The Further Adventures of Solar Pons

THE FURTHER

ADVENTURES OF

SOLAR PONS

By Basil Copper

The Solar Pons series is based on characters

created by August Derleth.

Published in 1987 by

Academy Chicago Publishers 425 North Michigan Avenue Chicago, Illinois 60611

Copyright © 1979, 1987 by Basil Copper Printed and bound in the USA

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without the express written permission of the publisher.

Library of Congress Cataloguing-in-Publication Data

Copper, Basil.

The further adventures of Solar Pons.

"Based on the characters and series created by August Derleth."

1. Pons, Solar (Fictitious character)—Fiction. 2. Detective and mystery stories, English. I. Title.

PR6053.0658F8 1987 823'.914           87-19368

ISBN 0-89733-271-4

ISBN 0-89733-273-3 (pbk.)

an ebookman scan

The Solar Pons Series by August Derleth:

#01  REGARDING SHERLOCK HOLMES

#02  THE CHRONICLES OF SOLAR PONS

#03  THE MEMOIRS OF SOLAR PONS

#04  THE CASEBOOK OF SOLAR PONS

#05  THE REMINISCENCES OF SOLAR PONS

#06  THE RETURN OF SOLAR PONS

#07  MR. FAIRLIE'S FINAL JOURNEY!

The Solar Pons Series Continued By Basil Copper:

#08  THE DOSSIER OF SOLAR PONS

#09  THE FURTHER ADVENTURES OF SOLAR PONS

#10  THE SECRET FILES OF SOLAR PONS

#08  THE DOSSIER OF SOLAR PONS

#09  THE FURTHER ADVENTURES OF SOLAR PONS

#10  THE SECRET FILES OF SOLAR PONS

#11  THE UNCOLLECTED CASES OF SOLAR PONS

#12  THE EXPLOITS OF SOLAR PONS

#13  THE RECOLLECTIONS OF SOLAR PONS

#14  SOLAR PONS-THE FINAL CASES

Contents

The Further Adventures of Solar Pons

Contents

The Adventure of the Shaft of Death

1     2     3     4     5     6     7     8     9     10     11

The Adventure of the Frightened Governess

1     2     3     4     5     6

The Adventure of the Defeated Doctor

1     2     3     4     5     6     7     8

Murder at the Zoo

1     2     3     4     5     6     7     8     9     10

End of The Further Adventures of Solar Pons

The Adventure of the Shaft of Death

1

"YOU ARE UP early this morning, Parker?"

"Indeed, Pons. In fact I have been up all night on a difficult case and have only just come in."

"Ah, that accounts for the mud on your boots for it has only started raining within the last half-hour."

Solar Pons was in genial mood as he faced me in the sitting-room of our cosy quarters at 7B Praed Street, despite the rawness of the morning and the earliness of the hour. He waved me into a chair in front of the fire which Mrs Johnson had already lit.

"You look all in, my dear fellow. Breakfast will be ready shortly."

"I shall do justice to it, Pons," I said. "You have something afoot, if I am not mistaken?"

"The conclusion of a small affair, Parker. The addition of a full-stop to a sentence as it were. I expect one call from Bancroft and if it gives me the news for which I have been waiting—that Karl Voss has been arrested in Holland—then I shall be satisfied."

He turned to the darkened window of the sitting-room, where the feeble rays of the street lamps were slowly being dispelled by the dawn, and tamped fresh tobacco into the bowl of his pipe.

"Though it means that I shall be at liberty again. And

I confess that I find London confoundedly dull without the excitement of the chase."

"A little rest would do you good, Pons," said I. "You have been promising to accompany me to Scotland for some time."

"Pshaw, Parker, just look at it!"

Pons could not keep the disgust from his voice as he spread his hands to indicate the dismal sheets of rain falling outside the window.

"November is entirely the wrong time of year. And I prefer the capital. The sniffing out of evil-doing is holiday enough."

I closed my eyes and held out my hands to the warmth of the fireplace.

"I must confess that November is not the best time, Pons, but as your medical adviser as well as your friend, I must say you have been heavily overworking of late."

Solar Pons chuckled.

"Physician, heal thyself! I know you have the best intentions, my dear fellow, but just look at yourself this morning, grey with fatigue. If anyone overworks it is your average medical man. Why, I do not suppose you have had three straight days off in a row in the past year."

I snorted indignantly and opened my eyes. Solar Pons was standing in front of me, looking down with a whimsical expression on his face.

"If anyone needs a holiday it is you, Parker. My prescription for you is a fortnight at some Continental Spa. Or perhaps the winter sunshine of Nice."

"You are no doubt right, Pons," I grumbled. "And it is true that I do need a holiday. But who is to pay for such a luxury as you describe is beyond my humble powers of ratiocination."

Pons smiled broadly.

"The King of Bavaria was unusually lavish in that little matter in which I was able to assist him, Parker. It was my intention that you should be my guest."

"It is extremely generous of you, Pons," I mumbled. "But I could not possibly permit it."

Solar Pons sat down at the breakfast table and looked at me musingly as I sprawled in the armchair.

"Well, if Scotland does not suit me and Monte Carlo does not suit you, we must content ourselves with some more modest programme of relaxation."

He broke off as Mrs Johnson's well-scrubbed face with its heavy coils of hair looked interrogatively round the door. A pleasing aroma of fried bacon and hot coffee rose from the covered tray she carried.

"Come in, Mrs Johnson, come along in," said Pons briskly, rising swiftly and opening the door for her. "You are indeed welcome this inclement November morning. Dr Parker here is almost exhausted with his night's work. I have been trying to persuade him to take a brief holiday."

"I have been telling Dr Parker that for months," said our good landlady, bustling about the table.

I rose from my position by the fire and swiftly retired to wash my hands. When I regained the sitting-room Mrs Johnson had finished her preparations and Pons was pouring coffee for us from the silver-plated pot.

"Mrs Johnson's diagnosis—and it is one with which I entirely concur—is a week at one of our spa towns, to be taken before the end of the month," said Pons decisively.

Mrs Johnson smiled as I seated myself opposite Pons and reached for the toast.

"It is very good of you both to take such trouble over my health," I said mildly. "My locum would be quite agreeable, I have no doubt, and I am open to suggestions."

"Ah, we progress, Mrs Johnson," said Pons briskly, rubbing his hands together. "This began with Parker trying to pack me off to Scotland in the current abominable weather and now we are prescribing for him."

"If you ask me, you are both in need of a holiday, Mr Pons," said our landlady, quitting the room.

Pons looked quizzically after her as she closed the door and waited until she had descended the stairs.

"That admirable woman is right, you know, Parker," he said after a few minutes given over to the heaped plateful of food in front of him. "What say you to a modest jaunt?"

I put down my coffee cup in exasperation.

"It was I who suggested the holiday, Pons," I began with some asperity. "But I cannot really see us sitting in some dismal spa with a string orchestra playing, surrounded by gouty old gentlemen."

Solar Pons stroked his chin, little lines of humour showing at the corners of his mouth.

"You are right, Parker," he said. "You paint an horrific picture. We shall have to choose our venue with care."

And he said nothing further on the matter that morning. My medical duties took me out again after lunch and it was not until tea-time that I again set foot in our comfortable quarters. Pons was sitting in his mouse-coloured dressing gown and Mrs Johnson had laid an occasional table up near the fire for high tea. I caught sight of crumpets, toasted teacakes, bread and butter and Madeira cake in my first glance and the expression on my face drew a dry chuckle from my companion.

"I told Mrs Johnson you would no doubt be extremely weary by the time you came in, Parker, and I think that on this occasion she has excelled herself."

"Indeed, Pons," I said, sinking into an easy chair and allowing him to press a plate heaped with delicacies on me.

"You seem in ebullient mood," I added, when the keen edge of my appetite had been blunted.

"I have reason, Parker. I have just heard from Bancroft that Karl Voss was taken in Amsterdam early this morning. The case is closed."

"Congratulations, Pons. You will be free to take Mrs Johnson's advice, then?"

"Why not, Parker? We have still to select a destination in which boredom may be safely kept at bay. If nothing in London intervenes, I shall be ready by Monday of next week."

"Very well, Pons," I said, stirring my tea. "I will make the arrangements with my locum."

"And in the meantime, my dear fellow, we have a gazetteer and an excellent selection of guidebooks on the shelf yonder. No, Parker, I think we will wait until after tea, if you please. I find that melted butter and art paper do not go well together."

2

"Bath I think it is, then, Pons?"

The sitting-room was blue with tobacco-smoke and Pons and I, sprawled either side of the fire with whiskies at our elbows, had grown weary of the maps and guides which littered the table in front of us.

"It would appear to combine elegance and Roman antiquity with the benefits of urban entertainment such as can only be provided by a large city, Parker," said Pons languidly. "It is many years since I was last there and it is certainly one of the great cities of Europe. You are positively inspired this evening, my dear fellow."

"All I am worried about is whether we can get away in time, Pons," I said. "I have arranged things with my locum and it would be annoying, not to say disappointing, if I had to cancel."

Pons raised his eyebrows.

"I do not follow you, Parker."

"Now you are being obtuse, Pons," I could not resist saying. "Are you really telling me that if an interesting case arises before Monday, you will turn it down?"

Solar Pons smiled a thin smile as he took the pipe from his mouth.

"A point, Parker, a definite point. You are developing quite a pawky sense of humour of late."

He blew out a cloud of aromatic blue smoke and eyed me seriously.

"My dear fellow, I have given you my word. We have both been stretching ourselves. I guarantee that we will be on that train on Monday morning."

With that I had to rest content but I must confess I spent an uneasy week-end, only really relaxing when we were safely ensconced with our luggage in the taxi on the way to Paddington on Monday. It was a dry, sunny day and my spirits rose considerably. Pons too was unusually affected by the weather and even hummed a bar or two of a popular air in a tuneless monotone until I begged him to desist.

