admiration and irritation. He saw the look in my eyes and his own danced with undisguised pleasure. He put a finger to his lips to enjoin caution and opened his tobacco pouch. In a few minutes he was completely surrounded by a cloud of aromatic blue smoke and he stayed like that, in complete silence, while I read The Lancet by the fire, for almost half an hour.