"No idea, Mr. Pons. I cleared up the fallen books before Mother came home. I did not wish to alarm her again. She has gone on a short holiday this week, which was why I suggested a meeting today."
"You examined the books before you replaced them on the shelves?"
"Certainly, Mr. Pons. They were of no importance. Merely old parish records and the like."
"I see."
Solar Pons seated himself again opposite our client. "What is your reading of this affair, Miss Stuart?"
The young woman, who was obviously now more at ease in our company, put down her empty cup.
"A bibliophile, perhaps, who is out to steal what he can. There are some quite valuable books belonging to Father, and the French windows are the most obvious access from the churchyard side of the garden."
Solar Pons shook his head.
"I think not, Miss Stuart. A bibliophile, even one with criminal tendencies, would hardly behave in such a manner. There is something far deeper involved here. What say you, Parker?"
"Undoubtedly, Pons," said I. "Though I cannot think what at the present moment."
Solar Pons smiled thinly.
"It is a wise man, Parker, who refrains from committing himself at such an early stage of the game. Are you free to accompany me to Surrey? You have no objections to Dr. Parker accompanying us, Miss Stuart?"
"Good heavens, no, Mr. Pons. I should be delighted. Mother is away, as I have said, and Father's old room is always empty. There will be plenty of space for you both, if you do not mind simple cooking."
Solar Pons smiled warmly across at me.
"I can assure you we are not in the least fastidious, Miss Stuart. Can you make arrangements, Parker?"
I rose to my feet.
"My locum awes me a favor or two, Pons. I have no doubt he will be agreeable to taking over for a further day or so."
Solar Pons rubbed his hands together with enthusiasm. "Excellent! That is settled, then. If you will give us an hour, Miss Stuart, we will be entirely at your service."
"I am most grateful, Mr. Pons. There is a train just before five o'clock, if that will suit."
She hesitated a moment and then went on, almost shyly.
"If only you knew what your coming means to my mother and myself, Mr. Pons. It is almost as though a ghost is hovering over the house."
Pons smiled sympathetically and put his hand on the young lady's arm.
"You must not impute too great a power to me, Miss Stuart. My friend Parker is apt to let his enthusiasm run away with him when chronicling my modest adventures. And we may draw a blank."
The girl shook her head.
"I do not think so, Mr. Pons."
Solar Pons' eyes were fixed unwinkingly upon her.
"You think this man will come back again, Miss Stuart?"
Our client lowered her eyes.
"I feel certain of it, Mr. Pons."
"And yet earlier you felt a casual intruder might have been involved. That does not sit with my reading of the situation."
Miss Stuart looked temporarily embarrassed.
"I do not really know what to think, Mr. Pons. Sometimes I feel the strain will be too much for me altogether. You see, Mr. Pons, my mother has been far from well since my father's death. I have had to hide my deepest feelings from her. If she really knew what I suspected she would be close to collapse."
Solar Pons nodded.
"Do not distress yourself, Miss Stuart. I understand. You have to pretend to your parent that nothing sinister is involved. Yet you really feel there is a deeper motive behind it all."
The young woman smiled gratefully.
"That is it exactly, Mr. Pons."
Solar Pons rubbed his thin fingers briskly together and looked at me approvingly.
"Well, Parker, I fancy we are a match for any intruder, tramp or not. And just bring along your revolver if you will be so good."
He chuckled as he turned back to our client.
"The sight of Parker's stern features over the muzzle of that weapon is a great pacifier of the baser passions, Miss Stuart."
Within the hour we were on our way to Surrey, and Pons sat silent, his sharp, clear-minted features silhouetted against the smiling countryside, which flitted past the carriage windows in the golden evening sunshine. We alighted at a small, white-painted country station where a pony and trap was evidently awaiting our arrival and, having stowed our overnight bags, we were soon clattering through the undulating terrain which was permeated with the clean scent of pines.
The tall, taciturn driver did not say a word the whole journey after his grunted greeting to Miss Stuart and we were almost at our destination before our client herself broke silence.
"We are just coming to the village of Grassington, Mr. Pons. We live some way from Haslemere, as you see."