We lunched on the train and I watched the rich countryside unfold beyond the windows in a euphoric dream, conscious that Pons was again buried in his magazine and making elaborate calculations in pencil on its margin. In midafternoon we descended at Bath Spa Station and hailed a taxi. It was a bright, dry day still with scudding clouds and Pons looked with satisfaction at the Georgian buildings of the creamy local stone as we drove up Manvers Street and onward to the Grand Parade, leaving the massive pile of the Abbey on our left.

The taxi turned right over the elegant Pulteney Bridge with its shops in the style of Florence and Pons looked at the foaming race of Pulteney Weir as we crossed the Avon, the scale of the city slowly being revealed to us.

"I was not mistaken, Parker," said Solar Pons with satisfaction. "Roman Bath. Still one of the most elegant cities of Europe, I think."

"Undoubtedly, Pons," I replied. "I trust you will find much to occupy you here."

"The prospect certainly seems a little less arid than it did in Praed Street a few hours ago," Pons conceded drily. "Though whether I shall think so at the end of a week spent in these Georgian surroundings is another matter."

"Come, Pons," I said with some asperity. "This is my holiday too. We must just make the best of it."

"You make it sound a penance, Parker," said Solar Pons with a wry laugh as the taxi passed through Aura Place and pulled up at an imposing hotel in Great Pulteney Street. Our rooms were ready and after we had registered and unpacked, I met Pons in the lobby and suggested afternoon tea at the Pump Room.

"I must say, Parker, you are throwing yourself into the role quite thoroughly. But it sounds a not unpleasant idea."

He consulted his watch.

"It is just after four. An apposite hour."

Before we could leave the lobby, however, there was an interruption, as the receptionist came over from her rosewood desk at one side of the spacious entrance.

"Mr Pons? This just came for you, Mr Pons."

I looked at Pons resignedly as the girl handed him the telegram.

"Not bad news, Pons?"

Solar Pons' lean face lit up and he rubbed his hands together briskly.

"Good news, Parker. It seems that my services are needed."

He handed me the form. It was addressed Pons, c/o Hotel Glendale and simply said:

MUST CONSULT YOU MATTER LIFE AND DEATH.

8 P.M. THIS EVENING YOUR HOTEL.

SEPTIMUS GRIMPTON.

I sighed and handed the form back to Pons.

"This is supposed to be a holiday, Pons."

"Is it not, Parker."

Solar Pons looked at me sideways in a conspiratorial manner as we descended the steps of the hotel and set off in the direction of the centre of Bath. It was dusk and lamps were blooming along the broad vista of Great Pulteney Street and the grace and symmetry of the houses made one think we were back in the eighteenth century.

"Who on earth is Septimus Grimpton, Pons?"

"Your guess is as good as mine, Parker. I have never heard of the man."

"He has certainly heard of you, Pons," I said somewhat bitterly. "And how did he know you were staying here?"

"Possibly the good Mrs Johnson released our address in Bath, Parker."

I shook my head.

"That is a great pity, Pons."

"On the contrary, my dear Parker, Mrs Johnson was merely following out instructions."

"But we have just arrived, Pons," I protested. "And if you have to return to London .. ."

"My dear fellow, I shall not be returning to London. If Mr Grimpton is calling at our hotel, is it not likely that he lives or has business in this neighbourhood? I hardly fancy that he would travel all this way from London just to consult me, especially when Mrs Johnson would have acquainted him with the fact that it is my holiday."

I stared at Pons for a moment as we crossed the bridge over the Avon and turned left into Grand Parade.

"That puts a different complexion on the matter, Pons."

"Does it not, Parker. And now let us absorb the unique atmosphere of this extraordinary city. Observe the almost magical way in which the Abbey rises from the dusk. If I am not much mistaken England's first Archbishop began its building."

We crossed the street and wandered through the precincts to where the lights of the Pump Room beckoned from the shadows. The area was crowded with shoppers and tourists and the red afterglow of the sun yet lingered in the west, turning the upper stones of the ancient Abbey Towers to carmine.

The rococo splendour of the Pump Room engulfed us and as we sat waiting for the buxom waitress to bring us tea, Pons glanced round the vast hall with its Chippendale furniture, absorbed in his study of the faces of the people who sipped their tea or ate their Bath buns, while their conversation rose like the murmur of the sea to the high ceiling far overhead.

An eight-piece orchestra on a dais at the far end of the huge room struck up a Strauss waltz and Pons turned back to me with an ironic smile.

"You are in your element now, Parker."

I waited until the waitress had put down the tea-tray, conscious of the toasted crumpets and other delicacies that were spread out on its silver surface.

"You must confess that it has a certain charm, Pons." Pons nodded.

"Oh, I give you that, my dear fellow. As a holiday it has much to commend it. As a way of life it would soon pall."

"I could not agree more, Pons," I said. "But as we are on holiday let us just enjoy it."

And with that I bit with satisfaction into my first crumpet.

3

We were sitting in the lounge of the hotel at a quarter past eight when a page-boy came in, followed by an elderly man dressed in a thick overcoat with a fur collar.

"Ah, Parker," said Pons, rising from his place by the fire. "That should be the mysterious Mr Grimpton if I mistake not."

It was indeed for the old gentleman gave a start as he caught sight of Pons' lean, tall figure, dismissed the page-boy with a coin and hurried toward us through a sea of leather arm-chairs.

"Mr Solar Pons? It is indeed good of you to see me on your holiday, my dear sir. As you will have guessed, I am Septimus Grimpton."

"Pray sit down, Mr Grimpton. You will find this seat nearest the fire more comfortable."

Our visitor seated himself, unbuttoning his coat.

"I hope my telegram did not inconvenience you, Mr Pons, particularly as I understand this is the first day of your holiday."

"Not at all, Mr Grimpton. I gather that it is a serious matter on which you wish to consult me. This is my friend and colleague, Dr Lyndon Parker."

"Delighted to meet you, doctor."

Septimus Grimpton rose from his chair and gave me a half-bow as he seized my hand. He was a man of some seventy years of age, though of vigorous aspect and with a rosy complexion almost like that of a child. He had snow-white hair which hung over his forehead in careless wisps, and his tufted eyebrows waved in comic manner behind his gold pince-nez as he talked. One of the most striking things about him was his vivid blue eyes which made his face come wonderfully alive.

Pons had gone to stand by the fireplace and was studying our visitor with more than usual interest.

"A countryman and a scholar I see, Mr Grimpton. One used to taking notes in public places such as libraries or the rooms of learned institutions."

"Why yes, Mr Pons. You know me?"

The blue eyes had swivelled in an arresting manner to hold Pons in their unwavering stare. Solar Pons shook his head with a smile.

"You are of vigorous build and your complexion denotes the man who is much in the open air. Yet there is something of the scholar about your manner and tone of voice. When I find that combined with the slight stoop which comes from hours spent over books I deduce a gentleman of scholarly pursuits."

"And the libraries and institutions, Pons?" I could not resist putting in.

Solar Pons chuckled.

"Mr Grimpton is dressed expensively and in perfect taste. Yet I see from his high quality overcoat that the cuff of the right arm is nevertheless frayed and ink-stained. That comes only from his habit of resting his forearm on a table or desk while writing."

"But the public institutions, Pons?" I persisted.

Solar Pons shook his head and made a slight clicking noise with his tongue.

"You know my methods, Parker. It is only in public institutions or libraries, where conditions are often chill in winter-time, that the searcher after knowledge would keep his overcoat on."

I gave our visitor a wry smile.

"There is no catching you out, Pons."

"You do me too much honour, Parker. But you have not corroborated my findings, Mr Grimpton."

Our visitor shifted in his chair and his eyes sparkled behind the pince-nez.

"It is only because I am struck dumb with admiration, Mr Pons. You are correct in every respect. It is obvious my confidence in coming to you is not misplaced."

"You live in the neighbourhood, Mr Grimpton?"

"At Penderel Parva, Mr Pons, a small village just outside Bath; in fact, only half an hour's drive from here."

"Might I ask how you discovered my whereabouts?"

'That is just it, Mr Pons. A wonderful stroke of fortune. I was at my wit's end. I was so worried about this bizarre affair that I was about to set out for London to seek your advice. But some providence made me first telephone your London address and the good lady there told me you were staying in Bath and very kindly provided the name of your hotel. I am so sorry to cut into your holiday with my problems."

"I am at your disposal, Mr Grimpton," said Pons. "Other people's problems are my holiday so far as I am concerned and you seem to have your share of them if your telegram is anything to go by."

"You are too kind, Mr Pons. I think I can promise you something out of the ordinary. And money is no object."

Pons held up his hand.

"I never discuss terms, Mr Grimpton. I have a fixed fee and I never deviate from it, save when I remit it altogether."

Our visitor smiled gently at Pons and pushed his straggling white locks back from his eyes.

"My apologies, gentlemen. And now, to the purpose of my visit."

Septimus Grimpton's face had changed now and he had a strange, bleak look in his eyes that suddenly made one aware of his age.

"I live at Penderel Lodge, sir, a large house of a rambling nature, in extensive grounds outside the village of Penderel Parva," he commenced.

"It was built by my grandfather, Sennacherib Grimpton, a notable eccentric of Bath and a man who had money and taste but whose later life was clouded by his growing miserliness and a number of tragic events, which began with the premature death of his wife, my grandmother."

Grimpton gave a deferential smile and added, "I mention all this in some detail, Mr Pons, because I wish you to have the background of this strange affair firmly in your mind."

"Pray go on, Mr Grimpton."

"My life has been lived much out of the world, Mr Pons, though in earlier years I travelled extensively on the Continent in pursuit of my scholarly and bibliophile interests. I have one of the finest libraries in the West of England. A bachelor, I live with my secretary and domestic staff at Penderel Lodge, which descended to me on the death of my father some eighteen years ago. So much for detail, Mr Pons."

Solar Pons leaned casually against the mantel, his deep-set eyes fixed unwaveringly upon our visitor.

"The strange events at Penderel Lodge began some eight months ago, Mr Pons. They are a complete mystery to me; to my housekeeper, Mrs Shipton; and to my secretary, Jocelyn Granger. There were strange noises in the night; footsteps; doors slamming in the dead hours. I was several times disturbed and made the rounds of the house but was never able to find anything amiss.

