"We cannot count on more than an hour or so here, Miss Brentwood, despite what your uncle may have said. I would like to examine your bedroom, of course, but I fear we must leave not later than half-past eleven. It would not do for us to be caught here uninvited by your uncle."
"Of course not, gentlemen," said Miss Brentwood but it was evident from her expression that she was disappointed.
Pons turned to me.
"I must return to London for a few hours later today. I rely on you to hold the fort at The Blue Boar where I would appreciate you be ready in case Miss Brentwood needs you."
He smiled reassuringly at the girl.
"You have only to telephone and Dr. Parker will be at your side in a few minutes."
"Must you go, Pons?" I said, dismay in my tones.
"It is vitally important," said Solar Pons. "I have to make some inquiries in town which can only be done on the spot. I should be back by late afternoon. Then, if my suspicions prove correct, and your uncle is still away, we will return here. Do not forget the signal."
We were back in the hall now and Mrs. Bevan was waiting to escort us to the first floor. Pons was silent, his deep-set eyes shooting glances into every corner as we ascended the stairs.
"This is my room."
Our client ushered us into a prettily decorated chamber which faced the road. Pons went straight to the window, reaching in his inner pocket for the small leather case which contained his powerful magnifying lens.
"This is the spot where you had such a terrifying experience?"
Our client nodded, recollection of her fright still showing in her eyes.
Pons went back to the bed and surveyed the room from there. At an almost imperceptible nod from Miss Brentwood, Mrs. Bevan left the room.
"May I open the window?"
"By all means, Mr. Pons."
Solar Pons pulled back the catch and slid the sash upward. He opened the shutters and leaned out to the right, carefully examining the brickwork. His eyes were gleaming as he shut the window.
"I think I have seen enough here. I would now like to examine the apartment occupied by Mr. Marcus."
We found Mrs. Bevan waiting for us on the landing and we ascended in single file to the top floor of the house. There were two doors immediately facing us, in a dimly lit passage.
"My uncle's room is just opposite," Evelyn Brentwood volunteered. "Mrs. Bevan's bedroom is near mine on the floor below."
"Just so," said Solar Pons, trying the handle of the door leading to the room occupied by the unfortunate Mr. Marcus. "It is locked, I am afraid."
"That is unusual."
Mrs. Bevan was at my companion's side. She frowned at the lock.
"The keys are usually left on the inside, so that the occupant may secure the door at night."
"Of course. That is the normal habit of the majority of mankind."
Solar Pons laid his finger alongside his nose and frowned at me.
"But we are not dealing with the majority of mankind here, Parker."
"No, Pons," I agreed.
My companion turned back to Miss Brentwood.
"Did your uncle say why he went to London today?"
"Unexpected business."
"Perhaps to check on his niece's story?" I put in.
"Perhaps, Parker, perhaps. Or to inquire about Marcus' death. He would have to do that."
"That is not all," Mrs. Bevan volunteered. "Mr. Roseacre would not let me in to clean the room yesterday. He said Mr. Marcus had made rather a mess by spilling ink when working on his papers and that he would clean it himself."
"Indeed."
Solar Pons was silent for a moment.
"A curious household, would you not say, where the master himself carries out the domestic duties of the housekeeper. Not to mention the gardener's. I am afraid we must get into that room somehow, Miss Brentwood. It is vitally important."
"Perhaps I can help, Mr. Pons."
Mrs. Bevan stepped forward with a large bunch of keys.
"I have a duplicate for most of the keys of the house on my key ring here."
She fitted a large old key in the lock, her face below the iron-gray hair concentrating as she put pressure on it.
"There we are."
The door gave with a click and Pons stepped through into pitch-darkness.
"Thank you, Mrs. Bevan. If you would light the gas, Parker, I would prefer the ladies to leave us for a while."
"Just as you wish, Mr. Pons."
I got out my box of matches and after striking two or three found a chandelier roughly where Miss Brentwood's narrative had led me to believe it would be. As its yellow light sprang up, Pons quickly closed the door behind us. He looked wryly at the rumpled bed with the indentation of a head on the pillow.
"So much for Edmund Roseacre's domestic duties, Parker," he said ironically.
As I moved away from the chandelier my boot struck against something.
"Good heavens! The floor is covered with glass!"
"So it is," said Solar Pons softly.
His eyes were shining as he advanced toward the window. "I should have been surprised had it not been. That was why the shutters were kept closed"
He looked at the shattered window thoughtfully.
"His victim was still conscious and put up an unexpected struggle. One would expect scratches on the body."
"What on earth are you talking about, Pons?'
"Nothing, Parker. Nothing that will not keep for a few hours."
He stared at the window for a few seconds more, examined the floor carefully, then turned to me.
"You may extinguish the chandelier. Not a word to the ladies, mind."
When I had done as he asked and waited on the landing while Mrs. Bevan re-locked the door, it was obvious from the disappointment on the faces of our companions that Pons' remarks had far from satisfied their curiosity.
"I will take that, if you please, Mrs. Bevan," said Pons, holding out his hand for the key.
Mrs. Bevan looked at her mistress and then, at a subtle eye signal, unclipped the key from the ring and relinquished it to Pons.
"This is vitally necessary, Miss Brentwood," said Solar Pons as we descended. "I have only one more thing to see and then we must bring this extremely enlightening visit to a close."
We said good-bye to the mystified Miss Brentwood and her housekeeper at the door. The mist was thicker than ever and Pons swiftly led the way round the side of the house. He opened the small ornamental gate that led to the rose garden. I stood in the mist and watched him while he looked thoughtfully at the clipped twigs that represented summer's abundant rose bushes and paced the flagstoned terrace with its ornamental bench.
He gave particular attention to a small strip of terrace about eight feet long which looked slightly newer than the rest.
"That must be where the little dog is buried," I said. "Indeed."
He finished at last, which was a relief for I was chilled to the bone.
I've seen enough — there is evil here and the sooner we lay it to rest the sooner will that unfortunate girl be released from dangerous and malignant influences."
6
While Pons was away I passed one of the gloomiest and most boring days I can remember, broken only by the excellent lunch at The Blue Boar. Afterward I spent leaden hours in the hotel smoking room, looking out at the mist, waiting for a telephone call from Miss Brentwood, which would have been agitating; or another from Pons, which would have been reassuring.
At last, at five o'clock, hours before I had expected it, there came the call and I drove immediately to GodaIming to pick up Pons from the station. He was fresh and alert and in excellent spirits, rubbing his hands with excitement as he stepped into the car.
"Well, Parker, all has gone well and I have my case more or less complete!"