He bent over the envelope, his magnifying lens held closely over the paper.
"Expensive envelope, Glamis Bond, sold at high-class stationery shops throughout the land. Written with a quill, which he has cut himself. The strokes are typical of the method and the handwriting is definitely the same as before, whether LaFontaine be a nom-de-plume or no."
He frowned, holding up the envelope to the light.
"Posted at St. John's Wood, I see."
"How do you know that, Mr. Pons?"
There was sharp curiosity in the superintendent's voice. "I thought all these letters were stamped by the sorting office at St. Martins-le-Grand."
"So they are," said Pons casually. "And here is their stamp. But this was handed in the postal area covered by St. John's Wood, probably when our man bought the stamps. There is a disfigurement of the V in the fifteenth of the month. I have noticed this for some months. It is about time they changed the stamp but like most government departments it denotes parsimoniousness."
The superintendent turned sharp eyes on my companion. "You think our man lives in St. John's Wood?"
"It is possible," said Pons lightly. "But I attach no importance to the fact. It signifies little and such an artist as LaFontaine would think nothing of going miles out of his way to post a letter to avoid being traced."
The superintendent blew out his breath with a hiss.
"If you think he is so careful why does he go to all this trouble to warn the authorities of an impending burglary?" Pons smiled.
"Ah, you have noticed that, have you? It is of the greatest significance, is it not, Parker?"
"If you say-so," I mumbled.
"Let us just have a look at the contents," Pons continued. "I think I have learned all that can usefully be gathered from the envelope."
He carefully drew out from the enclosure a large sheet of blue tinted paper which had been carefully folded down the middle. He spread it out in front of him on the lunch table and I went round to read it over his shoulder.
It was indeed a curious message, written in the same beautiful copperplate handwriting, and with the same blue-ink pen used for the superscription.
Colonel Loder: I have a mind to add the Baku idols to my collection. You may expect a visit from me in the near future. It is useless to take precautions. When I fancy something doors and locks mean nothing. Expect me!
Solar Pons smiled sardonically as he examined the sheet of paper carefully and then handed it back to the superintendent.
"Just why are Scotland Yard and the museum authorities taking this so seriously?" I asked.
"Because, Parker," said Solar Pons, "there have been a number of thefts of irreplaceable objets d'art from Austrian and French museums over the past year or two. All were the work of the same man, though there was no warning as in this instance here in London. The method behind the burglaries, the disguises adopted, and the entire procedure in each case point indubitably to LaFontaine."
I turned to Superintendent Heathfield, who nodded somberly.
"That is perfectly correct, gentlemen. I see that you keep up to date with major crime on the Continent as well as this country, Mr. Pons."
"As always," returned my companion. "Colonel Loder and yourself do well to take the threat seriously. I know' the museum authorities have strengthened the guards. What are your own intentions in the matter?"
"Plainclothesmen mingling with the crowds in the museum during the day. More armed detectives among the guards at night. I have set up my own Command Headquarters in an annex adjoining the curator's office. I am in wireless contact with Scotland Yard. Beyond that, there is little else I can do for the moment."
Solar Pons sat quietly, pulling thoughtfully at the lobe of his left ear.
"You have done well, Superintendent," he said at length. "As you rightly say, there is little else that can be managed for the moment. You have surveyed the terrain thoroughly, of course?"
Heathfield inclined his head.
"Of course. The Baku idols are in two large locked glass cases in one of the major galleries, situated in the west wing of the museum. There are the usual burglar alarms and an attendant sits on a chair at the side of the room throughout the day. These men are changed every two hours and are present at all times during the museum's opening hours to keep an eye on the visitors. I do not think we need worry much about that."
"Nevertheless, Superintendent, a bold man like our friend may choose the day as the perfect time to strike."
"I have not overlooked that, and I have put two plainclothes detectives in that room at all times. Like the attendants they are changed, but in this case, four times a day. They filter in and out of the room, two at a time, like casual tourists."
"Hmm."
Solar Pons' eyes were bright as he stared at the superintendent.
"Excellent. There is nothing you have overlooked."
"You flatter me, Mr. Pons. You will help me, then?"
"There was never any doubt of it, Superintendent. What are your dispositions for the night?"
"I have a similar routine, only my men are kitted out as museum attendants, in proper uniforms. They are armed with revolvers but will only shoot to wound in extreme circumstances. Needless to say, all are handpicked, both for their fleetness of foot and boxing abilities."
Pons smiled thinly.
"Needless to say. I think I would like to have a look at the museum before we take this any further. What about you, Parker?"
"I am at your disposal. I can be ready in a quarter of an hour."
Solar Pons rubbed his hands together. Heathfield sat opposite him, finishing his tea, his penetrating eyes never leaving my companion's face.
"Nevertheless, you have reservations, Mr. Pons?"
Solar Pons burst into a short, barking laugh.
"It is a pleasure to work with you Superintendent. It is just this. With all the treasures of the museum to choose from, why would LaFontaine pick the Baku idols? I commend that thought to you, my friend."
3
The Mentmore Museum was a massive building with an overwhelming portico, situated near Bloomsbury and conveniently close to the British Museum. Within twenty minutes of our leaving Praed Street we were picking our way between the clustered groups of tourists of all nationalities which were ascending and descending the broad flights of steps which led to the main entrance turnstiles.
Once inside the vast entrance hall, a plainclothesman, evidently on the lookout for the superintendent, led us swiftly to the curator's quarters, a large, luxuriously appointed suite of offices discreetly situated down a corridor whose entrance door bore no markings other than the word "Private."
Colonel Loder, a handsome, silver-haired man in a well-cut gray suit with a wine-red bowtie hanging like a bright butterfly beneath his chin, rose from his desk to greet us. He was both courteous and brisk and I formed a _very favorable first impression of him.
"This is very good of you, Mr. Pons. Doctor Parker."
"Not at all," said Solar Pons affably. "It is a matter which must be taken seriously and as the Superintendent and I have worked together before and I have some small knowledge of oriental artifacts…"
The curator nodded approvingly.
"You are astonishingly knowledgeable, Mr. Pons. I have read those of your monographs which have been reprinted in our learned journals."
"You flatter me, sir," said Solar Pons, but I could see that the expert's praise had understandably pleased him.
"Will you not sit down, gentlemen?"
We sat in a wide horseshoe, facing the colonel's desk. It was quiet in here and the mellow sunshine fell slantwise across Loder's cheerful quarters, which had massive oil paintings on loan from one of the national collections hanging on the far walls. Loder pierced a cigar with a silver instrument he took from his desk and handed his cigar box around. Heathfield took one and lit up with the curator but both Pons and declined, the latter producing his favorite pipe. The air was hazy with fragrant smoke before Loder broke the silence.