"Then things took a more serious turn. We have had several burglaries, Mr Pons . . ."

Solar Pons made a low clicking noise with his tongue and held up his hand.

"Pray be precise as to detail, Mr Grimpton."

The blue eyes swivelled from me to my companion.

"Well, Mr Pons, none of it makes much sense. About three months ago I was aroused one night by a loud crash. Both Mrs Shipton and myself made a search but were unable to discover any intruder in the house. But we discovered a number of books in my library had slipped to the floor. We questioned my secretary and the servants in the morning but no-one knew anything about it."

Solar Pons pulled at the lobe of his ear in the manner long familiar to me and stared reflectively at our guest.

"Could the books have collapsed from the shelves of their own accord?"

"It is barely possible, Mr Pons, for the shelves are raked slightly backward to prevent just that."

"What were the volumes?"

"Nothing of importance, Mr Pons. Merely bound records relating to the estate in my grandfather's time. Worth nothing in monetary terms."

"I see. Please go on."

"There have been two burglaries since, Mr Pons. One, a month after the incident just mentioned. I saw lights coming from my study on this occasion. They shone on my blind and awoke me. I must have disturbed someone because I found the French windows open and a number of things missing."

"You reported this to the police?"

"Certainly, Mr Pons. But nothing followed. It was a dry night and there were no footprints on the terrace." "What had been stolen?"

That was the ridiculous part of it, Mr Pons. Quite worthless things. A bronze ashtray from my desk; a pair of candle-snuffers; and a pewter vase principally."

Pons' eyes sparkled.

"This grows more interesting by the minute, Mr Grimpton. What say you, Parker?"

"Indeed, Pons," I returned. "An amateur sort of thief by the sound of it."

"Undoubtedly. Unless he intended to corner the bronze and pewter market."

Our visitor's eyes widened.

"I hardly think so, Mr Pons. But I confess I am unable to make anything of this."

Solar Pons quitted the mantel and sat down opposite our visitor.

"There was another burglary at the house three weeks ago. Just as pointless as the first. I slept through this but my secretary awoke and chased an intruder on the terrace. He was shortly joined by my housekeeper but the man got clean away. A few trinkets from the morning room were taken and there was some disturbance in the library but nothing of value was stolen. The rare books are kept in locked cabinets. They would have been worth a fortune to any thief."

"But that is a highly specialised department," said Solar Pons enigmatically. "And calls for esoteric knowledge unlikely to be possessed by many. Hence the relatively few rare book thieves in operation on a world scale."

"I must bow to your arcane knowledge of the subject, Mr Pons," said our visitor ironically. "At least it has relieved part of my mind."

"That completes your sequence of strange events, Mr Grimpton?" began Solar Pons. "You mentioned life and death . . ."

"Except for this morning's incident," our visitor interrupted. "The inhabitants of Penderel Lodge are in a state of terror, Mr Pons."

"Something of the utmost gravity has happened then?" Septimus Grimpton nodded.

"Murder in the most shocking form, Mr Pons, under the most bizarre circumstances."

4

There was a long silence in the quiet of the hotel lounge. From beyond the thick-curtained windows the soft humming of a motor vehicle rose and then receded as it glided down Great Pulteney Street and turned into Aura Place.

Pons' face was grim. He leaned forward and tented his fingers before him as he stared at Grimpton.

"Pray be most precise and careful as to detail, Mr Grimpton."

"Certainly, Mr Pons. Though I am most shaken by such a terrible incident occurring in my grounds. A gardener was coming on duty at six o' clock when he had occasion to pass near the Mausoleum. There is a tar-macadam drive there and he was shocked and horrified to see bloodied footprints on the carriageway."

Our client's voice had dropped to a low whisper and he stared at Pons with a suddenly haggard face.

"Bizarre and shocking, Pons," I said.

Solar Pons nodded.

"Bizarre indeed, Parker. What is this Mausoleum you spoke of, Mr Grimpton?"

"Another fancy of my eccentric grandfather, Mr Pons. When my grandmother died he had a fancy to build a Mausoleum in the grounds of the estate. She is buried there in a marble sarcophagus. He is also interred within the Mausoleum."

"There is an agreeably Gothic tone to your story, Mr Grimpton, if you do not mind me saying so."

Our visitor nodded.

"A little too Gothic and a little too grim for my taste, Mr Pons. As I was saying, the gardener found these footprints. A few hundred yards farther on, in a small grove of trees fronting the house, he discovered a roughly-dressed man, terribly injured. He was covered in blood, which was dripping from a large wound in his chest. How he had survived that long was a miracle. The house was aroused, the police and a doctor summoned, but he died within half an hour of the latter's arrival, despite all that he could do."

"Was he able to say anything?"

'Just one thing, Mr Pons. He mumbled something to Hoskins, the gardener. It was something about 'The Shaft of Death'. He repeated this strange phrase three or four times before he died. Nothing else."

Solar Pons sat in silence for a moment, rapt in thought. "Had the weapon been found, Mr Grimpton?" The old man shook his head.

"That is another of the weird things, Mr Pons. I have not finished yet. The bloodied foot-prints were traced back from the roadway by Inspector Morgan and his men. They led to the Mausoleum, Mr Pons, which had been entered with a key, which was still in the lock. There was a good deal of blood within the building, particularly on the marble paving on which the tomb of my grandmother stands. There were bloodied hand-marks on the front of the marble effigy which surmounts the sarcophagus. There the trail ended."

"Say rather there it began," murmured Pons. "Well, Mr Grimpton, I have seldom listened to a more grisly or more baffling story. Have you more to tell me?"

"Very little, Mr Pons. The dead man has been identified. He was Abel Stokoe, a rough character who formerly made his living as a prizefighter. He was a convicted felon and in fact had been released from prison only three months ago."

"I see."

Solar Pons rose from his seat and paced silently up and down in front of the fireplace.

"He was sent to prison for what, Mr Grimpton?"

"According to Inspector Morgan, Mr Pons, for a number of offences. Occasioning grievous bodily harm; but mostly for house-breaking."

Solar Pons made a little clicking noise with his tongue. "What do you make of it, Mr Pons?"

Our visitor sat with his head on one side, regarding my companion anxiously.

"Nothing as yet, Mr Grimpton. But one should not waste too much time in these cases. If you have no objection, Parker, I should like to go over the ground tonight."

"Certainly, Pons."

Pons glanced at the great cased clock which ticked away in a corner of the lounge.

"It wants only a few minutes to nine o'clock. If you have your car at the door, Mr Grimpton, there is no time like the present."

"Thank you, Mr Pons. You have taken a great weight off my mind."

Septimus Grimpton rose and shook Solar Pons' hand effusively.

"We will talk further in the car on the way to your house, Mr Grimpton."

It was indeed only a short journey to Penderel Lodge and after crossing the Avon, Mr Grimpton's gleaming Rolls-Royce, driven by a taciturn chauffeur, glided its way through undulating countryside to the small village of Penderel Parva. Passing through the village, the vehicle turned in through ornamental iron gates that led to a sizeable park.

The journey had passed with Pons' monosyllabic questions and Mr Grimpton's necessarily longer and more detailed answers but now Pons seemed satisfied with his questioning and the church clock had barely finished marking half-past nine before our host's massive vehicle crunched to a halt in the curving driveway which stretched like a white ribbon before us in the light of the moon.

It was a cold night and I was glad of my thick overcoat as Pons sprang down impatiently, his pocket torch in his hand.

"This is the spot?"

"Just ahead, Mr Pons. The police had canvas laid to preserve the prints, though it is obvious what happened."

Grimpton led the way to a spot about five yards distant, now brightly illuminated by the headlamps of the Rolls-Royce. Pons quickly unrolled the canvas and I could not repress a slight shiver at the bloodied outlines of the boot-marks thus revealed. Pons quickly worked his way over the ground, his pocket lens out, while his torch occasionally supplemented the beams of the headlamps.

He made an impatient clicking noise with his tongue.

"A great pity, Mr Grimpton. The boots of the constabulary habitually obliterate that which should be preserved."

"What on earth do you mean, Mr Pons?"

"It does not really matter on this occasion, Mr Grimpton. But if there had been indications of another person on the tar-macadam they would undoubtedly have been effaced by the eager shoe-marks of the Inspector's gaping assistants."

Pons turned his lean, hawk-like face toward our host. "Incidentally, why did you not leave this matter to the official police, Mr Grimpton?"

The old scholar hesitated, a strange expression on his face.

"It seemed to me that there was something here beyond the purview of the normal," he said.

"Something that might affect your family?"

Septimus Grimpton smiled faintly.

"You are an extremely shrewd man, Mr Pons. This business of the family vault, for example."

Pons stood with one hand pulling at the lobe of his ear.

"You may rely on my discretion, Mr Grimpton. Providing that it sits four-square with my conscience." "That is understood, Mr Pons."

Grimpton signalled to his chauffeur and the man brought the car up while Pons replaced the canvas over the driveway. The headlamp beams were now slewed across the park and Pons followed the trail of foot-prints, easily distinguished now in the soft grass. They ended on a knoll, among the grove of trees our host had already spoken of. Pons knelt, his torch-beam steady on the thick, dark patch of blood still visible on the ground, indicating the spot where the unfortunate Stokoe had died.

He rose to his feet, putting the lens away, while his deep-set eyes looked across to the facade of the gracious house that fronted us across the parkland, its bulk bleached silver in the moonlight.

"The sequence of events seems perfectly clear, Mr Grimpton. The man was evidently making for the house after the brutal attack on him. What did the police say about the cause of death?"

Grimpton led the way back down from the knoll in the direction from which we had come, while the car reversed until it was pointed toward the main gates.

"A massive wound over the heart, Mr Pons. Apparently inflicted with some semi-sharp instrument wielded with considerable force. Dr Kellett said it was incredible Stokoe had survived so long."

"How could he have got into the grounds?"

