Our client's features drained to a haggard yellow and then to white.
"Ah, then it is true," he muttered to himself.
"Is what true?" asked Pons sharply.
"This crawling horror, Mr. Pons," the old man croaked. "Perhaps even your powers may prove unequal to it."
Solar Pons smiled grimly.
"I do not know about that, Mr. Grimstone. But in any event Dr. Parker's pistol and a cartridge or two will test the veracity of your theory. And now, if you will excuse us, we have much to do. Come, Parker."
And with thanks for our refreshment, we departed, leaving the odd couple gazing into the fire as if they both saw spectral images dancing in the smoldering embers.
6
It was a bitterly cold night and we were glad to regain The Harrow where cheerful fires blazed. Pons excused himself and I went to my room soon after, and I did not again see him until I descended to dinner at about 7:30 P.M. This was served in a comfortable dining room with oak paneling and brass chandeliers with imitation candles adapted for electric light.
Normally I do not like this sort of thing but the effect that night, with a cheerful fire blazing in the great stone fireplace, and the surprisingly excellent dinner of roast beef served, almost put our mission.on the marshes quite out of mind. Pons was at his best, drily analyzing the vagaries and physical aspects of the elderly waiters until I felt I could see their entire life histories conjured, as it were, from the air before us.
There were only a few people dining this evening and our waiter pointed out two fellow residents: an elderly gentleman in clerical garb dining alone in a comfortable nook near the fireplace and a fresh-faced, broad-shouldered young man sitting by himself two tables away. He caught our eye and nodded in a most friendly manner.
Our waiter, in response to a query from Pons observed, "That is Mr. Norman Knight. A colonial gentleman, I believe. He has been here some time and goes daily to business in Gravesend."
"Indeed," said Pons.
He looked with twinkling eyes after the old fellow, who was wheeling a dessert cart away down the room as though he would collapse and fall to the floor once its support were removed.
"Such old-fashioned employees are invaluable, Parker, for providing one with background information about people and places. Unfortunately they are a dying breed."
He looked round the dining room with sharp-eyed interest.
"I will wager that before the evening is over we will know a good deal more about Stavely and its surroundings than we did on arrival."
"No doubt, Pons," I remarked. "What are your plans?"
"The four-ale bar, Parker. A great leveling place where tongues loosened by wine — or in this instance beer — are inclined to wag a little too freely. Often great matters hinge on such small things. I remember that an indiscreet remark passed in the back parlor of a small public house near Tite Street enabled me to unravel the Great Cosmopolitan Scandal."
"I do not think I have heard of that case, Pons."
Solar Pons shook his head with a low laugh.
"There is no time this evening, Parker. It will have to await a slack period in my affairs before taking its place in your ubiquitous notebooks. Tonight we are on the track of the crawling horror of Grimstone Marsh."
Despite Pons' light tone and jesting face his last words sent a faint tingle of apprehension down my spine. I followed his glance over to that glassed-in partitions separating the bars from the dining room and saw that they appeared to be full.
"There seem to be a remarkable number of people, Pons."
"Does — there not, Parker. It is often so in remote places. Folk come from far and wide to congregate together in the dark months of winter. I fancy our man may be among them."
"You mean Tobias Jessel?"
Solar Pons looked at me with approving eyes.
"Admirable, Parker! You are improving considerably. Dr. Strangeways' patient is the only other person, apart from Grimstone and his niece, who has seen this apparition.
"It may be that he can throw fresh light, in a quite literal sense, on the matter."
Solar Pons scribbled his signature on the pad the old waiter held out for him and after I had left something on the table for this loyal servitor, Pons and I took our coffee and liqueurs in the adjoining smoking room which was adjacent to the bar and commanded a good view of the humanity milling about in the dense atmosphere within.
After a few minutes Pons excused himself and when I rejoined him a short while afterward, he was deep in conversation in the saloon bar with a bright-eyed old man whose red nose and broken-veined eyes bespoke long indulgence in liquor.
"Ah, there you are, Parker," said Solar Pons, turning as I came up through the bar, the confines of which were almost hidden through the haze of tobacco smoke.
"I have taken the liberty of ordering for you."
He pushed the schooner of sherry toward me and raised his own glass in salutation.
"This is Mr. Tobias Jessel, who has an interesting story to tell. Pray fill up your glass again, Jessel."
"Thank you, sir," said the old man eagerly.
He had a fringe of white beard and his peaked cap and thick blue clothing gave him the look of a seaman, though I understood from Pons that the man had never been farther than the marshes in his life. No doubt that was the impression he wished to give to visitors. When his drink had been brought in a pewter tankard bearing his own initials, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and smacked his lips appreciatively.
"Well, sir, people hereabouts are inclined to laugh at my stories, but they won't be inclined to do so much longer."
Solar Pons looked at him sharply.
"What makes you say that?"
The old man shook his head.
"There are strange things on the marshes, sir. Especially on these bleak winter nights. Spirits of those dead and gone." Solar Pons studied our informant silently for a moment over the rim of his glass. The noise in the bar was deafening — everyone appeared to be conversing at the top of their voices. It looked as though the whole population of the marshes had gathered here this evening.
"I am more interested in recent doings than in the ghosts of the past, Jessel. Unless they have a bearing on the present."
The old man rested his tankard on the polished mahogany top of the counter and looked reflectively at the harried barkeep. Jessel put a withered hand up to the side of his nose.
"Who's to tell, sir, whether the past does not have a bearing on the present? There are some — and they include me — who believe that they do; that our deeds on this earth, from cradle to grave, cast their shadow before."
Solar Pons' eyes twinkled and he cast a penetrating glance from Tobias Jessel to me.
"You are quite a philosopher, Jessel. Dr. Strangeways tells me you saw a weird apparition on the marsh recently."
"That I did, sir."
The old man lowered his voice to a hushed and confidential tone, though no one could have overheard us in our snug corner of the bar with all the hubbub going on.
"It was late at night. I had just left here and was walking
back along the marsh road. My cottage is about two miles distant. It was a fine, moon light night, but with a frost and a slight ground-mist coming up over the marshes. I had got almost opposite the causeway of Grimstone Manor when I heard a slight sound."
"What sort of sound?"
"Like a rustling in the reeds, sir."
"I see. Go on."
"Well, sir, I naturally turned. I'd had a bit to drink but I was soon sober, I can tell you. There was a ghastly blue figure, all wreathed in fire coming up at the edge of the marsh."
The old man's eyes were filled with fear and he again lowered his voice until I had difficulty hearing.