Basil Copper
The Uncollected Cases of Solar Pons
#01 REGARDING SHERLOCK HOLMES
#02 THE CHRONICLES OF SOLAR PONS
#03 THE MEMOIRS OF SOLAR PONS
#04 THE CASEBOOK OF SOLAR PONS
#05 THE REMINISCENCES OF SOLAR PONS
#06 THE RETURN OF SOLAR PONS
#07 MR. FAIRLIE'S FINAL JOURNEY!
#08 THE DOSSIER OF SOLAR PONS
#09 THE FURTHER ADVENTURES OF SOLAR PONS
#10 THE SECRET FILES OF SOLAR PONS
#11 THE UNCOLLECTED CASES OF SOLAR PONS
#12 THE EXPLOITS OF SOLAR PONS
#13 THE RECOLLECTIONS OF SOLAR PONS
#14 SOLAR PONS-THE FINAL CASES
The Adventure of the Haunted Rectory
1
"A beautiful day, Parker!”
"Indeed, Pons!"
My friend Solar Pons and I were strolling down Regent Street, and the sunlight sparkling on the glittering displays in the elegant windows of the shops had prompted my companion's apposite remark. It was indeed a perfect day in early June, and as it was my locum's turn to take my rounds and evening surgery, I had readily agreed to a morning stroll from our lodgings at 7B Praed Street.
"A never-ending source of fascination; the study of mankind in the raw, Parker."
"Perfectly true, Pons."
"For example, take that gentleman staggering toward us on the opposite pavement. What do you make of him?"
I frowned across the road toward the source of Pons' interest.
"Strange indeed, Pons."
"Is it not, Parker. Let us just have a small display of that ratiocinative power you have been cultivating of late."
"You do me too much honor, Pons."
I frowned again at the man who was dancing about in such an extraordinary manner. He was a little, peppery, red-faced man in formal clothes and with a silk cravat. He carried a stick and from the opening and closing movements of his mouth, he appeared to be muttering imprecations of some sort. He made savage slashing gestures in the air with his stick, and his whole manner was so strange and eccentric that the passers-by on his side of the street were giving him a wide berth.
"Some sort of lunatic, Pons?"
"Perhaps, Parker. Let us, rather, say a man under stress."
"That much is obvious, Pons."
Solar Pons smiled wryly.
"Touché, Parker. The pupil will soon be outstripping the master. But just look more closely. Does not the solution rapidly present itself?"
I looked again at the peppery little man dancing about on the opposite pavement. A dark-coated person had appeared at the doorway of a shop on the far side of the way and appeared to be wringing his hands.
"I give up, Pons. I find it quite impossible to find any logical reason for such goings-on."
Solar Pons' eyes twinkled as he stood regarding the small knot of spectators and the little red-faced man.
"It is a fairly common occurrence, Parker. The Duke of Porchester has been having a little altercation with his tailor. There is nothing like sartorial disagreement to provoke anger among certain members of the haut monde, my dear fellow. And when I see such an ill-fitting jacket on an otherwise impeccably groomed gentleman, his rage becomes understandable."
I gazed at Pons open-mouthed.
"How on earth can you tell all this from a cursory glance across the street, Pons?"
"By using my eyes, Parker, and drawing the correct conclusions from the data so presented to me. It is not so very difficult, but one needs to relate the circumstances to their background. I also have the advantage of knowing something of the relationships involved."
"Relationships, Pons? And how could you know this angry gentleman is the Duke of Porchester?"
"Well, Parker, if you will kindly direct your glance to the adjacent curb, you will see a very palatial vehicle known as an Isotta-Fraschini. The irate gentleman was certainly on his way toward it, for the chauffeur was opening the door for him when the duke changed his mind."
"How do you know he is the duke, Pons?"
"For the simple reason that his coat of arms is emblazoned on the door panel. It is extremely distinctive and unmistakable even at this distance. I have made something of a study of such heraldic emblems, and the three griffins and the pomegranate are unique in heraldry. My attention was then directed to the gentleman himself and I recognized him from the recent photographs in the newspapers."
"Newspapers, Pons?"
Solar Pons smiled benevolently at the red-faced gentleman, who was now dancing angrily halfway between the car and the dark-coated man in the doorway.
"There has been some controversy in Savile Row, Parker."
"I must confess I am all at sea, Pons. What has Savile Row to do with Regent Street? And what is that tailor's shop doing there, for that matter?"
"Ah, there you have unwittingly hit the crux of the affair, Parker. The duke is a sharp if eccentric dresser, and he has quarreled with every tailor in Savile Row. The only tailor to suit him was Barker of Barker and Fromset. In the end the duke persuaded this old and distinguished firm to move their principal premises into Regent Street. From what I gather, he has provided the money himself. But it has apparently not taken long for him to fall out with his new partner. Ah, there is Mr. Barker extending the olive branch."
As he spoke, the dark-coated man advanced from the doorway of the tailor's establishment, making placatory gestures. The duke shrugged and the other made some adjustments to his jacket. A few seconds later, the two men disappeared into the shop, the chauffeur slammed the door of the sumptuous car, and Regent Street resumed its normal placid appearance, the flow of pedestrians going smoothly forward.
"A grotesque little drama, Parker, not without elements of French farce," said Solar Pons reflectively. "And certainly enlivening our walk. A microcosm of the human comedy, one might say."
"There is no getting around you, Pons," I said. "If anyone other than you had sketched such a story for me, I would have been highly skeptical."
"You are at liberty to check the facts, Parker, if you wish. We have only to step over the way, as the duke is not unknown to me."
I smilingly declined the offer.
"I have no doubt everything you said is correct, Pons. It is only that I occasionally find your infallibility somewhat galling."
Solar Pons gazed at me somberly from his deep-set eyes and shook his head.
"Hardly infallible, Parker. I have had my share of failure. It is just that I seldom venture an opinion until I am absolutely sure of my ground."
We were both silent until we had reached the lower end of Regent Street and were skirting Piccadilly Circus. Pons glanced at his watch as we turned down into Haymarket.
"Such a promenade is a great stimulator of the appetite, Parker. What do you say to a spot of lunch at Simpson's?"
"The idea is an admirable one, Pons."
"Simpson's it is. Then I really must return to Praed Street, as I have a client coming to see me at three o'clock. Are you free this afternoon? If so, I would like you to be present."
"Nothing would give me greater pleasure, Pons. Something interesting?"
"I have high hopes, Parker, high hopes."
And he said nothing further on the matter until we had returned to 7B.
2
It was just three-fifteen, and Pons was showing signs of impatience, when Mrs. Johnson, our amiable landlady, announced my companion's visitor. The tall, pale young woman she ushered in bore a marked look of suffering on her features. She would have been extremely attractive otherwise, with her tawny yellow hair, which fell over her shoulders, her full lips, and white, perfect teeth. As it was, there was a drawn expression about her face and a lurking fear in her hazel eyes, which glanced quickly about her, as though half afraid of what she might see.