"Have you ever seen a blind man drive? Quickly, or we have lost him!"
There was such urgency in his tone that I was up with him and we were across the broad graveled expanse in an instant. The man in dark glasses turned like a snake as we came up, a snarl sounding from the depths of his beard. His stick came around so quickly it was a blur in the air. Pons pitched forward as the cane struck him somewhere in the upper part of the body. It swept back, striking me a painful blow across the shins. I stumbled, fought to prevent myself from going down, felt something soft in my hand. Then I tumbled in the dust with Pons, conscious of the roar of the engine. I rolled as the car backed savagely toward us, then it was a scarlet streak, heading for the wide-open iron entrance gate.
I turned Pons over, urgency in my tone.
"Are you all right, Pons?"
"Never better, my dear fellow," he said with a wry laugh, dusting himself down. "A slightly damaged shoulder and badly dented pride. The first will clear itself in a day or so, the second may take a little longer to heal."
We helped each other up; I brushed myself, conscious of the bizarre object in my hand.
"Why, it's a false beard! Professor Sanders was an imposter?"
Solar Pons shook his head, his eyes on the faint scarlet gleam that was disappearing among the distant traffic.
"I fear something may have happened to him."
He kept his keen eyes fixed on the distance.
"A cool customer. A cool customer. An adversary altogether worthy of my steel."
"At least we have given him a fright."
My companion turned to me with a wry smile lurking at the corners of his mouth.
"I do believe you are right, my dear fellow."
And he led the way back up into the interior of the museum.
5
"This is a nasty business, Mr. Pons! Thank God no one was seriously hurt."
Sir James Grieve, a tall, spare man in a black frockcoat with a gold eyeglass in his right eye looked shocked and serious at the same time. With his old-fashioned white stock, silk cravat, and red carnation in his buttonhole he looked like a startled stork as he met us at the entrance to the gallery housing the Baku idols.
"We have not yet finished, Sir James. The man who smashed this case and removed one of the gold images adopted the guise of Professor Sanders. I fear some harm may come to him unless we discover his whereabouts quickly."
"But Professor Sanders is blind!"
"Exactly. Which is why the matter is of some urgency."
A plainclothes police inspector who was known to Pons was quietly moving through the crowd now. He took my companion aside and informed him, sotto voce, "I have cordoned the building, Mr. Pons."
"Quite useless, Inspector. Our man has already flown. You had better telephone Superintendent Heathfield and ask him to come over without delay. We have much to discuss."
"Very well Mr. Pons."
"But before you go it would be best to clear this room."
Plainclothes police officers and uniformed attendants gradually eased back the crowd of chattering visitors and within another two minutes the long gallery with its shattered case and air of drama so at variance with its dignity was empty except for myself and Pons, Sir James Grieve, and another museum official called Petter. The injured attendant, who had recovered consciousness, had already been removed to the museum's own first-aid room, where I had promised to look in within a few minutes.
Solar Pons went quietly round the room, as though deep in thought, watched intently by the three of us. By the orders of Sir James the two adjacent galleries had been sealed off from the public and notices forbidding access placed in position before the locked doors. Finally, Solar Pons came back to the deputy director.
"Tell me, Sir James, have you storage space in these galleries?"
Grieve looked puzzled.
"Of course, Mr. Pons. There are doors concealed in the paneling. We need to keep exhibits stored and, of course, there are places where the staff need to keep buckets, cleaning materials and so forth."
"I see. Can you show me, please?"
Sir James nodded. He led Pons over to a far corner of the gallery, at a point where two walls made an angle. He pointed to a small brass handle set into the molding of the panel.
"Open it, if you please."
A dark rectangle was disclosed until Sir James switched on the electric light. We eased into the dusty interior which was empty save for pedestals, stone effigies, and other bric-a-brac numbered and stored in wooden stalls against the walls. Pons was already on his knees, examining the dust beyond the area where cleaning materials were kept.
"No, it is not this one," he said, with a shake of his head. "We must try the next gallery."
The process was repeated there but to Sir James' chagrin he could not open the door.
"It appears to be stuck."
Solar Pons' eyes flickered.
"We must break it in."
Sir James looked shocked.
"Is it really necessary?"
"Vitally — we have not a moment to lose."
Pons and I put our shoulders to the panel together. It gave with a splintering crash at the fourth attempt and we staggered through into the dust and darkness. Sir James was at the switch and as the shadows were dispelled by the single naked bulb in the ceiling he gave a cry of horror.
Pons was already by the side of the pitiful figure in shirt and trousers which lay trussed helplessly in the shadow. I tore the adhesive tape from the mouth. The face was already blue from oxygen deprivation but the heart was still beating.
"We must get him to a hospital," I said. "Another twenty minutes and it would have been too late."
"Your department, Parker," said my companion. "Do whatever you think necessary."
The old man groaned and started to regain consciousness. As we carried his frail figure through the shattered door and into the brightness of the gallery, I saw that he was blind.
"Professor Sanders!" said Sir James. "A thousand apologies, my dear sir."
"He cannot hear you, Sir James," I said. "Please get a stretcher and have the attendants carry him to the first aid station, preferably by a side entrance."
"Certainly, Dr. Parker."
Sir James hurried off and Pons and I, together with Petter, were left with the pathetic form of the blind man lying before us. I had already loosened his shirt and tie and now I busied myself in removing his bonds, massaging his hands to restore the circulation and making him as comfortable as possible. When I had finished I noticed Pons had a grim, not to say implacable expression on his face.
"Ruthless and cruel, your Mr. LaFontaine."
Solar Pons nodded slowly.
"Ruthless and cruel indeed, Parker. I have altered my opinion of him. It was a mercy we were here."
And he said not a word further until I had supervised the placing of the professor in the ambulance.
I accompanied my patient to the hospital and when I had been assured by the responsible physician that Sanders was no longer in any danger I returned to the museum where I reexamined the attendant I had seen earlier. As I had already diagnosed, his wound was superficial but he was now able to tell me that to the best of his knowledge another attendant, a stranger to him, wearing a heavy moustache, had struck him down when his back was turned.
"There are so many people in the museum now, who are unknown to the regular staff members," he said helplessly.
I nodded and scribbled a note for him indicating to the museum authorities that he should remain at home resting for the next three days. Then I hurried to Pons with my news. He was still in the Oriental Gallery and, he frowned, his eyes narrowing, when I acquainted him with this new information.
"It is all too easy," he said bitterly. "LaFontaine might already have returned to the museum for all we know. Nevertheless, I still incline to my theory that he will strike his main blow elsewhere and not during the day. How is Professor Sanders?"