Jamison drew his lips into a thin, straight line.
"He is sane enough to stand trial if that is what you were thinking," he said grimly.
Solar Pons leaned forward at the table and tented his thin fingers before him.
"We shall see, Jamison," he said crisply.
He fixed Tregorran with his penetrating eyes.
"Just tell us what happened yesterday in your own words and be as accurate and precise as possible as to detail!” Tregorran shook his head with a wan smile.
"That is just it, Mr. Pons. My mind is an absolutely confused blank. When the police told me I was accused of murdering Sylvia it was not only an appalling shock but a patent absurdity."
"Why do you say that, Mr. Tregorran?"
"Because it is the Gospel truth, Mr. Pons. My wife and I, after a period of great turbulence, were on quite amiable terms again. We were not living together, it is true; we both led separate lives and had done so for some time. But to say that I murdered her or that I even wanted to murder her is ridiculous!"
"Even in view of Miss Celia Thornton?" Jamison put in waspishly.
Tregorran turned white.
"You have seen her?"
Jamison nodded.
"We interviewed her last night. She did not deny that you had been intimate friends for some time."
Solar Pons turned to the Inspector.
"Who is this lady, Jamison?"
The Inspector had a mocking expression in his eyes. "No doubt Mr. Tregorran can answer that, Mr. Pons." Tregorran had a defiant expression on his face now. "It was no secret that my wife and I were at odds, Mr.
Pons. Celia and I had been lovers for a long time to be quite frank, Inspector."
"An excellent motive for murdering your wife, I should think," put in Jamison dryly.
Tregorran shook his head wearily.
"Unfortunately, Celia and I had become estranged of late, also. It is a long story, gentlemen, and I will not bore you with it today. You were asking about yesterday, Mr. Pons?"
My companion inclined his head, his eyes never leaving Tregorran's face.
"Your day, hour by hour, Mr. Tregorran, if you please."
"It is very simply told, Mr. Pons. I rose at 6:00 A.M. to catch the light for a particular commission I am working on. I breakfasted at seven and by half past I was already at work in my studio. I took a break for a cup of coffee at about 10:30 A.M., and my wife arrived around eleven o'clock for work on her portrait."
"Tell me about that, Mr. Tregorran."
The haggard man at the table expressed surprise.
"There is nothing to tell, Mr. Pons."
Then his face cleared.
"You mean why did I wish to paint Sylvia's portrait after we had been on such bad terms? It was her request. Though she put it tactfully, I gathered that the commission came from an admirer. I am quite a good painter, you know, and there was nothing unusual in such an undertaking, even given the circumstances of our stormy marriage."
Solar Pons nodded.
"Quite so."
Tregorran passed a shaking hand over his forehead. He looked a hopeless figure slumped before us and I could not repress a twinge of pity.
"Mrs. Mandeville brought me my cup of coffee…" Pons drew his eyebrows together in a frown of concentration. He glanced at Jamison.
"She did not mention that."
Tregorran shrugged.
"Probably an oversight, Mr. Pons. I did not see her. She merely rapped on the door and left the cup on the table outside. I left the cup there afterward and it was presumably cleared away at lunch time."
"I see. What happened when your wife arrived?"
"We chatted on perfunctory matters. Then I carried on with the sitting. Mrs. Mandeville brought my lunch at about twelve o'clock. I was concentrating on the painting and did not collect the tray until about twenty past. Fortunately, Mrs. Mandeville had put up beer and sandwiches on this occasion or the food would have been cold."
"I see."
Solar Pons' eyes were very bright and piercing as he stared at the painter.
"Mrs. Tregorran ate nothing, I understand?"
The painter shook his head.
"I had asked for nothing for her as she always ate much later. Usually around two o'clock. That is much too late for me and I feel starved if I go beyond half-past twelve."
"Hmm."
Solar Pons sat staring silently at the wretched figure of the stricken painter.
"After your lunch, what then?"
"I continued painting, Mr. Pons. Everything was normal and from time to time I sipped at my glass of beer. Sylvia had gone out of her way to be pleasant and the thought of doing any harm to her was farthest from my mind. At about a quarter to two I felt faint."
"How did you know it was a quarter to two?"
Solar Pons leaned forward as though the answer had tremendous import.
"I heard the quarter hour strike from the cupola of a neighboring church, Mr. Pons. Then I came over very faint. I must have lost consciousness because when I came to myself Relph and my gardener had battered down the door. I was incoherent and not making any sense, I am told. It was not until I found myself at Chelsea Police Station late that evening that I came fully to myself and realized that Sylvia was dead and that I was being charged with murder. For God's sake, help me, Mr. Pons!"
There was such abject misery in the words that, despite my old friend's obvious guilt, I felt a stab of pity for him. I looked at Pons and was astonished to see that he was smiling. However, he turned to me and said somewhat mockingly, "I begin to see light, Parker. We may yet make something of this."
Jamison gave a short laugh.
"Indeed, Mr. Pons. I had heard you were a magician but you will need to be a miracle worker to get Mr. Tregorran out of this."
I looked at my companion ruefully.
"I am afraid he is right, Pons."
"We shall see, Parker, we shall see," he returned equably and went on puffing at his pipe.
4
Miss Celia Thornton's residence in St. John's Wood was a large white house approached by a circular carriage drive. Our cab deposited us at the foot of a broad flight of steps and after a housekeeper had answered my companion's discreet ring at the bell, Pons had his card sent in. The woman returned almost immediately, an enigmatic expression on her bland, genteel face.
"Miss Celia is not here, Mr. Pons, but Miss Annabel will see you."
The woman who rose to greet us in the gracious sitting room on the ground floor was of striking beauty. She advanced hesitantly, looking from one to the other of us.
"Mr. Pons?"
"This is he," I said, indicating my companion. "Lyndon Parker at your service."
"Sit down, gentlemen."
The brown eyes were shrewd beneath the masses of lustrous dark hair.
"Annabel Bolton. Celia and I share this house, as you probably know."
Pons' sharp eyes never left her face.
"No, I did not know, Miss Bolton. I expect you have guessed what brings me here?"
A cloud crossed the handsome features as Miss Bolton resumed her seat. She bit her lip.
"This wretched business of the painter Tregorran, Mr. Pons! A dreadful affair. Celia is well out of it."
"Out of her entanglement with Tregorran, Miss Bolton?" The brown eyes flashed.
"Not only that, Mr. Pons! Celia has her own career to consider."
Solar Pons bit reflectively on the stem of the empty pipe he had produced from his pocket.
"Her own career, Miss Bolton?"
"Come, Mr. Pons. You surely cannot be unaware of Celia's brilliant and original contributions to scientific research?"
Pons stared at our fair companion as though thunderstruck.
"Miss Thornton. Of course! The experimental chemist whose researches into the nature of crystalline structures has advanced our knowledge so much. Pray forgive me. I did not connect the name at first with that of Mr. Tregorran's friend."