"There are many places along the boundary, Mr Pons. Hedges, or even high walls will not keep such people out."

"Very true, Mr Grimpton. I should like to see this family Mausoleum of yours before we go to the house." "Certainly, Mr Pons."

We had entered the car by this time and our host tapped on the glass partition; the Rolls-Royce glided back down the driveway and then took a secondary fork to the left which wound uphill through dark belts of trees. At length we came to a wide concourse and the trees dropped away. The beams of the headlights picked out a large octagonal building of white marble which seemed to shimmer like bone in the moonlight.

"That is the Mausoleum, gentlemen," said Grimpton in a hushed voice.

5

Pons descended from our vehicle and rapidly crossed over to the marble steps of the white building which was of tremendous size. We waited before the palatial bronze doors in the rising wind as Septimus Grimpton hurried after us. The chauffeur again brought the Rolls-Royce as far up toward the steps as was practicable until the beams illuminated the doorway.

Grimpton produced a large bronze key and inserted it into the lock.

"The police have finished their investigations here, Mr Pons," he murmured. "I have told the Inspector I was engaging your services and he said I could not have done better."

"That is extremely flattering, Mr Grimpton," said Pons gravely, shooting me a swift glance.

He put his hand to the portal which went easily round with a barely perceptible squeak.

"How often is this place entered, Mr Grimpton?" Our client hesitated.

"Perhaps once or twice a year, Mr Pons," he replied. "There was some small memorial ceremony in my father's time, which has persisted in latter years."

"Your parents are not interred here?"

A startled look passed across Grimpton's face, accentuated by the yellow light of the headlamp beams.

"Certainly not, Mr Pons," he said sharply. "They did not subscribe to my grandfather's eccentricities. They are buried in a village churchyard in Devonshire."

Solar Pons had his pocket torch out and was examining the hinges of the giant door.

"I ask only because of the state of these doors, Mr Grimpton. They have been recently greased."

"That is indeed strange, Mr Pons. I will question my outdoor staff if you think it important."

"It is of the utmost significance," said Solar Pons mysteriously. "Eh, Parker?"

I blinked.

"If you say so, Pons."

Solar Pons smiled enigmatically and directed his torch beam on to the interior of the Mausoleum. It was indeed a curious chamber in which we found ourselves; beyond the spacious entrance whose bronze vases set within niches had obviously once contained flowers, there was a large circular room about thirty feet wide. Our footsteps echoed heavily under the domed ceiling as we went slowly over the marble inlaid paving, which bore rich, incised patterns in green and gold. There were no windows and the lights of the car from outside, and the beams from Pons' torch, cast strange and sombre shadows which fled across the white walls.

The bloodied footprints, of which brief traces remained on the steps outside, were again visible here, and Pons gave a little catch of his breath as he followed them back with his torch.

"What do you make of it, Parker?"

I bent down to examine the markings more closely. "Why, that he was struck somewhere within the Mausoleum, Pons?"

"Excellent, Parker. As a medical man I was sure that fact would not escape you."

"How so, Mr Pons?" put in Septimus Grimpton.

"Because, as so often happens, Mr Grimpton, the wound did not commence to bleed at once. It was only afterward, as he began to walk that the blood pumped more vigorously through his veins, and copious bleeding began, outside the Mausoleum."

There was a heavy silence as our client absorbed this information. It was broken by Pons, who went forward to a raised dais in the centre of the chamber. It bore the sarcophagus of Septimus Grimpton's grandmother if the marble female effigy sculptured on top was a true indication.

The plinth carried the inscription, in heavy chiselled letters:

EPHROSINA GRIMPTON 1780-1855.

And underneath, in flowing script lettering:

TURN DOWN AN EMPTY GLASS.

"An unusual inscription, Pons," I began.

"A quotation from the Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam, Parker," said Pons. "The final stanza in Fitzgerald's translation, if I am not mistaken. It refers to the ephemerality of all human hopes and aspirations, Parker. But it is a strange epitaph for the mid-Victorian period, I agree. Your grandfather was an unusual man, Mr Grimpton."

"Indeed, Mr Pons," said the old scholar, looking at my companion with intense blue eyes. "I did not think the quotation would escape you. Though of ripe years, my grandmother died in a riding accident."

Pons was silent for a few moments, carefully examining the plinth of the sarcophagus and the surrounding floor, which also bore traces of blood-flecks. The plinth was set in the midst of a circular pattern and I followed it round when Pons gave another brief exclamation. I followed the dancing beam of the torch and saw the bloodied imprints of two hands on the feet of the white marble figure.

"I would venture to say that Stokoe was struck somewhere about here, Mr Grimpton. He first put his hand to his breast, where he had been wounded, and carried the first traces of blood to the effigy here as he leaned against it to recover himself."

"He must have been a man of tremendous strength, Mr Pons."

"I am inclined to agree, Mr Grimpton."

Pons looked round curiously.

"But I must confess there are some aspects which puzzle me. I find no trace of a second person, the man who struck the blow. Yet he must have been close beside his victim. And why did he not strike him again to finish him?"

"Ah, there I cannot follow you, Mr Pons," said our client respectfully, stepping back to the edge of the plinth and lapsing into silence.

"That is your grandfather over there?"

Pons' dancing torch-beam passed on to indicate a smaller effigy, set against the far wall; this carried only a plain marble tablet with the name and dates.

"Simple and dignified," said Pons. "He evidently thought a great deal of your grandmother."

"He worshipped her, Mr Pons. He was buried there according to the wishes expressed in his will. Though wanting to be near her within the Mausoleum, he did not want her disturbed for his interment. In fact, Mr Pons, the raised platform is symbolic, or so my father said. It partakes, in some ways, of the mediaeval."

Pons nodded.

"The allusion had not escaped me, Mr Grimpton. When the inferior in rank slept at the feet of their lord or lady. A rather charming sentiment for the high-tide of the Victorian age."

"You are a man of great sensitivity, Mr Pons."

Pons acknowledged the compliment with a slight bow and his gaze once again raked round the strange chamber in which we found ourselves.

"I think we have seen everything of importance here, Mr Grimpton. A short visit to your house will put most of the salient points within my orbit."

"Certainly, Mr Pons."

We waited outside while the old man locked the great bronze doors behind us.

"How many keys are there to this door, Mr Grimpton?"

"About three, I think, Mr Pons," said Grimpton as we once again re-entered the car and the chauffeur reversed it and set off toward the house.

"And where are they kept?"

"There are two in my study and a third in the estate manager's office, Mr Pons. We keep the building clean, of course, and it is entered for that purpose from time to time."

Pons nodded.

"So that if anyone could abstract the key it would be only the work of a moment to make an impression of it."

"No doubt, Mr Pons, but for what purpose eludes me."

"That is what makes these little problems so intriguing," said Pons with a thin smile. "Pray give me the benefit of your thoughts on the matter, Parker."

"Well, Pons," I said. "Supposing it had been robbery. Thieves falling out, say."

"I am not usually obtuse, Parker, but on this occasion I do not quite follow you."

"The materials of the vault, Pons. The marble flooring and other fittings; the bronze doors themselves, would be extremely valuable."

Solar Pons leaned forward and toyed with the lobe of his ear, his face heavy with thought.

"Distinctly ingenious, Parker. You excel yourself, but I think not. While such a theory might be plausible in a metropolis like London it would hardly suffice out here in the country. And while it is true to say that the materials are extremely valuable, think of all the time and trouble. It would need tools, equipment, many men; to say nothing of a large vehicle to transport such booty away. Yet there are no tyre-marks in the grounds at all that I have been able to discover. And I have particularly looked for such markings. I fear we must look elsewhere for the explanation of this bizarre affair."

Pons turned to our client.

"And we must not forget also, Mr Grimpton, that unless Stokoe were raving, he must have meant something by his enigmatic reference to The Shaft of Death. I would submit it referred to the method of his own demise. He repeated it not once but several times, according to your story."

"Perfectly correct, Mr Pons."

"This is a heavy problem, Pons," I said. "And will need all your ratiocinative gifts."

"Will it not, Parker," said Pons with an enigmatic glance at both of us. And he said nothing further until we were inside the house.

6

As our client had indicated, Penderel Lodge was a rambling old place, but furnished lavishly with taste and discernment. Septimus Grimpton had made certain improvements in the matter of creature comforts and I for one was extremely grateful for the enormous fire which blazed in the great panelled hall to which Grimpton immediately led us on arrival at the house.

The door had been opened by a grave-faced butler with a fringe of white hair at the temples and now he brought whisky in a decanter, together with crystal goblets on a silver tray.

"Pray make yourselves comfortable, gentlemen."

The butler had poured the drinks and we stood agreeably engaged by the mellow flames of the fire when our host recalled the man, who was on the point of leaving the room.

"Are the police still here, Simmons?"

The butler inclined his head, the lights from the chandeliers glinting silver at his temples.

"The main body have returned to Bath this afternoon, sir. Inspector Morgan is working on his notes in the morning room. It was his intention, I believe, to await your return."

"Very well, Simmons. We will see the Inspector in a few minutes. Will you ask Mr Granger to step this way if he has not retired for the night."

"Certainly, Mr Grimpton."

Our host rubbed his hands together and turned to us, his blue eyes frank and level.

"Mrs Shipton, my housekeeper, and Hoskins, the gardener, are available for questioning should you desire to have them here."

Pons looked across at the great grandfather clock in the corner.

"It is past ten, Mr Grimpton. I do not think I will bother them tonight. There will be time enough tomorrow."

"As you wish, Mr Pons."

There came a low rapping at the door and at our host's command a thin, sandy-haired fellow pushed open the door and stood poised upon the threshold. He had an alert expression on his face and his body was coiled like a tense spring so that he reminded me of nothing so much as a wire-haired terrier.

"Little of import to announce, Mr Grimpton," he said easily. "Inspector Morgan is no farther forward, I feel."

"That may well be," said Septimus Grimpton drily, "but I think we must forbear to sit in judgement on the police force until they have had longer on the case. Granger, this is Dr Lyndon Parker and Mr Solar Pons who has come to give us the benefit of his great deductive wisdom in the matter."

