"You are right, Mr. Pons," said Sir Clive, his eyes still open and staring.
"But you had noticed, as did I, that Jefferies had been bleeding slightly from the mouth," Pons continued. "You found, as I have already ascertained, that there were flecks of blood on the study floor. You wished to burn the documents on the desk there, but there was no wood. And you also needed a cloth. You went out for both, which gave me an opportunity to read some of the letters."
Sir Clive sat now with his head in his hands, his heavy breathing the only sign of life.
"There is just one flaw, Pons," I said. "Sir Clive's servants would know Jefferies had been here. They would have told the police tomorrow."
"Certainly, Parker. But I have no doubt Sir Clive would have mentioned it himself. But Mr. Jefferies would have left a good while before his body was found. Sir Clive would not know whether he had used the side gate into the zoo or not. And in any event, I have no doubt that he would have let Jefferies out when none of the servants were about. And have made sure to have wished him good night as loudly as possible."
"You think of everything, Pons."
"On the contrary, Parker, it is Sir Clive who has given this matter much thought. I am merely the humble instrument of justice."
"Justice, Mr. Pons? You call it justice?"
Sir Clive sat up and removed his hands from his face. He looked at us bitterly.
"Yes, Mr. Pons, I did all those things. You are correct in every respect. But if ever a man deserved to die, it was Jefferies. A fouler creature never walked in shoe leather. I am not sorry he is dead. I should have done it sooner. But I want you to believe that I would never have let Hodgson take the blame for my crime."
"I have no doubt of that, Sir Clive," said Pons steadily. "And if I know my man, Superintendent Heathfield will have discovered his innocence already."
Sir Clive stood up, his features working.
"Would you give me a quarter of an hour, Mr. Pons? I wish to take care of some things in the next room yonder." Solar Pons nodded, his manner abstracted.
"Certainly, Sir Clive."
We waited as his footsteps died out across the parquet. My companion stared at me somberly.
"It is a tragic business, Parker."
He indicated the letters on the table.
"A man's sexual aberrations are his own problem. In my view there is no crime so long as he does not corrupt the young. Sir Clive's peculiarities had brought him within the scope of the blackmailer, just as thousands have been in the past and many more will be in the future."
"Good heavens, Pons, I did not realize…"
Solar Pons smiled thinly. He went over to the desk and scooped up the letters. He placed them in the hearth, brought some logs over and stirred the embers into a blaze. Within a few minutes there was nothing but a handful of gray ashes in the fireplace.
"That will take care of an ugly scandal, Parker. The letters from Jefferies that I have retained will provide the police with enough motive, I think."
He paused as there came the muffled crack of an explosion. I was already rushing toward the door when Solar Pons stopped me.
"It is too late, Parker. I will not say that justice has been done, but the law will be satisfied. It is an imperfect world, and we shall have to be content and let it rest there."
He stood in silence for a moment, putting the documents into his pocket, listening to the noise of hurrying footsteps in the house. Then he walked slowly toward the door of the room in which Sir Clive had just taken his life.
The Adventure of the Frightened Governess
1
"Wake up, Parker! It is six o'clock and we have pressing matters before us."
I struggled into consciousness to find the night light on at the side of my bed and Solar Pons' aquiline features smiling down at me.
"Confound it, Pons!" I said irritably. "Six o'clock! In the morning?"
"It is certainly not evening, my dear fellow, or neither of us would have been abed."
I sat up, still only half awake.
"Something serious has happened, then?"
Solar Pons nodded, his face assuming a grave expression.
"A matter of life and death, Parker. And as you have been such an assiduous chronicler of my little adventures over the past years, I thought you would not care to be left out, despite the inclement hour."
"You were perfectly correct, Pons," I said. "Just give me a few minutes to throw on some things, and I will join you in the sitting room."
Pons rubbed his thin hands briskly together with suppressed excitement.
"Excellent, Parker. I thought I knew my man. Mrs. Johnson is making some tea."
And with which encouraging announcement, he left the room.
It was a bitterly cold morning in early February, and I wasted no time in dressing, turning over in my mind what the untimely visitor to our quarters at 7B Praed Street could want at such a dead hour.
I had no doubt there was a visitor with a strange or tragic story to tell, or Pons would not have disturbed me so early, and as I knotted my tie and smoothed my tousled hair with the aid of the mirror, I found my sleepy mind sliding off at all sorts of weird tangents.
But when I entered our comfortable sitting room, where the makings of a good fire were already beginning to flicker and glow, I was not prepared for the sight of the tall, slim, fair-haired girl sitting in Pons' own armchair in front of the hearth. The only indication of anything serious afoot was the paleness of our visitor's handsome features. She made as though to rise at my entrance but my companion waved her back.
"This is my old friend and colleague, Dr. Lyndon Parker, Miss Helstone. I rely on him as on no other person, and he is an invaluable helpmate."
There was such obvious sincerity in Pons' voice that I felt a flush rising to my cheeks, and I stammered out some suitable greeting as the tall young woman gave me her cool hand.
"A bitterly cold morning, Miss Helstone."
"You may well be right, Dr. Parker, but I must confess my mind is so agitated that I have hardly noticed."
"Indeed?"
I looked at her closely. She did not seem ill but there was an underlying tension beneath her carefully controlled manner, which told my trained eye there was something dreadfully wrong.
There was a measured tread upon the stair and the bright, well-scrubbed features of our landlady, Mrs. Johnson, appeared around the door. She was laden with a tray containing tea things, and as I hastened to assist her, I caught the fragrant aroma of hot, buttered toast.
"I took the liberty of preparing something for the young lady to sustain her on such a cold morning."
"Excellent, Mrs. Johnson," said Pons, rubbing his thin hands. "As usual, you are a model of thoughtfulness."
Our landlady said nothing, but the faint flush on her cheeks showed that the deserved praise had not gone unnoticed. She hastened to pour out the tea, and after handing a cup to Miss Helstone with a sympathetic smile, quietly withdrew.
"Will you not draw closer to the fire, Miss Helstone?" "I am perfectly comfortable here, Mr. Pons."
"You have come from out of London, I see?"
"That is correct, Mr. Pons."
Pons nodded, replacing his cup in the saucer with a faint clink in the silence of the sitting room.
"I see a good deal of mud on your boots, which means you have been walking on an unmade road."
"It is a fair stretch to the station, Mr. Pons, and I was unable to get transport at that time of the morning."
"Quite so, Miss Helstone. You are not more than an hour out of town, I would surmise. Surrey, perhaps?"