"If you will kindly hand me that back, I will cut it out and add it to my file on Charles Brinsley LaFontaine. He is a considerable artist, seldom uses violence, robs only large institutions and organizations which can well afford it — I must confess I have a grudging admiration for him."
"It is the first time I have heard you approve of a criminal." My companion looked at me sharply.
"I did not say that. Far from it. I am, as you know, implacably opposed to crime and its workings in any shape or form. But one cannot always withhold respect from an adversary, however misguided."
"If this man has never been caught how do you know his name is LaFontaine?"
"A good question, Parker. I am sure it is not his real name but it was the nom-de-plume he used when writing letters of credit in the case I mentioned. They were also in copperplate handwriting and the theft was extremely ingenious in its planning and execution. This affair of the museum has the same stamp about it. Until we lay the man himself by the heels the nom-de-plume will have to do."
I watched while Pons cut out the item and placed it in one of his neat files.
"You think we shall hear more of this?"
"I am convinced of it, my dear fellow."
Solar Pons turned his deep-set eyes on me reflectively.
"Superintendent Heathfield is an extremely competent police officer and a gentleman who attained high rank in the British Army in Flanders in the last war. He has a wide experience of life and we both respect each other."
"You think he will consult you?"
Solar Pons shook his head.
"Not consult, Parker. He will confer with me. There is a deal of difference in the terms."
"I do not quite follow."
Solar Pons crossed his thin legs and sat back in his chair.
"Let me put it another way. Friend Jamison, though plodding and capable in his own way, is extremely limited in imagination and the higher reaches of intelligence. As befits his rank, Heathfield is a man of deep education and culture with a wide grasp of both the world and human nature. Whereas Jamison would fumble about, well out of his depth, and only consult higher authority when the case was going badly, Heathfield is of a different school. He would sit down first, shrewdly assess all the factors and then, when he had made his decision, either bring in outside help or proceed on his own lines."
I had never heard Pons so vociferous on this subject before and I stared at him in surprise until he eventually broke off his discourse with a dry chuckle.
"So you think Heathfield will ask your advice?"
"It is entirely possible."
He took the pipe from his mouth and stabbed the air with its stem to emphasize his point.
"Heathfield knows I have already had a run-in with LaFontaine and he is wise enough to realize that he will need specialist advice."
"You mean the background of the museum?"
"Exactly. Colonel Loder is, of course, one of the highest authorities in the land on oriental art and artifacts. But he is a busy man and has many duties to occupy his time. He cannot spend every day trailing around with Heathfield and his officers."
"Whereas you have a certain knowledge of this area and would like nothing better than to cross swords with LaFontaine again."
"You have hit it exactly," said Solar Pons good-humoredly, his alert figure jerking upright in his chair. A moment or two later I caught the soft footfall of our admirable landlady ascending to our quarters. The discreet tap on the door was followed by the motherly face of that good lady herself which insinuated itself somewhat nervously round the panel.
"I am sorry to disturb you, Mr. Pons."
"Not at all, Mrs. Johnson," said my companion, rising to his feet. "Come in by all means. Dr. Parker and I were merely indulging in a little idle speculation."
Mrs. Johnson entered and closed the door behind her.
"I have just had a telephone call, Mr. Pons. From Scotland Yard."
Solar Pons' eyes were dancing with mischievous lights as he glanced across at me.
"Indeed?"
"I was asked to relay a message to you, Mr. Pons. From Superintendent Heathfield."
Pons' eyes field an ironic expression as he continued to face in my direction.
"He wishes to consult you, Mr. Pons. Something about a museum. I did not quite catch the name, I am afraid."
"It does not matter, Mrs. Johnson. It would be the Mentmore, would it not?"
"That was it, Mr. Pons!" said our landlady, relief on her good-natured face. "He said if it was convenient he would like to call on you within the hour. Knowing you, Mr. Pons, I took the liberty of saying it would be."
"Certainly, Mrs. Johnson. You were perfectly correct. It would be entirely convenient."
And Solar Pons sat down at the fireside and smoked his pipe with great contentment until the arrival of our visitor.
2
Superintendent Stanley Heathfield looked at Pons with a quizzical expression. The trim military figure, the clipped gray moustache and the elegant suit and overcoat all bespoke a man of great energy and neatness of mind.
"You will find the sugar bowl at your elbow, Superintendent."
"Thank you, Mr. Pons."
Heathfield dropped two cubes of sugar into his cup with the silver tongs and stirred thoughtfully, his twinkling brown eyes glancing first at Pons and then at me.
"You are not surprised to see me here?"
Pons shook his head.
"Parker and I were discussing you earlier. I would have done exactly as you are doing had I been in your position." Heathfield smiled thinly.
"I do not quite understand you."
"I think you do, Superintendent."
"Pons was expounding one of his favorite maxims," I volunteered to the Scotland Yard official.
"When confronted by problems which call for specialist knowledge, first consult a specialist."
The superintendent shot me a shrewd glance.
"Unlike some of my official colleagues, eh, doctor?" "Perhaps," I said. "We did not get on to personalities."
Pons gave me an approving glance from beneath his lowered lids.
Heathfield chuckled.
"Well, you are right again, Mr. Pons. I have called about this Mentmore Museum business. As you have undoubtedly seen by this morning's papers both the museum authorities and the Yard are taking it seriously."
"I am glad to hear you say so," said Pons crisply. "And as I have already had some experience of Mr. LaFontaine you seek my advice."
The superintendent inclined his head ironically, his eyes dancing.
"I immediately detected his handiwork. As you know why I am here perhaps you know what I am about to show you."
"Naturally. The letter this impudent scoundrel sent Colonel Loder."
The superintendent smiled and rummaged in a crocodile-skin briefcase he had put down on the table.
"You have no objection to lending your talents to this investigation?"
My companion nodded his head.
"Delighted, Superintendent. I could think of nothing that would give me more pleasure."
He glanced across at me.
"Providing you have no objection to Parker?"
The superintendent looked at me in surprise.
"Good heavens, no. An honor to have you both."
Pons rubbed his thin fingers together in satisfaction. "Excellent. And now to business."
Heathfield had produced from his briefcase a large, buff-colored envelope. It was addressed to Colonel Loder at the museum and bore a London postmark I saw as Pons held it up toward me. The writing was in thick blue ink, the lettering exquisitely formed.
"First-rate," said Pons, glancing casually at the superscription.
"And exactly the same hand as those messages sent during our last encounter."