The secretary smiled, showing even white teeth and hurried over to shake hands with each of us in turn.

"Welcome, gentlemen. I am a great admirer of your methods, Mr Pons."

"Let us just hope that you will remain an admirer after my departure, Mr Granger," said Solar Pons good-humouredly. "I understand you played a leading part in these mysterious events."

A shadow passed across the secretary's face. At Grimpton's invitation he poured himself a steep measure of whisky and went to stand moodily by the fireplace, facing Pons.

"I do not know what Mr Grimpton has told you, Mr Pons. I chased somebody one evening, yes. But I know as little as anyone else about these strange events. And as for the shocking murder this morning, I cannot for the life of me make any sense of the matter."

"Then you are at one with Dr Parker here," said Pons wryly. "But logic has a way of imparting coherence to otherwise widely disconnected events. We have a series of burglaries or attempted burglaries, in each of which valueless trifles were stolen. We have a murder and a Mausoleum; no visible weapon and a mysterious death-cry of a man evidently of sound mind, for he repeated the same phrase several times."

I shook my head.

"Baffling complexity, Pons."

"Is it not, Parker?" observed Solar Pons mischievously. "But light will break in, I have no doubt, as we proceed."

The secretary shook his head, exchanging a glance with his employer.

"Well, sir, I am entirely at your disposal, if you wish to question me. Similarly, the contents of the study and my own records are freely available. With Mr Grimpton's permission, of course."

Solar Pons had seated himself in a deep leather chair at the side of the fireplace and now he tented his fingers before him, his sharp eyes fixed unwaveringly on the secretary's face.

"Well, that is good to know, Mr Granger. I shall not trouble you this evening, but I may have need of your views and your records at some future time."

"They will be ready, Mr Pons."

"What do you make of this man, Stokoe, Mr Granger?" The secretary shook his head, swilling the amber liquid around in his glass.

"I had never heard of the fellow until today, Mr Pons.

Though he sounds a nasty character, by all accounts. Inspector Morgan has some theory about gypsies, so we may learn something further."

"Indeed."

Solar Pons pursed his lips and looked inquiringly at our host.

"There is a band of gypsies encamped on the far side of the village," said Grimpton shortly. "Though what connection they may have had with the man Stokoe only the Inspector knows."

"Perhaps we had better ask him," said Solar Pons, rising easily from his chair and bidding the secretary goodnight.

"Bring your glasses along by all means, gentlemen," said Grimpton with a good-natured smile. "We will not stand on ceremony at a time like this."

I hurried after Pons and Grimpton, for my friend had strode out across the parquet in his usual dynamic manner.

"The door on the far side of the hall, Mr Pons," Grimpton called after him.

I gained the threshold in time to see a heavily-built, middle-aged man dressed in comfortable tweeds rise from a desk near the fire with a welcoming smile. The butler Simmons was standing in front of the desk as though in the act of being questioned and I noticed a notebook covered in inked longhand script on the desk, with the police officer's silver pen beside it.

"Morgan, Mr Pons. Inspector, Bath C.I.D. An honour to have you here, sir."

Pons shook hands, his eyes sharply scrutinising the Inspector's face.

"You honour me, Inspector. Rhondda Valley, I should say. You are a member of the Metropolitan Police Hockey Club. Enthusiastic rugby player too, I believe."

The Inspector's mouth was wide open.

"Correct, Mr Pons. Though how . . ."

"Tut, it was simple enough," interrupted Solar Pons.

"I have made some study of accents. That lilting speech with its curious inflexion is found nowhere else but in the Rhondda Valley. Your tie denotes your membership of the hockey club."

"Ah, Mr Pons."

The Inspector smiled again. "I was a member for years when I served in London. I retain my membership. But my enthusiasm for rugby?"

"Your nose has been broken not once, but twice, Inspector. And .. ."

"That could have occurred in a number of sports, including boxing," I could not resist putting in mischievously.

"As I was about to add, Parker, if you would kindly refrain from interrupting me," Solar Pons went on blandly, "I have twice had the pleasure of seeing Mr Morgan perform as centre-half at Twickenham in earlier years. So my observations on the matter were based on knowledge and not on the evidence of his nose, though the breaks are typical of the type of blow dealt by a hand-off."

Inspector Morgan's expression denoted amusement as he caught sight of my discomfiture but Solar Pons, ignoring the butler and Grimpton, who stood somewhat awkwardly by the fire, went on easily, "What do you make of all this, Inspector?"

Morgan shook his head and resumed his seat at the desk.

"I have not come to any definite conclusions, Mr Pons."

"That is always wise at an early stage of such an investigation," said Pons, going to sit on a leather divan where I shortly joined him.

"But you must have some sort of theory. The Mausoleum and Stokoe, for instance?"

The Inspector wrinkled up his brow in furrows of concentration.

"It's a rum business, Mr Pons. Frankly I can't see why the man wanted to get into the Mausoleum, though the materials—the bronze doors and such—are extremely valuable in themselves. I had a theory about the gypsies."

"The gypsies?"

Solar Pons leaned forward with an intent expression on his face that I had often observed when a point of particular importance gained his attention.

"There is an encampment near the village. Or was," the Inspector corrected himself.

"According to my informants they left in the early hours of the morning. They will not get far. They took the Bristol road."

"And yet you have not traced them, Inspector, though over fifteen hours have elapsed? Dear me."

The Inspector's neck turned a dull red.

"It's not as simple as it sounds, Mr Pons. We have few men. And even a sizeable band can camp undetected in the woods and deserted lanes hereabouts. But we'll find them, never fear."

"And when you have found them, Inspector?"

"Well, Mr Pons, it's well known that gypsies deal in scrap metal and are not above stealing it. Stokoe was seen at the gypsy camp on at least one occasion by a provision merchant in Penderel Parva who was out delivering with his van. And gypsies are not above using knives on their victims. It is a big wound, it is true, but quite possible."

"I see. Distinctly ingenious, Inspector Morgan. And what do you make of Stokoe's dying words?"

"The Shaft of Death? It could have referred to a big knife."

Pons shook his head, looking innocently from the Inspector to Grimpton, who stood awkwardly holding his drink, as though the conversation were beyond him. By contrast, Simmons, the grave-faced butler was listening eagerly, his face betraying his intense interest.

"I think not, Inspector. Would he not have said, The Blade of Death?"

"The man was dying, Mr Pons. Who knows what he meant?"

"Well, well. You may be right," said Pons, draining his glass.

"It is getting late, Mr Grimpton, and our presence here inconveniences you. If we could trouble your chauffeur ..."

But Inspector Morgan had jumped to his feet, closing his notebook with a snap.

"I have my own car here, Mr Pons. I will be glad to drive you back to Bath."

"That is settled, then. Goodnight, Mr Grimpton. We will see you tomorrow."

"I will send the car to the hotel at ten o'clock, Mr Pons."

"We shall be ready. Come, Parker."

7

It was a dry, bright day the following morning and as we drove out to Penderel Lodge in our host's car Pons was unusually silent, sitting in his corner of the vehicle with his chin sunk upon his chest, his eyes half-closed against the wreathing plumes of blue smoke from his pipe. We had no sooner driven through the lodge-gates before two police-cars followed us in and announced their presence by a blaring of horns.

At a signal from Pons our chauffeur pulled up and we descended. Inspector Morgan's bluff face bore an exultant look as uniformed officers debouched from the police vehicles bearing along with them a dark-haired, sullen figure, roughly dressed, and in handcuffs.

"We have our man, Mr Pons; their camp was not far," said Inspector Morgan crisply. "It was this gypsy, Mordecai Smith."

"Indeed," said Pons coolly, looking at the manacled figure of the gypsy. "What makes you think that?" Morgan chuckled.

"Because he has admitted throwing a large knife into the Avon from Pulteney Bridge last night. It will mean dragging the river below the weir but we shall find it, never fear. And in addition I have two witnesses who saw him do it."

"Let us just see what Smith himself says about it," said Pons, going forward to look steadily at the thickset gypsy. He threw his coarse black hair from his eyes and glowered back at Pons unwaveringly.

"I don't know who you are, mister, but I never did it," he said firmly. "I knew Stokoe and it's true we quarrelled. We had enough trouble without convicts joining our camp. I gave him shelter for a few nights and then said he would have to leave."

"Do you deny that you came to blows?" said Inspector Morgan fiercely.

The prisoner turned to face his accuser.

"Aye, that's true too. But I wouldn't kill a man for exchanging a blow or two when provoked."

"Well said, Smith," Solar Pons interjected soothingly. "What do you say to this knife charge?"

"I did throw the knife in the river, sir, but it had nothing to do with Stokoe. One of our band, old Gaffer Jenkins died three weeks ago and we burned his caravan and all his possessions, as is the Romany custom. But I remembered that some months ago he lent me the knife. It was bad luck to keep it, sir. I couldn't burn it because it was made of metal, handle and all. So I got rid of it by throwing it in the river and that's the truth."

The Inspector had been listening with some impatience.

"A likely story, Mr Pons. We shall find the knife, I have no doubt, and it will prove to be the murder weapon. It's my opinion Stokoe and Smith went to the Mausoleum to steal bronze and marble from the building but that their quarrel broke out afresh and Smith stabbed him with the knife, which he later threw into the Avon."

"You make it sound convincing, Inspector," said Solar Pons sombrely, studying the prisoner's face. "But I should be disinclined to build your case upon it, if I were you. You have checked the story of the gypsy funeral?"

"It is true, Mr Pons, that the old man Jenkins died and that his effects were burned in a ceremony at the camp," said Morgan quietly. "I am not denying that."

"Nevertheless, this is an ancient custom of the travellers, Inspector," said Pons. "And the knife might well have belonged to Jenkins. It should be easy enough to prove."

"Have no fear, Mr Pons. I am certain of my man," said the Inspector briskly, nodding to his officers. "We are going to the Mausoleum now and I expect to get a full confession before the day is out."

