When brought to consciousness, Tregorran had been incoherent and unable to make sense to his manservant, Relph, or the housekeeper, Mrs. Mandeville.
The police had been called and later last night Tregorran, who had been taken to Chelsea Police Station, had been charged with murder.
"Hello, Pons," I said as I reached the end of the story in the paper, "I see that our friend Jamison is in charge of the case."
"I had already observed that, Parker," observed my companion dryly. "On this occasion, however, it would appear that he is right when he avers that the matter is a plain case of a domestic quarrel ending in murder."
I shook my head sadly.
"I still cannot believe it, Pons."
Solar Pons looked at me sympathetically.
"Such things are always difficult to believe, Parker. Especially when such tragedies happen to old friends."
I turned back to the newspaper and studied the narrative again.
"I had heard, Pons, that Tregorran was not on the best of terms with his wife, but from what I know of his character he would not hurt a mouse. He was the gentlest of men."
Pons got up from his chair, took a spill from the fireplace and lit his pipe. He spiraled a column of blue smoke toward the ceiling of our sitting room. Then he came back to sit in his chair and looked at me interrogatively.
"What you are trying to tell me, my dear fellow, is flying in the face of the evidence," he said gently.
"Nevertheless, I would feel easier in my mind if you would look into the affair, Pons."
Solar Pons had surprise in his eyes.
"You cannot be serious, Parker. I have not been consulted in the matter."
"But if I asked you, Pons?"
Solar Pons smiled thinly and pulled reflectively at the lobe of his left ear.
"That would be entirely different, Parker. I could not, of course, ignore such a request from such a close friend and companion. Just hand me that newspaper again, will you?"
He took it from me and sat smoking and studying it for the next ten minutes in silence. He put it down and sat staring at the flickering flames in the fireplace.
"It is true that Inspector Jamison is not the most brilliant of police officers but I must confess that my own faculties are considerably rusted this morning."
"What do you mean, Pons?"
"I overlooked an obvious anomaly when reading this account, unless the newspaper has made a mistake."
"What do you mean, Pons?"
"The door, Parker. It was locked."
I looked at him in surprise.
"What of it, Pons?"
"It is surely unusual for a man to lock his studio door in his own house, particularly during the lunch hour." "I did not read that, Pons."
"Obviously, Parker, but there is only one implication to be drawn if the servant had to break the door in. The key was not in the lock. Therefore it had to be on the other side."
"Perhaps he wished a private interview with his wife and, during the quarrel, rage overcame him?"
"Perhaps, Parker. But we do not even know there was a quarrel. That must await my own questions to your Mr. Tregorran."
"Excellent, Pons! I would feel so much happier if you would just give us the benefit of your immense skill in these matters."
"Flattery. Parker, flattery!"
But Solar Pons had a twinkle in his eye as he said the words. Before he could say anything else there was a ring at the doorbell, a muffled conversation in the hall below and the tread of feet ascending the stairs. A few moments later came a deferential tap at the door and the good-natured features of our amiable landlady, Mrs. Johnson, were thrust into the room.
"Inspector Jamison to see you, Mr. Pons!"
"Thank you, Mrs. Johnson. A cup of coffee, Inspector? There is still plenty in the pot."
"Thank you, Mr. Pons."
The portly, red-faced figure of Jamison sank into the chair proffered by Pons. He took the coffee cup I held out to him with a grateful expression on his features.
Pons doffed his old gray dressing gown and took up his jacket from the back of a chair in a corner. He looked at our visitor with an alert expression in his deep-set eyes.
"It is some while since we last met officially, Jamison. That little business of Romaine Schneider, was it not?"
The Scotland Yard man put down his cup in the saucer with a faint chink in the silence of our sitting room.
"This is a little different from that, Mr. Pons," he said with a smirk. "In fact I would not be here at all if it were not for an urgent plea by Mr. Aramis Tregorran's lawyer."
"Strange that you should seek my advice in another artistic matter, Inspector. First a sculptor, now a painter."
Pons looked at me with a little mischievous smile of enjoyment playing about his mouth. Inspector Jamison seemed discomfited but he nevertheless took another sip of the coffee before replying.
"Not at all, Mr. Pons. It's the clearest-cut case of murder I've ever seen. You've no doubt come to the same conclusion if you've read this morning's paper."
"Why are you here, then?"
"Because of this urgent request by the accused's lawyer, Mr. Pons. And because Tregorran specially asked Dr. Parker to seek your advice. He swears he is innocent. It is ridiculous, of course, but I would not like it to be thought that the Yard had not given him every chance. And as your name was mentioned…"
"Of course, Inspector. You are noted for fairness," murmured Solar Pons blandly.
He took a turn about the fireplace, the blue smoke from his pipe making little eddying whorls around his lean, dynamic figure. He came back to stand in front of the Inspector.
"All the same you are not certain, are you?"
Jamison shifted uncomfortably in his chair.
"To tell the truth there are one or two odd points," he mumbled.
"Exactly," said Solar Pons crisply. "The small matter of the key to the studio for example."
Jamison stared at Pons in amazement.
"How on earth did you know that, Mr. Pons?"
"It was self-evident if The Times report had any accuracy. And it is not usual to find The Times slack in such particulars."
Jamison scratched his head.
"You are right, Mr. Pons. We could not find the key at all."
"Yet the door had to be broken in?"
"Exactly."
Solar Pons looked at me with a little smile of triumph.
"Nevertheless, things look extremely black for Mr. Tregorran, Doctor," continued the Inspector, noting the look of relief on my face. "I should not get your hopes up too high."
"Where is Mr. Tregorran at this moment, Jamison?" asked my companion.
"At Chelsea Police Station, still being questioned, Mr. Pons. He has been detained overnight, of course."
Pons inclined his head.
"Naturally."
I turned to Jamison.
"I trust that my friend has been afforded every facility to contact his friends and legal advisers."
Jamison gave a short, barking laugh.
"You may be sure of that, Doctor. Would I be here otherwise? And I have already allowed him to see his lawyer."
"You have made your point, Jamison," said Solar Pons. "There is no complaint on that score."
"You will come then, Mr. Pons?"
"Most certainly, though if you have been unable to unravel the matter, it is extremely unlikely that my humble efforts in the same capacity would do better."
"You are making sport of me, Mr. Pons."
"Only a little, Inspector," said Pons with a thin smile.