"Indeed, Miss Stuart," said Pons, shoveling blue, aromatic smoke from his pipe back over his shoulder, his eyes focused on the huddle of roofs that lay ahead over the patient back of the glistening roan in the shafts.
"It would be harder to imagine a more delightful spot."
It was, as my companion had indicated, like something out of a picture postcard. A small, timbered High Street, the houses ancient and beamed; a huddle of shops; an ancient square sleeping in the sunshine; contented villagers strolling in the early evening air; and the tower of the ancient Norman church dominating it all. We rattled briskly down the main street, passing a handsome tile-hung inn with its gilded sign of the maypole and turned into a narrow side-street, the horse evidently knowing the way without the driver's signaled instructions on the reins.
The Old Rectory turned out to be a handsome, rambling, tile-hung edifice, of L-shaped construction, set back from the wall of the old graveyard in a large and charming garden that was shadowed by old and massive trees, which kept much of the light and air from it.
As we drew up in front of the white-painted front gate, which bore the name of the house in black curlicue script, I saw that in winter the house would have a melancholy aspect, not only from the trees but from the churchyard, whose lugubrious marble images of angels and cherubs stared mournfully over the low, lichen-encrusted wall.
"Come along, gentlemen!" said Miss Stuart, her spirits quite restored as she led the way up the flagged path while the pony clopped its way around to a stable at the rear of the premises. The white-painted front door was already being opened by a cheerful, middle-aged woman with her hair scraped back in a bun.
"This is Hannah, our housekeeper and very good friend," our client explained. "This is Mr. Solar Pons and Dr. Lyndon Parker, who will be staying with us for a few days."
"Delighted to meet you, gentlemen," said Hannah shyly, extending her hand to Pons and then to me. "I am sure that I will do my best to make you comfortable."
Solar Pons smiled, looking around approvingly at the light and comfortably appointed tiled hall into which we had been ushered.
"You will not find us fastidious, Hannah, I can assure you."
"No, certainly not," I added, aware of Miss Stuart's smiling face turned toward me. She seemed to have recovered her spirits greatly.
"Tell me, Hannah," Solar Pons continued. "Miss Stuart has told me something of the troubles you have been undergoing the past few months. What is your reading of the situation?"
"Well, sir," said the housekeeper hesitantly, glancing at her mistress as though for tacit approval. "It is not really my place to give an opinion, but there is something strange and sinister about it. I know Miss Stuart will forgive me, but why should the same man — and it is the same man by all accounts — return again and again to this house to commit mischief. It isn't natural. And I will swear on the Bible that he is no common burglar."
Pons nodded significantly, glancing from the housekeeper to Miss Stuart.
"Well said, Hannah. That is exactly my opinion and I am glad to have it confirmed by one so obviously sensible and level-headed as yourself. If you can remember anything specific about these events, which you feel might assist me. I should be glad of any confidence you might care to make."
"Certainly, sir," said Hannah, taking our cases and retreating up the wide staircase with them. "And I am so glad that you could come."
Pons remained staring after her for a moment, then Miss Stuart led the way througn into a long drawing room, whose windows, open to the garden and the drowsy hum of bees in the late afternoon, spilled golden stencils of light across the carpet.
"We will take tea immediately, gentlemen, if you wish. And then I presume you would like to examine the study, Mr. Pons."
Solar Pons sat down and tented his thin fingers before him, his eyes raking the room.
"By all means, Miss Stuart. And then I have a fancy to take a stroll about the church before dark."
Our client, who sat by the empty fireplace, which was filled with a great bowl of scarlet roses, smiled. She patted the small, bright-eyed spaniel which had wandered in from the garden.
"Anything you wish, Mr. Pons."
Solar Pons leaned forward as the housekeeper reappeared with a tea cart.
"Please do not raise your hopes too high, Miss Stuart. Nothing may happen while we are here. But I will do my best."
"You are being too modest, Pons," I said. "I am sure you will soon have the answer to these baffling events." "As always, you do me too much honor, Parker."
And he said nothing more until we had finished our tea.