"I wish you luck, Inspector," said Solar Pons politely. And he watched the Inspector and his men until both they and their vehicles were out of sight.

"Well, Parker, what do you make of that?"

"Inspector Morgan would appear to have a strong case," I began cautiously. "And things do look black against the gypsy."

Solar Pons chuckled, leading the way back to the Rolls-Royce.

"Tut, Parker, I have trained you better than that. Morgan is building his case on shifting sands. Mark my words, there is something darker and more sinister at the back of this."

"But Smith did know Stokoe," I persisted. "And the two men had quarrelled."

Solar Pons gave me a patient look.

"My dear fellow, I am not denying it. But Morgan is twisting the facts to fit his own theory. That will not do at all. And when he finds that the knife will not match the wound by any conceivable stretch of the imagination, then he will have to start all over again. That is assuming he can even find the knife. The way the river goes rushing over the weir there, it may be anywhere. And in the meantime the good Inspector is wasting valuable hours. I thought better of him, I really did."

He said nothing further until the butler Simmons had ushered us into the study at Penderel Lodge. It was a big, impressive room, deserted for the moment, with the sunlight spilling in through two handsome French windows at the far end.

"Ah, this will be the scene of the dramatic burglary and chase," said Pons eagerly. He had his pocket lens out now and went up and down quickly. I crossed to a big mahogany desk and stood looking at the serried rows of leather-bound books that marched across the long room, while Pons carried out his examination. He concluded by opening one of the windows and stepping out on to the terrace. He looked sharply about the large expanse of flagstones.

"Well, this would not have given much away," he said as he re-joined me. 'The flags are tight-bonded, with no vegetation growing between them. They would not have retained foot-prints on such a dry night as our client described."

"So what are we left with, Pons?" I asked.

Solar Pons stabbed the air with the stem of his pipe to illustrate his points.

"Enigma upon enigma, my dear Parker. There is no possible motive at the moment. Until we arrive at that the problem is of formidable opacity."

He allowed himself a wry smile and at that instant the door of the study opened and Septimus Grimpton appeared. He was accompanied by a younger man dressed impeccably in a grey suit with a blue bow-tie. The family resemblance was striking and I was not surprised when our host introduced him as his younger brother, Thaddeus.

The newcomer came forward with a twinkle in his eye and shook hands gravely. He was about sixty and though his thick hair was liberally sprinkled with silver, he exhibited none of the scholarly traits of his brother.

"I live in Bristol and am often here for week-ends, Mr Pons," he explained. "This is a shocking business. I must confess I shall find it fascinating to watch so distinguished a practitioner of the forensic art at work."

Pons made a modest disclaimer and studied the two brothers closely as the master of Penderel Lodge motioned us into comfortable chairs.

"Granger will be joining us in a few moments," he explained. "He has been out for his walk round the estate and is just tidying himself. You and Dr Parker will stay to lunch, Mr Pons?"

"With pleasure, Mr Grimpton. Were you present at the time of the burglaries, Mr Grimpton?"

This is to our host's brother.

"On one occasion only, to the best of my recollection, Mr Pons. A nasty affair. Mr Granger chased an intruder. I'm afraid it was all over by the time I got down."

He chuckled.

"Though judging by the haul it was hardly worth the fellow's while."

"Serious, nevertheless, Thaddeus," said Septimus Grimpton sharply. "And now this man, Stokoe."

"Forgive me, brother," said Thaddeus Grimpton placatingly. "I did not mean to sound frivolous and I realise just how worried you are."

There was something so engagingly old-fashioned about Thaddeus Grimpton and his concern for his older brother that I could not forbear exchanging a brief smile with Pons.

"I am worried about Granger also," Septimus Grimpton confided to us. "His health has been far from good the past few months."

"How so?" said Pons.

He had raised himself in his chair now and his sharp eyes were fixed upon the old man's face.

"Some sort of stomach trouble, Mr Pons. Granger has had several bouts. But my brother's herbal tea has done him some good, I am glad to say."

Solar Pons shifted his eyes to the younger man. The latter smiled deprecatingly.

"Granger works too hard in my opinion. I fear a stomach ulcer, though the doctor says no. I am a great believer in herbal remedies. I have on several occasions prescribed my own blend of herbal tea for the sufferer."

"I must concur there, Mr Pons," said Septimus Grimpton. "Thaddeus knows a great deal about the subject. And the tea certainly did Granger good. He was up and about in no time. But I do worry about him. What on earth should I do if he had to leave me because of his health?"

"I am sure it will not come to that, brother. His health seems a good deal better of late."

"That is true, Thaddeus," said our host, somewhat mollified. "Ah, here is the man himself."

At that moment the door had opened and the wiry, dynamic form of the secretary hurried down the room toward us.

"Apologies, gentlemen. I hope I have not kept you waiting, Mr Pons?"

"Not at all, Mr Granger. I have only a few questions." "In that case we will excuse ourselves," said Septimus Grimpton, rising. "Come, brother."

And the two men, with courteous apologies glided out and left us alone with the secretary. Granger went to sit down at the desk and looked at us rather defensively, I thought.

"Your employer tells me you have been ill over the past months, Mr Granger."

"Oh, it is really nothing, Mr Pons."

"Nevertheless, I should like to hear about it."

"Sickness and vomiting mostly. Followed by stomach cramps. The attacks lasted only a day or two. The doctor tells me nerves, but it was something more definite than that."

"So it would seem, Mr Granger. But Mr Grimpton Junior's herbal tea did the trick, I understand."

The secretary laughed, his white teeth gleaming in his face.

"Well, there is certainly something in it, Mr Pons. On each occasion Mr Grimpton's beverage put me right within hours."

"Well, that is good to know," said Pons and he did not return to the subject but wandered up and down the study in an apparently aimless fashion. He paused before a long row of dark leather volumes and moving to join him I saw by the gilt titles on their spines that they were account books relating to Penderel Lodge and the estate.

"Where were the keys to the Mausoleum kept, Mr Granger?" said Pons, idly turning over the leaves of one of the volumes he had taken down from the shelves.

"In the locked desk here, Mr Pons. One key is here, as you see. Mr Grimpton has the other at present."

And he held it up. Pons examined it in desultory fashion and handed it back.

"I must look in at the estate office," he murmured and returned to his examination of the account books.

"A fascinating subject, Parker," he said. "It is a microcosm of English social life itself, the study of a great house over a period of time and has indeed been made the source of a number of outstanding volumes."

"I have no doubt, Pons," said I, "but I fail to see for the moment .. ."

"As usual, Parker," said Pons somewhat rudely, taking down several of the books from the shelf and running his eyes over them. "Most interesting. Estate accounts. Farm upkeep. Husbandry. Household expenses, even down to the still room. For example, there is an interesting section here devoted to Mr Grimpton's grandparents and the Mausoleum. Hullo!"

There was such a sharp urgency in his tone that I looked at him in surprise.

"Something has been torn out here."

I moved to his side quickly. I soon saw what he meant; toward the end of the volume in question, about ten pages had been ripped away. Granger was up from the desk now, his face worried.

"I did not know that, Mr Pons. May I see?"

"By all means."

Pons passed him the volume and the secretary studied it in silence.

"Well, I had never noticed that, though I must confess we do not often consult these old volumes. They were mostly written up by Mr Grimpton's grandfather and father and they have been discontinued since their time. Perhaps it was done many years ago."

"I think not, Mr Granger," said Pons sharply. "You will see where the edges of the tear are white. They are comparatively fresh—certainly done within the past year or two—by comparison with the faded and yellowing pages of the main ledger."

"You are certainly correct, Mr Pons. How peculiar." The secretary studied the book further, his face still puzzled.

"Do you know to which specific subject the missing section related, Mr Granger?"

The secretary nodded.

"Nothing of great importance, Mr Pons. I believe it concerned the construction of the Mausoleum; costs, specifications, time taken; that sort of thing."

"I see."

Solar Pons stood in silence for a moment, his deep-set eyes looking somewhere far beyond me, and there was an awkward pause.

"Well, well, Parker. I think we have seen enough for the moment. A brisk stroll about the grounds would not come amiss. Thank you, Mr Granger. You have been most helpful. We will see you at lunch."

And he led the way from the room.

8

We walked swiftly down the terrace and away from the house. Pons was going so fast that I had a job to keep up.

"Where are we going, Pons?"

"To the estate office, Parker. I have a fancy to see where that third key is kept. And, if there is time before lunch, I should like to put a few questions to Hoskins, the gardener."

As he spoke we rounded the corner of the house and there, spread before us across the rolling parkland bathed in the November sunshine were the substantial outlines of extensive farm buildings emerging from beyond a belt of trees. But before that a massive glasshouse rose on the banks of an ornamental lake. The squeak of a heavily-laden wheelbarrow became apparent to the ear and Pons quickened his steps.

"Ah, Parker, if I mistake not, here is the man himself."

Hoskins turned out to be a middle-aged, stolid sort of person with a fringe of greying whiskers which gave his face a nineteenth century aspect. He rested his barrow-load of red and gold leaves and looked at Pons somewhat defensively, I thought.

"Mr Pons, is it? Mr Grimpton's guest? Well, gentlemen, I must be civil seeing as how you're staying at the

Lodge but I've been plagued a deal by the police since yesterday, I can tell you."

'That's as may be, Hoskins, but I will not detain you long. And I have nothing to do with the official force."

The gardener looked relieved and squared his shoulders as though Pons were about to take him on at a round or two of boxing.

"Fire away, sir."

"It is just that I have a fancy to know a little more of this man Stokoe's wound."

Hoskins' face clouded over.

"Ah, sir, it was a terrible gash. Several inches long, almost over the heart. A miracle the poor man was still alive. Blood everywhere."

Solar Pons narrowed his eyes and stabbed with the stem of his pipe to emphasise his points.

"You are a man, Hoskins, who is used to inflicting wounds with various weapons."

"Eigh, sir?"

Hoskins looked startled and stepped back a little warily.

