"Is there not, Parker. Unless I am much mistaken Miss Richmond is cast opposite our client in Death Comes to Thorn field."
He drew out a slip of paper from his overcoat pocket and flicked his glance across it. A sardonic smile curved his lips.
"As I expected, Miss Richmond is not on the short list of Mr. Hardcastle's conquests. As you so sagely imply, Parker, this is a situation which merits watching."
And without referring to the matter again he retraced his steps in the direction of Hardcastle's stately house. Pons was busy on some inquiry of his own on our return and it was not until dinner that we met again. We ate in a luxuriously appointed dining room paneled in oak, and lit by antique chandeliers. The room had two fireplaces, one at each end, and the roaring flames of the liberally banked fires cast a pleasing glow across the china, silver and crystal on the table. There were just the five of us; myself and Pons; Hardcastle and his wife, and the secretary, Abrahams.
The food and wine were of excellent quality and the meal passed agreeably, served efficiently by maids supervised by the butler who had greeted us on arrival. To my surprise Pons said nothing of the incident at the summerhouse and I had only to look at his intent face and tightly compressed lips when I mentioned our walk in the grounds to see that he wished me to draw no more attention to the matter.
After the meal Pons, Hardcastle and I adjourned to a small smoking room where we took coffee and liqueurs; later, Abrahams joined us at the request of our host and sat silent, looking from one to the other of us, as though he were secretly terrified of his employer. But Pons appeared in his element. We might merely have been weekend guests staying with old friends.
At dinner my friend had been an agreeable raconteur, keeping the table absorbed with his recitals of his extensive travels, and now he discoursed knowledgeably on the theater and the differing techniques employed by stage and cinema actors. As well as I knew Pons, I was considerably surprised at his knowledge, and Hardcastle, his troubles temporarily forgotten, obviously warmed to him.
Pons had included Abrahams in the conversation and the young man, his tongue perhaps loosened to some extent by the dinner, grew more relaxed and confident. He was a good-looking, personable young man who might have made a good actor himself, and I had noticed that Hardcastle kept him working hard, often running about unnecessarily on quite trivial errands. It was one of his less likeable traits and I must confess I was pleased to see that he was inclined now, at the end of the day, to allow the fellow some brief peace.
At length there was a pause in the conversation and Pons leaned forward, clouds of pleasant blue smoke from his pipe wavering toward the ceiling.
"You have not yet favored us with your opinions, Mr. Abrahams?"
"My opinions, Mr. Pons?"
The young man looked startled.
"On this strange threat which hangs over your employer?" "Oh, that."
Abrahams gave a somewhat placatory glance toward Hardcastle, as though expecting some objection to the answer, but the actor merely cleared his throat, an encouraging expression on his face.
"I am completely baffled, Mr. Pons. It is a dreadful business, of course, but I do not know what Mr. Hardcastle could possibly have done to merit such enmity. Perhaps it is someone mentally deranged."
"Perhaps," said Solar Pons carelessly. "Though the case has all the hallmarks of an eminently sane mind."
"Eigh?"
Hardcastle looked across at Pons with a worried frown.
"I do not quite understand."
"It is perfectly simple. Everything that I have so far learned leads me in one direction only. Toward a crystal-clear mind which is calculating revenge."
There was an ugly silence and Hardcastle stared at Pons, his open mouth a round, blank O in his face.
"You know who is responsible, Mr. Pons?"
The question came from the secretary, whose eyes were fixed intently on my companion's face.
Solar Pons shook his head, a faint smile on his lips.
"Not yet. But I have some indications. I would prefer to say nothing more at this stage."
"What are your plans?"
Pons turned toward Hardcastle.
"I shall return to London tomorrow afternoon, Mr. Hardcastle. I have learned enough here for the moment and I am convinced you are in no current danger. If the actions of your unknown persecutor run true to form, he will strike on the opening night of the new play."
Hardcastle looked disappointed and sat frowning into his liqueur glass. Pons noticed his downcast mood and rose from his seat.
"I shall not be far away, and you can reach me in a moment by telephone. I will be at the theatre as soon as you begin rehearsals, and we will make plans."
Hardcastle got up too and clasped my friend's hand impulsively.
"You are right, of course. You could do little by hanging about here, though I must say I derive a good deal of comfort from your presence and that of Dr. Parker. In the meantime, what do you wish me to do?"
"Report to me immediately when you see anyone — friend or stranger — acting suspiciously about this estate. Be on your guard and impress on your servants the importance of securing the premises properly at night."
He raised his hand at the expression of alarm on our client's face.
"It is not that I fear anything specific; it is just that we must be constantly on our guard. For example, if a message were to appear mysteriously on your desk one morning, it would be important to know how it had arrived. Securing the property would narrow down the field for speculation."
"I see."
Relief was evident on Hardcastle's face.
"Anything else?"
"Let me know as soon as you are due in London to begin rehearsals. I will meet you at the theatre. I wish to mingle unobtrusively with the company and the backstage staff. Can that be arranged?"
"Certainly. You prefer to be incognito?"
"That would be best. You may merely introduce me as Mr. Smith, a friend who is obsessed with the glamour of the theatre. I shall be able to gain a good deal of background information in this manner long before the play opens."
Hardcastle smiled.
"I see. Mr. Pons. It shall be as you wish. Abrahams will keep you fully informed."
"Excellent. And now, I am feeling a little fatigued and the hour is late. We will just pay our respects to our hostess and then retire. Come, Parker."
4
"I have just received a message from Hardcastle, Parker. The company begins rehearsals for Death Comes to Thornfield at the Negresco this afternoon. Are you free?"
"I can make myself so, Pons."
"Excellent, my dear fellow. In that case I should be glad of your company."
A week had gone by since our visit to the actor's home, and though it was now the end of January the bitter weather continued, though snow had held off. Pons had much to occupy him during the past few days and having concluded some loose ends which had been fretting him in the Alcover swindle case, had now turned his attention back to Hardcastle's affairs.
It had chafed him that there should be such a delay but there was nothing to be done and it seemed obvious, even to me, that little else could happen until the actor's latest play was put into production, if the pattern evolved by the secret persecutor continued in the same fashion.
We left our comfortable quarters at 7B Praed Street, and it was just three o'clock when we arrived at the Negresco, a palatial gilt rococo edifice in a narrow street near Shaftesbury Avenue. Hardcastle himself was in the foyer to greet us and introduced us to Ayres, his business manager, a tall, sardonic man with graying hair. Abrahams was there, standing a little in the background, but he nodded agreeably enough and the statuesque figure of Mrs. Hardcastle came forward briskly to shake our hands.