Then the lantern beam moved upward, and I could not repress a shudder as its rays caught the red-rimmed eyes, the crooked teeth, and the black, bestial muzzle. The huge gorilla stared unwinkingly at the spectators beyond the bars, while its claws continued to make shuffling noises in the straw. I pulled my eyes reluctantly away from that terrific spectacle.
"You are the expert, Parker," said Pons coolly. "Pray give us your opinion."
I looked again at the form sprawled face down, its features invisible in the littered straw.
"He is undoubtedly dead, Pons," I said. "The angle of the head indicates that immediately. His neck has been broken."
"Has it not. I had come to roughly the same conclusion myself, but I am glad to have your professional opinion. Under the circumstances it is perhaps just as well, as it will undoubtedly take some little time to extricate the body."
He glanced up at the white plaque that was attached to the wall near the cage.
"Boris. Male Gorilla. Hmm. What do you make of it, Superintendent?"
"I would not like to express an ad hoc opinion, Mr. Pons, but it certainly looks as though the intruder gained entrance to the beast's cage with the intention of letting it loose. We may have inadvertently discovered the phantom."
"It could be so," said Solar Pons carelessly. "But I have grave doubts."
He indicated the sliding bolt on the door. The padlock and chain lay on the floor but the bolt had been fastened.
"It is hardly likely that he would secure the door behind him under those circumstances. And I understood the gorilla was a vegetarian."
"That is correct, sir," the attendant volunteered. "Can't understand it. Boris is as gentle as a lamb."
"Indeed," said Solar Pons, looking thoughtfully at the great beast, whose eyes stared so soulfully into our own.
"It is a pity he cannot talk, Parker. There is certainly great intelligence there. I could almost swear that he is as puzzled as yourself as to how a corpse came into his cage."
Solar Pons gazed at the attendant from the Gorilla House for a long moment.
"Why did you call out 'Murder,' just now?"
The man looked startled.
"The person in the cage was obviously dead, sir. His neck's all twisted. I said the first thing that came into my head. And I wanted to get help urgently."
"I see. But why could it not have been an accident?" The man shook his head stubbornly.
"Not an accident, sir. No one in his senses would go into that cage."
"So you do not think the gorilla killed him?"
"No, sir. I've been in charge of Boris for fifteen years. He's gentle and even tempered, and there are several of us can go into his cage without any trouble."
"That is interesting."
Solar Pons turned back to the bars as the keeper approached the door. We stood clear as he slid back the bolt and spoke to the gorilla in a low, crooning tone. The great shambling form backed away. The attendant bent gently and seized the figure of the fallen man by the foot nearest the door. He dragged the body slowly toward us. I bent to aid him. With the help of a police officer, we pulled the body out and the attendant shut the door.
I bent and turned the figure in the frock coat over. I could not resist a gasp of surprise. We all stood staring down at the dead face of Gordon Jefferies, while a sudden clamor of animal noise, savage and muted, swept across- the park from outside. Solar Pons looked at Superintendent Heathfield somberly.
"An expert on gorillas, I believe. Murder it is."
9
Sir Clive's face was ashen and distorted with anger.
"This is appalling, Superintendent. I demand that the culprit be brought to book immediately."
"We are doing our best, Sir Clive."
"It is not good enough, Superintendent. Really, Mr. Pons."
Solar Pons paused in the act of lighting his pipe, the ruddy glow from the bowl stippling his lean, ascetic face with little points of fire. He smiled disarmingly.
"Do not let me interrupt you, Sir Clive. But it is difficult to see what the London Police could have done to prevent this. It was carefully planned."
"What?"
Sir Clive's eyes were round and he looked at my companion suspiciously. We were sitting in Sir Clive's office and around the desk. In addition to Stebbins, the Head Keeper, were our client, Hardcastle; Hodgson; the secretary, Conrad Foster; and several other senior keepers. In the background were two grave-faced, soberly dressed gentlemen, fellow members of Sir Clive's on the Council of the Zoological Society; and several high-ranking plainclothes men of the Criminal Investigation Department, who were sitting in on the conference.
It was nine o'clock in the evening and, despite the refreshment we had taken in the Fellows' Restaurant, I was feeling tired and hungry. Oily fog swirled at the windows of the large office, and the air was blue with stale tobacco smoke. The inquiry had gone on for nearly two hours but so far as I could see, the protagonists were no closer to any conclusions regarding the murder of Gordon Jefferies.
Except Pons, of course. He had listened quietly to the argument and had so far not ventured an opinion. Now he drew steadily on his pipe, until it was burning to his satisfaction and tented his long, thin fingers together in front of him.
"Would you mind explaining, Mr. Pons?"
Sir Clive's eyes were full of curiosity.
"In due course, sir. I say it was carefully planned. The murderer cunningly took advantage of fortuitous circumstances. One might say that the occasion was tailor-made. And the popular press reports of a phantom in the zoo could not have suited him better."
There was an ugly silence, and I could see the uniformed attendants looking uneasily at one another.
"I do not follow you, Mr. Pons."
It was Superintendent Heathfield on this occasion. Solar Pons shrugged his thin shoulders.
"I hope to name the murderer for you before the evening is out, Superintendent. It is only a question of time."
"Pons!" I exclaimed. "You do not mean to say you know his name?"
"I have strong suspicions. Parker. It is one thing to theorize; another to prove beyond a conclusive doubt."
There was an air of electric tension in the room now. Sir Clive shifted uncomfortably in his chair and sought support from his Council colleagues in the back row. Before he could speak again, Solar Pons sat up in his chair next to Sir Clive's desk and nodded affably over toward Hardcastle.
"Perhaps you would care to tell Sir Clive and the assembled company exactly how you broke into the cages and wrought your trail of miscnief?"
Hardcastle was on his feet, his face working.
"I am innocent, Mr. Pons," he stammered.
"Tut," said Solar Pons calmly. "Pray sit down. We do not need such exhibitions. I was referring to friend Hodgson there behind you."
I stared in amazement at the burly figure of the keeper of the Lion House, who seemed visibly to crumble. He started up, guilt evident upon his face.
"I do not know what you are talking about, Mr. Pons!" "I think you do. Hodgson. Red paint is very difficult to remove from the fingernails. I noticed specks of it beneath your nails when I spoke to you at the Lion House this afternoon. I made it my business to inquire of the zoo staff. No red paint has been used on the animal cages lately. Except for the vandal who daubed the mammal houses.
And placed the materials in the locker of Hardcastle here." Superintendent Heathfield was on his feet, his face stern. "Is this true, Hodgson?"
The big keeper had collapsed now; he sat with his head in his hands. Then he raised an ashen face to stare at Pons. "I admit it, Mr. Pons," he said. "But murder, no."