"In a manner of speaking of course. You wound the earth with a variety of instruments; the spade, the fork, the pick, the mattock and so on."

The gardener's face cleared.

"Yes, sir. I take your meaning."

"And you are therefore familiar with the type of shape made by the various tools you use."

"I should hope so, sir."

Pons nodded with satisfaction.

"What type of wound was inflicted on the unfortunate Mr Stokoe?"

"Large, made by something big and heavy, sir. And with considerable weight, I would have thought. Like the digging blade of a pick-axe."

Solar Pons' face was alive with interest as he stared at the gardener.

"Thank you, Hoskins. I find that most interesting.

You are certain the wound could not have been inflicted with a knife?"

The gardener snorted with disgust and shook his head. "Certainly not, sir. And no-one who really knows anything about such things could mistake it."

"Not even a large knife?"

Hoskins shook his head even more emphatically.

"By no means, sir. The wound was far too big. There was a huge piece of flesh scooped right out of his chest. I know, sir, because I pulled his shirt back to have a look."

"Inspector Morgan seems to think it was a knife." "With all respect, sir, the Inspector is wrong."

Pons replaced his pipe in his mouth and puffed at it with considerable satisfaction, it seemed to me.

"I just wanted to be sure, Hoskins. You have been most helpful. I have only one more question. Was Stokoe going toward the house when you found him or away from it?"

"Toward the house, sir. I am positive."

"He could not have simply spun around in falling?" Again the gardener shook his head.

"By no means, sir. He was trying to drag himself across the grass as I went to restrain him. He kept muttering about 'The Shaft of Death'. It made no sense to me, sir."

"Nor anyone else for the moment. Thank you again, Hoskins. Here is a pound for your trouble. No doubt you can put it to good use at your local hostelry."

The gardener's face brightened and he took the note with alacrity, transferring it quickly to the pocket of his corduroy trousers.

"Good day to you, gentlemen. And if there's anything further you require to know, I'm usually to be found on this side of the house."

There was a smile on his face as Pons resumed his walk and I kept at his side, refraining from asking any questions as I could see that his agile mind was revolving a number of possibilities. Five minutes more took us to a mellow brick stable block, on top of which a cupola was set, the sunshine winking back from the gilt hands of a clock which now indicated the midday hour.

A groom in riding clothes was forking straw in a corner of the stable yard and readily pointed out the estate office, a comfortably appointed chamber, obviously part of the estate manager's private house. Pons rapped on the glass-panelled door but there was obviously no-one there so after a momentary hesitation he pushed open the door and we walked in.

A large mahogany desk; several shelves of books and box-files of farm accounts; a swivel chair; and two filing cabinets almost filled the interior. A beaker of hot coffee stood upon the desk surface, steam still rising from it, so it was obvious the occupant had stepped out for only a few moments.

A decent thick-pile rug covered half the parquet floor and a cheerful fire burned in the brick fireplace, before which a red setter was languidly sprawled. It took no notice of our entrance, except to regard us with a liquid eye, and then dropped back again, apparently satisfied, to its motionless contemplation of the flames.

We had been standing there for perhaps ten or fifteen seconds when the door which obviously led to the house beyond was flung violently open and a huge, red-faced man with a yellow moustache, dressed in a hairy tweed jacket and riding breeches, glowered at us.

"No trespassing allowed," he said crisply. "I shall oblige you to state your business."

"If you will have the kindness to introduce yourself we shall do the same," said Pons imperturbably.

The military gentleman's puce expression deepened. "I know who I am," he grunted. "Captain Mannering. Estate manager. Who are you?"

"Solar Pons. This is my friend and colleague, Dr Lyndon Parker. We are the house-guests of Mr Grimpton." "Indeed."

Mannering stared at us in an offensive manner and then sat down at the desk in front of his beaker of coffee. He did not ask us to sit but continued frowning at the wall in front of him.

"I am investigating the murder of the man Stokoe," said Solar Pons. "I should like a glimpse of the key of the Mausoleum which I understand is kept in this office."

Pons' request had an electrifying effect on the Captain. He went white, swallowed once or twice and his face gradually assumed a mottled aspect.

"As if the police were not enough," he muttered under his breath.

Then he turned his head to glare with bloodshot blue eyes at my companion.

"Who are you to question me?" he demanded. "You are not a police officer. Of what concern is it to you?"

"Nevertheless, I should like to see that key," Pons went on imperturbably.

The Captain's hand crashed down on to the surface of the desk with a vehemence which made the coffee beaker jump and slop half its contents on to the blotter. The Captain rose to his feet. Pons was a tall man but this formidable figure seemed to tower over him.

"I must warn you, Mr Pons. Don't meddle in my affairs."

There was a mocking smile on Solar Pons' lips as he stared steadily at the other; in the end it was the Captain who lowered his eyes.

"You are being extremely foolish, Captain Mannering," Pons said quietly. "However, it makes no matter. You are only postponing the inevitable. Come, Parker."

We left the figure of the Captain standing at the desk as though turned to stone. Once across the stable yard Pons burst into a short laugh.

"Well, Parker, what do you think of our Captain Mannering?"

"What a rude brute, Pons," I said hotly. "His behaviour is extremely suspicious."

"Is it not, Parker."

"When I tell Grimpton how he has behaved he will make him give up the key," I said.

Solar Pons put his hand on my arm.

"No, no, my dear fellow, it will not do. We must not alarm him."

"But the key is vital, Pons. He must be made to give it up."

"If he has it, Parker," said Solar Pons enigmatically. "Eigh, Pons?"

I stared at my companion in irritation.

"The Captain strikes me as an extremely frightened man, Parker. Just let me have your thoughts upon this little problem."

"It gets darker and deeper, Pons," I said.

"Does it not? But just apply those latent ratiocinative gifts I have so assiduously tried to cultivate."

"We have a murder and no discernible motive." "Capital, Parker!"

Solar Pons' eyes were sparkling.

"We have a mention of a Shaft of Death which clouds the issue still further."

"Pray continue."

"A massive wound, no weapon, and a knife which Inspector Morgan insists is the murder instrument and yet which cannot possibly fit, if all the facts are correct."

"You continue to sparkle, Parker. You are showing an amazing grasp of the problems."

"A gypsy who has a possible motive for the crime, swears he is innocent. The secretary is somewhat reticent, it seems to me."

"Ah, you have noticed that, have you?"

"Captain Mannering is acting in a highly suspicious manner. As estate manager he is familiar with the Mausoleum. The specifications of that building are missing from Grimpton's study. Even the gardener, Hoskins, does not believe a knife inflicted Stokoe's wound."

I stopped and stared with disbelief at Pons' widening smile.

"Good heavens, Pons. Hoskins is a strong and powerful man. As you yourself said, he knows how to wield heavy tools. You cannot mean it! Even Hoskins himself admitted that the blow which felled Stokoe could have been dealt with the obverse side of a pickaxe!"

"Could it not, Parker. You have admirably summed up some of the slight difficulties which beset one of the most interesting problems which has ever come my way. But here we are at the house again. Our little walk has quite given me an appetite for lunch."

9

The afternoon passed quietly. Pons was absent for a while, and I heard him talking with Granger the secretary. I took a short walk about the grounds after lunch and observed the gardener in the distance. I kept an eye on him but despite my efforts at remaining under cover he soon spotted me and retreated into the glasshouse by the lake with a highly suspicious air, it seemed to me.

I took a circular route that brought me within viewing distance of the main gates and attracted by the noise of engines noted the two police vehicles, no doubt containing Inspector Morgan and his sullen gypsy prisoner. To my surprise, instead of coming toward the house, the vehicles disappeared through the entrance of the estate and shortly afterward the hum of their motors died in the distance.

I continued my walk with many questions occupying my mind and on my return to the house found Septimus Grimpton and Pons walking up and down the terrace. As I hesitated Pons caught sight of me.

"Don't go, my dear fellow. Mr Grimpton and I are merely discussing a few details of the estate."

The old scholar shook his head, his fringe of white hair whipped about by the rising wind.

"This is a baffling business, Mr Pons. I don't know what I should have done without you being here. We might all be murdered in our beds."

Pons smiled gently.

"I hardly think so, Mr Grimpton. I submit it is more a case of old friends falling out."

Grimpton shook his head.

"The servants are terrified, though they keep up appearances well before guests. My brother has been a great settling influence but even Simmons seems affected by the old stories about my grandfather."

"The butler?"

Pons' face expressed keen interest as he turned toward out host in the pale November sunshine.

"That is correct, Mr Pons. The old chap has been with the family a good many years. I could see he was bursting to tell you the story when we were all in the study with the Inspector."

"You intrigue me, Mr Grimpton. Just what stories are these?"

"Fairy-tales, Mr Pons. Legends that have been linked with every vagabond and itinerant traveller seen about the place."

"Nevertheless, I shall have to ask you to be more precise, Mr Grimpton."

The old man's face looked worried but his voice was steady enough as he turned to face my companion.

"You must remember that my grandfather was an immensely wealthy man, Mr Pons. And stories and superstition accrete round such wealth. It was reputed that he amassed a great fortune in cash, plate and precious stones. This was supposed to have been hidden somewhere in the house and grounds. It was referred to in the village, I believe, somewhat picturesquely as The Treasure of Brimstone Grimpton. Arrant nonsense, of course. I doubt whether there was ever such a thing. But my poor father wasted a great deal of time searching for it."

"Nevertheless, it is intriguing, Mr Grimpton. I take it your father never found anything?"

Grimpton shook his head.

"Not that I ever heard, Mr Pons."

He chuckled.

"It certainly never descended to me or I should be a great deal richer and should not have to worry so much about Mannering and the running of the estate."

"I should not speak of this again, Mr Grimpton. It does not do to let rumour fly and if the legend were to become attached to the violent death of the man Stokoe, the resulting notoriety .. ."

"Good heavens, Mr Pons! I had not thought of that." Grimpton's face looked shocked and his mouth sagged open. Solar Pons took him by the arm.

"You mentioned something about Captain Mannering?"

Grimpton's features looked even more lugubrious.

