Our client’s jaw dropped. “You are surely joking,” he said in a strangled voice.
“It is Christmas, Mr. Snawley. We shall show him some of the spirit of the season.”
“I don’t make merry myself at Christmas and I can’t afford to make idle people merry,” replied Snawley sourly. “Least of all that fellow out there. It is an ill-conceived and ill-timed jest.”
“It is no jest, Mr. Snawley.”
Pons’s eyes danced in the candlelight.
“I will have none of it,” said our client, coming to his feet as if to dismiss us.
“It is either that,” said Pons inexorably, “or my fee.”
“Name it, then! Name it-for I shall certainly not lay a board for that infernal rogue,” cried our client raising his voice.
“Five hundred pounds,” said Pons coldly.
“Five hundred pounds!” screamed Snawley.
Pons nodded, folded his arms across his chest, and looked as adamant as a rock.
Our client leaned and caught hold of the table as if he were about to fall. “Five hundred pounds!” he whispered. “It is robbery! Five hundred pounds!” He stood for a minute so, Pons unmoved the while, and presently a crafty expression came into his narrowed eyes. He began to work his lips out and in, as was his habit, and he turned his head to look directly at Pons. “You say,” he said, still in a whisper, “it is either five hundred pounds or-a dinner…”
“For four. The three of us and that lusty bawler out there,” said Pons.
“It would be less expensive,” agreed our client, licking his lips.
“Considerably. Particularly since I myself will supply the goose,” said Pons with the utmost savior faire.
“Done!” cried Snawley at once, as if he had suddenly got much the better of a bad bargain. “Done!” He drew back. “But since I have retained you, I leave it to you to invite him-for I will not!”
“Dinner at seven, Mr. Snawley?”
Our client nodded briskly. “As you like.”
“I will send around the goose in the morning.”
“There is no other fee, Mr. Pons! I have heard you aright? And you will dispose of that fellow out there?’ He inclined his head toward the street.
“I daresay he will not trouble you after tomorrow night,” said Pons.
“Then, since there is no further fee, you will not take it amiss if I do not drive you back? There is an underground nearby.”
“We will take it, Mr. Snawley.”
Snawley saw us to the door, the bracket of candles in his hand. At the threshold Pons paused.
“There must be nothing spared at dinner, Mr. Snawley,” he said. “We’ll want potatoes, dressing, vegetables, fruit, green salad, plum pudding-and a trifle more of that Amontillado.”
Our client sighed with resignation. “It will be done, though I may rue it.”
“Rue it you may,” said Pons cheerfully. “Good night, sir. And the appropriate greetings of the season to you.”
“Humbug! All humbug!” muttered our client, retreating into his house.
We went down the walk through the now much-thinned snowfall, and stood at its juncture with the street until the object of our client’s ire came around again. He was a stocky man with a good paunch on him, cherry-red cheeks and a nose of darker red, and merry little eyes that looked out of two rolls of fat, as it were. Coming close, he affected not to see us, until Pons strode out into his path, silencing his bawling of walnuts.
“Good evening, Mr. Auber.”
He started back, peering at Pons. “I don’t know ye, sir,” he said.
“But it is Mr. Auber, isn’t it? Mr. Micah Auber?”
Auber nodded hesitantly.
“Mr. Ebenezer Snawley would like your company at dinner tomorrow night at seven.”
For a long moment, mouth agape, Auber stared at him. “God bless my soul!” he said, finding his voice, “Did he know me, then?”
“No,” said Pons, “but who else would be walking here affecting to be a hawker of such wares if not Micah Auber, on hand in case anything turned up?”
“God bless my soul!” said Auber again, fervently.
“You will meet us at the door, Mr. Auber, and go in with us,” said Pons. “Good evening, sir.”
“I will be there,” said Auber.
“And leave off this bawling,” said Pons over his shoulder.
We passed on down the street, and Auber, I saw, looking back, went scuttling off in the other direction, in silence.
We hurried on through the snow. The evening was mellow enough so that much of it underfoot had melted, and the falling flakes dissolved on our clothing. But Pons set the pace, and it was not until we were in the underground, on the way back to our quarters, that I had opportunity to speak.
“How did you know that fellow was Micah Auber?” I asked.
“Why, that is as elementary a deduction as it seems to me possible to make,” replied Pons. “Consider-Snawley’s valuables consist of his collection, which is primarily of Dickensians. Our client acquired his most recent treasure a trifle over six weeks ago. With a fortnight thereafter Micah Auber writes, asking to see his collection. Having had no reply, and assessing our client’s character correctly by inquiry or observation-perhaps both-Auber has adopted this novel method of attracting his attention. His object is clearly to get inside that house and have a look at our client’s collection.”
“But surely this is all very roundabout,” I cried.
“I fancy Snawley himself is rather roundabout-though not so roundabout as Auber. They are all a trifle mad, some more so than others. This pair is surely unique, even to the dress of the period!”
“How could Auber know that Snawley had acquired that manuscript?”
“I fancy it is for the reason that Snawley has laid claim to possession of the largest Dickens collection in London…”
“In the world,” I put in.
“And because the manuscript was undoubtedly stolen from Auber’s collection,” finished Pons. “Hence Auber’s persistence. We shall have a delightful dinner tomorrow evening, I fancy.”
III
Pons spent some time next day looking through references and making a telephone call or two, but he was not long occupied at this, and went about looking forward to dinner that evening, and from time to time throughout the day hummed a few bars of a tune, something to which he was not much given, and which testified to the warmth of his anticipation.
We set out early, and reached Ebenezer Snawley’s home at a quarter to seven, but Micah Auber had preceded us to the vicinity; for we had no sooner posted ourselves before Snawley’s door than Auber made his appearance, bearing in upon us from among a little group of yew trees off to one side of the driveway, where he had undoubtedly been standing to wait upon our coming. He approached with a skip and a hop, and came up to us a little short of breath. Though he was dressed for dinner, it was possible to see by the light of the moon, which lacked but one day of being full, that his clothing was as ancient as our client’s.
“Ah, good evening, Mr. Auber,” Pons greeted him. “I am happy to observe that you are in time for what I trust will be a good dinner.”
“I don’t know as to how good it will be. Old Snawley’s tight, mighty tight,” said Auber.
Pons chuckled.
“But, I don’t believe, sir, we’ve been properly introduced.”
“We have not,” said Pons. “My companion is Dr. Lyndon Parker, and I am Solar Pons.”
Auber acknowledged both introductions with a sweeping bow, then brought himself up short. “Solar Pons, did ye say?” He savored the name, cocked an eye at Pons, and added, “I have a knowledge of London ye might say is extensive and peculiar. I’ve heard the name. Give me a moment-it’ll come to me. Ah, yes, the detective. Well, well, we are well met, sir. I have a need for your services, indeed I do. I’ve had stolen from me a val’able manuscript-and I have reason to believe our host has it. A prize, sir, a prize. A rare prize.”