And he said not a word further on the subject until we were en route the following morning. It was a bitterly cold day; colder if anything than the previous and both Pons and I were heavily muffled against the biting air. We left the train in bleak conditions at Gravesend, where we changed to a small branch line.
There was a chill wind blowing from off the Thames Estuary and as I glanced out of the carriage window at the cheerless acres of mud in which here and there sea-birds blew like spray as they flocked round the hulk of some wrecked barge stranded in the ooze, I felt I had seldom seen a more depressing landscape.
But Solar Pons merely chuckled as he settled deeper into his raglan overcoat, rubbing his lean fingers briskly together as he shoveled aromatic blue smoke from his pipe.
"Capital, Parker," he remarked. "This is an admirable atmosphere in which Grimstone's crawling horror operates." I glanced at him in some surprise.
"You astonish me, Pons. I thought you were not interested in nature as such."
"Atmosphere, Parker. I was talking of atmosphere," Pons reproved me. "There is a world of difference."
We had stopped momentarily at some wayside halt and now the door of the carriage was opened, bringing with it gusts of freezing air. A robust, bearded figure entered the carriage, apologizing for the intrusion and we made way for him on the seats, removing our luggage to one side.
"Thank you, gentlemen," said the intruder in a strong, rough but not uncultured voice.
He was dressed in tweeds, with a thick check cap with earflaps and his heavy thigh-boots were liberally splashed with mud. He carried a pair of binoculars in a leather case slung by a strap around his neck and a stout canvas bag at his side had the flap partly open, disclosing plant specimens with ice still clinging to their roots.
His broad, strong face was red and burned with wind about the cheek bones and his deep-set gray eyes looked at us both with interest.
"Inclement weather," I ventured.
He gave a hearty laugh.
"Oh, I think nothing of that, gentlemen. I am something of a naturalist and am used to collecting specimens and bird watching about the marshes in all weathers. A country G.P. in places like this has few other diversions."
I looked at him with interest.
"So I should imagine. I am myself a doctor."
"Indeed?"
Our companion raised his eyebrows.
"Parker is the name," I went on. "This is my friend, Mr. Pons."
"Delighted to meet you both. Dr. Strangeways, formerly of Leeds."
The big man half-rose from his seat and shook hands with us both.
"You must be very familiar with the marshes then, doctor," said Solar Pons. "Perhaps you could tell us something about Grimstone. We are bound there."
The doctor smiled thinly.
"We shall see something of each other, then. My practice ranges wide but I live at Stavely nearby."
I nodded.
"We are staying at The Harrow there for a few days."
Dr. Strangeways looked at me with narrowed eyes.
"We are poorly served for inns hereabouts but it is the best in these parts."
He hesitated, looking from me to Pons and then back again.
"You will forgive me, doctor, but strangers are few and far between down here and Grimstone Marsh seems a strange destination for two gentlemen like yourselves."
I looked at Pons.
"We have some business with Mr. Silas Grimstone," he said shortly.
The doctor smiled sardonically.
"Well, then I wish you luck, Mr. Pons. He is one of my patients. My medical bill has not been paid this eighteen months, though he is as rich as Croesus."
"I am sorry to hear that," I said politely looking from the bearded man opposite to the bleak prospect of marshland held in icy bondage by the weather, which was slowly passing the window.
"I have heard he is tight-fisted," said Pons. "And I regret to learn he is so tardy with payment. I know you cannot violate medical confidence, but I should be glad to know if you have attended him in recent months."
Dr. Strangeways looked at my companion sharply. He shook his head.
"I have no objection to answering your question, Mr. Pons. Ethics do not come into it — rather business morality. I have not attended him for some eight months now. I was blunt and said I would not call again until my account was settled."
"A perfectly proper attitude, Dr. Strangeways," said Pons approvingly.
He blew a stream of fragrant blue smoke from his pipe toward the carriage ceiling. He abruptly changed the subject.
"You get about the marshes a good deal, doctor. You have no doubt seen some strange things in your time."
The doctor shrugged and settled himself back against the upholstery.
"It is a curious corner of the world down here, as you know," he admitted. "Which is probably one of the reasons why Dickens chose it for some of his most effective scenes in Great Expectations."
"Ah, yes," I put in. "When young Copperfield set out for his walk to Dover."
"You have got the wrong book," put in Pons reprovingly. "And he would have certainly gone a long way round."
Dr. Strangeways chuckled.
"Dr. Parker was no doubt having his little joke," he suggested.
"No doubt," said Pons disarmingly. "I have heard that the marshes harbor some strange creatures."
Dr. Strangeways fixed his gray eyes on the ceiling of the carriage, where swathes of gray-blue smoke clung, as though reluctant to leave the warmth of the compartment.
"Oh, there are plenty of old wives' tales," he said scoffingly. "There is supposed to be a phantom horseman. And every corner seems to have its complement of drowned smugglers from the eighteenth century."
"What about blue corpse lights?" asked Solar Pons innocently, his hooded eyes fixed on the smoke clouds.
The doctor stirred uncomfortably on his seat.
"You mean marsh lights, the so-called will-o'-the-wisps? One sometimes sees such natural phenomena from time to time. Certainly. The superstitious call them corpse lights."
"What do they look like?"
The doctor shrugged.
"Marsh gas sometimes gives off a bluish light. More often a greenish yellow."
"At dusk or daylight?"
Consternation spread over the doctor's bearded features.
"I have never heard of them in daylight," he said. "Naturally, they would be difficult to see. At dusk, of course. And at night. What is the purpose of these questions?"
"Idle curiosity," said Solar Pons, stretching himself in his corner by the window. "I have heard of someone who claimed to see a ghostly figure of bluish fire down on the marshes."
The doctor stared at Pons with incredulity. He cleared his throat.
"I have read such journalists' tales in the cheaper press," he admitted.
He laughed deep in his beard.
"I should be more inclined to put down such apparitions to d.t.'s. Such things are not unknown among my patients. I had a fellow in only last week who claimed to have seen some such thing. Old Tobias Jessel. He is far too frequently in the four ale bar of The Harrow and I told him so."
He looked out of the window.
"Ah, this is as far as we go. It has been an agreeable journey, gentlemen, thanks to you. I am going to Stavely now and as I have my motor vehicle at the station allow me to offer you a lift."
Pons and I accepted with thanks, and descending found ourselves on the bare, windswept platform of one of the most bleak country railway stations I had ever beheld. There was only one staff member visible, a porter-cum-stationmaster and we three seemed to be the only passengers surrendering our tickets.