"He was in the habit of eating snacks in the studio while he was working."
"I see."
Pons stood plunged in thoughts, his keen eyes darting from the easel to the scattered mess on the floor and then across to the dais. We waited silently while he made a minute examination. While he was doing this I looked at the almost completed canvas. It depicted a beautiful, imperious-looking woman with long blonde hair who stared insolently at the viewer from very frank, blue eyes. Jamison intercepted my glance.
"Lovely woman, wasn't she, Doctor? But a firebrand from what I can gather."
I waited until Pons had rejoined me and he stood staring at the canvas in silence.
"It seems fairly clear what happened," he said at last. "Tregorran put down the glass here and resumed his painting. At some period he dropped the palette, brushed past the easel — there are some threads of blue cloth caught on a protruding nail here — and rushed across to the dais. Mrs. Tregorran thrust back her chair — the indentations in the carpet on the dais where the sitter's chair normally stood are plain enough to see — and fled toward the door leading to the house. Tregorran intercepted her and penned her in the corner, where he strangled her among the picture frames. In my judgment the attack was ferocious and unpremeditated. Both circumstances are singular."
"Why so, Pons?"
Solar Pons smiled a thin smile.
"For obvious reasons, Parker. One, you have already told me that Tregorran was the gentlest of men, who would not harm a fly. But this attack was savage and brutal. That it was unpremeditated is equally obvious. The man was consuming his lunch and painting in an apparently ordinary manner when he was so overcome by rage that he rushed over toward his sitter and attacked and murdered her."
"It is extraordinary, Pons," I said, "and I do not pretend to understand it. Perhaps they had an argument and Mrs.
Tregorran said something so insulting that it set him off?" Solar Pons' eyes were bright as he stared at the canvas. "Perhaps," he said softly. "We shall see."
He turned back to the Inspector.
"I should like to question the servants next."
"By all means, Mr. Pons."
It was with some relief that we left the heavy atmosphere of the studio, Meeker ushering us through the gaping opening that led into the house. We found ourselves in a wide corridor, hung with gold-framed pictures by Tregorran and broken at intervals by a series of low mahogany bookcases. There was a small octagonal table outside the door and Pons' sharp eyes flickered over it. A lamp stood on it, but the top was a little dusty and I saw my companion stoop and frown at the square line that divided the dusty and dusted segment of the table.
"Something normally stands here, Jamison."
The thin form of the Inspector gave an expressive shrug.
"Tregorran didn't like to be disturbed while he was working, Mr. Pons. The servants were in the habit of leaving trays of food for him here."
"I see. And the person responsible was getting a little careless in the dusting up here."
"So it would seem, Mr. Pons."
Pons stood in silence a moment longer before swiveling to look back at the corridor behind him. To Jamison's evident astonishment he walked back to the end of the passage. It turned at right angles. There was a small, square entry with a single window.
The weak sun glimmered at the panes and glittered on the brass handle set in the paneling. Pons turned it and stepped through. We found ourselves once again back in the glassed-in porch. The door through which we had entered was paneled on the other side and looked from the lobby just as though it were a solid wall, the edges of the door fitting cunningly behind the beading.
Solar Pons smiled at me.
"Interesting, is it not, Parker?"
Inspector Jamison scratched his head.
"Two entrances from the house to the studio. This needs looking into, Mr. Pons."
Solar Pons pulled reflectively at the lobe of his left ear. "On the other hand it may have a perfectly obvious explanation."
"In what way, Mr. Pons?"
"Convenience, Jamison. We are on the first floor. It looks a long way back down to the front door. If Tregorran had his studio entrance here it might be just as convenient for his servants and guests to go out this way as well from time to time."
"Perhaps, Mr. Pons. But why the concealed entrance?" Solar Pons smiled again.
"That explanation is equally simple. Entrance to the studio is one thing. But Tregorran would not wish to advertise an entrance into the main house to burglars."
"That is so, Pons," I put in. "But another explanation has suggested itself to you?"
"You excel yourself, Parker. Let us say, another possibility. I commend your ratiocinative instincts, Jamison."
He led the way back into the main house again and we made our way down a handsome carved pine staircase into the entrance hall. Here a tall, thin man with careworn features was waiting for us, an elderly woman, evidently the housekeeper, standing at his side.
"There is nothing to be alarmed about," said Jamison as we came down the last flight.
"This is Mr. Solar Pons. He is here to help Mr. Tregorran."
The worried expression on the manservant's face deepened as he came forward.
"This is a dreadful business, Mr. Pons."
"Indeed, Relph. You are Mr. Tregorran's valet, I understand?"
"General factotum, Mr. Pons. Valet-butler to be precise. This is Mrs. Mandeville, the housekeeper."
Pons acknowledged the introduction gravely.
"Let us go inside somewhere and sit down, Jamison. It will be much more conducive to comfort and efficiency." "By all means, Mr. Pons."
Relph opened a sliding door at one side of the hall and led the way into a handsome, bow-fronted room with cream walls, containing a good deal of Regency furniture. My companion prevailed upon Relph and Mrs. Mandeville to sit opposite us on a divan while Jamison went to stand by the carved pine fireplace, his eyes fixed on the low fire flickering on the hearth. Solar Pons lit his pipe, the match-head rasping against the box unnaturally loudly in the silence that had fallen on the room. His deep-set eyes surveyed the two servants piercingly.
"I would like you both to tell me, in your own words, exactly what you know about yesterday's occurrences."
Relph glanced interrogatively at the housekeeper, who stirred and licked her lips. She spoke first, glancing occasionally at her colleague, as though for corroboration.
"I do not know that there is much to tell in my case, Mr. Pons. Mr. Tregorran breakfasted as usual yesterday morning and I did not see him again. He took a tray at lunchtime and there was a disturbance at about two o'clock. I ran out into the hall and then Mr. Relph told me what had happened. I am still stunned, Mr. Pons."
"Quite so," said Solar Pons soothingly. "And Mrs. Tregorran?"
"I do not understand, Mr. Pons."
"She had been estranged from her husband, had she not?"
Once again an uneasy glance passed from the housekeeper to Relph.
"I do not see that it is my place, Mr. Pons…"
Solar Pons tented his fingers before him and looked at Mrs. Mandeville steadily.
"Those are admirable sentiments and ones ideal in a housekeeper. but we are dealing with a murder inquiry." The smooth, motherly face flushed.
"Yes, that is quite true, Mr. Pons. Mr. and Mrs. Tregorran had had some terrible rows and she had gone to live elsewhere. We were all surprised to hear that they were together again."
"I see."
Solar Pons was silent for a moment, his eyes fixed steadily somewhere up over the fireplace, as though he saw things denied to us.
"How did this come about?"
"I do not quite know, Mr. Pons. I think Mr. Relph knows more about it, being in Mr. Tregorran's confidence, you see. But I understood he was painting his wife's portrait, which amazed us all."