"He has a drink problem, I fear. Yet I would hate to discharge him. He has given sterling service to the estate over the years."

"That is indeed a difficulty, Mr Grimpton. And one that you alone can solve. In the meantime Parker and I have problems enough of our own. I am sure you will excuse us, Mr Grimpton. Come, Parker."

During the latter part of the afternoon Pons was again closeted with Granger the secretary and then took the opportunity to visit the upper floor of the rambling house. When he descended he drew me to one side in his usual brisk manner.

"Now, Parker, I require assistance. I would like you to engage Simmons in a little conversation. I have a mind to delve into the mysteries of his pantry."

"Eigh, Pons?"

Solar Pons shook his head, a whimsical smile on his face.

"This is your chance to shine, Parker. Here comes the man now."

"But what shall I talk about, Pons?"

"Anything that comes to mind, my dear fellow. The weather, politics, the decay of the country estate—I am sure you will think of something."

And with that he darted off down the corridor, leaving me to face the grave-featured old man who bore down upon me with a tray in his hand. In the event I think I acquitted myself creditably, for I chose the one subject the butler had a passion for. He had strange and very strong preconceived ideas about the cultivation and serving of exotic fruit raised under glass and his strictures upon the unfortunate gardener Hoskins and his ministrations in the glasshouse were quite severe.

He was well into his stride on the best way to raise peaches when Pons re-appeared, an enigmatic smile on his face, dusting his elbows. He nodded pleasantly at the old man and I excused myself to join him.

"Well done, Parker, you have excelled yourself. You are quite a horticulturist, I see."

"What were you doing in the butler's pantry, eons?"

"Observing, Parker. And drawing conclusions. There are quite enough materials in there to make up a strong emetic mixture, ranging from curries and chutneys to the most virulent and exotic forms of spices from our great Indian Empire."

"Indeed, Pons," I ventured mildly. "But I fail to follow you."

"It is not the first time, Parker," said Pons, a twinkle in his eye. "But we have been asked to stay on to dinner this evening. I have but a few more questions to ask before coming to some definite conclusions."

And he said nothing further until dinner, breaking silence only at the coffee and dessert stage. Instead, he had listened with rapt attention to the conversation between the two Grimpton brothers and Granger the secretary; the talk was mostly of a trivial nature, about the great house and its occupants, the state of the Home

Farm and the general running of the estate but Pons seemed to find it of inordinate interest.

At length there was a lull and Septimus Grimpton profited by the short silence to ask after the secretary's health.

"It is a great deal better, sir, thank you," Granger returned. He looked searchingly at his employer, as though he feared there might be an ulterior motive behind the question. Thaddeus Grimpton beamed jovially behind his glasses and once again I was touched by the obvious affinity which existed between these two so different brothers.

"Your brother's herbal tea seems to have done the trick perfectly, Mr Grimpton," Solar Pons observed, giving the secretary a reassuring smile.

"Thaddeus is a kind fellow," said the elder Grimpton warmly. "He does a deal of good in Bristol and elsewhere too. He is on the board of several charitable trusts; a prison visitor; active on the hospital board . . ."

An electrifying change had come over Solar Pons and he gave Septimus Grimpton a hawk-like glance from his piercing eyes.

"Indeed, Mr Grimpton. Well, Parker and I have much to do. We must be going. There is a concert at the Theatre Royal tomorrow and, I understand, an excellent Roman exhibition at the Guildhall."

"Really, Mr Pons, I do not quite follow," said our host, bewilderment written on his features.

"It means that your little problem is solved, Mr Grimpton. I quite forgot to tell you. Inspector Morgan made an arrest this morning. One of the band of gypsies. He killed Stokoe with an extra large knife, which he later threw into the Avon. I do not think you will be troubled further."

"You astonish me, Mr Pons."

Our host was on his feet too as Pons rose swiftly. "Extraordinary, Pons," I began when my companion gave me a warning glance.

"I am sorry to have imposed upon your hospitality, Mr Grimpton, but as you can see Inspector Morgan was quite capable after all and had the correct solution."

"I still do not understand, Mr Pons."

The entire dinner party had risen now and my own bewilderment was re-echoed on the faces of the younger Grimpton and the secretary.

"But what was the motive, Mr Pons?"

"Theft and robbery, Mr Grimpton. Nothing but a common quarrel among petty thieves. The case is closed. Allow me to congratulate you on the resumption of calm at Penderel Lodge and to take my leave in order that Parker and I may resume our interrupted holiday."

"You disappoint me, Mr Pons."

There was sadness in our host's voice and I glanced swiftly at Pons but he only answered blandly.

"Disappointment comes to us all at times, Mr Grimpton, and I too am sorry that I was unable to display those modest gifts which you so flatteringly believe me to possess. Now I really must say goodnight. No, we shall not need the car. It is a beautiful evening and I fancy a brisk walk back to Bath."

A few moments later we were out of the house and striding across the park in the moonlight, the winding road before us. I had a job to keep up with my companion who walked furiously, as though possessed by some galvanic force.

"What on earth are you at, Pons?" I spluttered when I at last caught up with him.

"Let us hurry, Parker. We have not a moment to lose. I fancy our man will strike again tonight when he fancies the coast is clear. I want to be in position long before that moment comes."

I stared at Pons in amazement.

"I do not follow you, Pons."

"My dear fellow," said Solar Pons, unable to keep the note of weariness from his voice. "What on earth do you think that display was for at dinner just now? To allay our man's suspicions. Now he knows that both the police and Solar Pons are off the case he will make another attempt to achieve his objective."

"Then we are not going back to Bath? The case is not closed?"

"Tut, Parker. You disappoint me. Just save your breath for we have a stiff walk before us. I want to get in position near the Mausoleum long before our man appears. The game's afoot!"

And he said no more but plunged along the winding estate road, all powdered silver in the moonlight, at such a rate that I was breathless long before we reached the lodge-entrance.

10

Pons unhesitatingly swung through the main gates of Penderel Lodge and turned left on to the main road back toward the village of Penderel Parva. He put his finger alongside his nose to enjoin caution.

"We must be seen to be well clear of the estate, Parker. That is why we must hurry."

"But where are we going, Pons?"

Solar Pons gave a brief chuckle.

"Farther down the estate boundary, Parker. I understand there are a number of gaps in the walls and hedges. It may take us some while to work back up to the Mausoleum. These woods will be dark, despite the moonlight."

He consulted his watch.

"I estimate that he will not make his move for another hour, until the household is abed. It will then take him at least twenty minutes on foot to reach the Mausoleum. We have already been twenty minutes on the road. That should leave us another hour or so to work our way back."

The way indeed seemed interminable. The moon was high now and shed a brilliant light on road and hedgerow. I was a little perturbed at this but we met nothing on the way and just before we reached the outskirts of

Penderel Parva, Pons led me down a small side-turning which followed the estate wall as it curved away into the middle distance.

"Silence here, Parker," he whispered. "I fancy this is Grimpton's private road and I have no wish to be disturbed by any of his inquisitive cottagers."

We pushed our way along in the shadow of the trees and presently came to a place where the wall fell away and was replaced by a high spike fence. We followed it for another two hundred yards and eventually found a spot where the staves were distorted with damp, leaving us enough space to squeeze through. Our feet shuffled eerily among the fallen leaves as we walked through the dark belts of woodland, guiding ourselves by the faint moonlight which filtered through the bare branches.

The way was longer than we had thought and several times Pons halted and carefully orientated himself. After a stiff uphill walk, which I estimated as taking about twenty minutes, we came out of a silent ride in the forest and on to a cart-track which wound away through the trees. It went in the right direction and with the easier going it was only a few minutes more before we found it joined the tar-macadam estate road about a quarter of a mile from the lodge-gates.

"Just over here, Parker," Pons whispered, his lean face alive with suppressed excitement. "And not a word if you please."

I followed him off the road and into another belt of trees and a short while later we skirted a fringe of bushes to find ourselves in front of a wide expanse of roadway, the white blanched expanse of the Mausoleum standing up sharp and clear before us. Pons moved over and knelt behind a fallen tree-trunk, where I joined him. He put his mouth up against my ear.

"It wants but a few minutes to midnight, Parker. I think we are just in time."

Indeed, we had not been there more than a quarter of an hour before his keen ears picked out a hurried step on the roadway. Then it stopped and there was a long period of silence. Again Pons bent to me.

"He has left the road and gone on to the grass, Parker. He should be here in a minute or so."

His grip tightened on my arm and a few moments later I saw what his keen sight had already picked out; a tall, sturdy figure, heavily muffled in a thick overcoat, which glided cautiously from under the trees. I felt my breath catch in my throat, as there was something inexpressibly sinister about the black shape in the whiteness of the moonlight at that dead hour of the night.

The figure looked round sharply as it crossed from under the trees and then went swiftly up the steps to the great bronze door of the Mausoleum. A moment later I heard the harsh grating of the key in the lock and the gap where the door had been showed black against the white facade. There was another long silence and then I caught the beam of a torch from within the interior. Solar Pons rose to his feet.

"Come, Parker. Our man will be too distracted. There will never be a better opportunity."

We quickly crossed the concourse, bright with moonlight, taking care to make as little noise as possible. We gained the steps without incident and had got up quite close to the doors when there came a harsh grating noise from within the Mausoleum, which set my teeth on edge. Pons swiftly flattened himself to one side of the door and I joined him within the shadow of the buttress. Pons' face expressed satisfaction.

"I have been extremely lax in this matter, Parker. The groove in the floor should have told me. Well, there is nothing better than having one's theories tested in practice. I think we may venture in safely without disturbing our quarry."

He glided into the blackness of the interior and without hesitation I followed. I shall never forget the sight which met our eyes. The interior of the Mausoleum was dimly lit by the rays of an electric lantern whose light was flung upwards from an oblong slit in the floor of the building.

The first thing which struck my eye was the monstrous, elongated shadow of a human being on the domed ceiling. My nerves jumped and I clutched at Pons instinctively. A moment later I saw that the white, dead face which stared back at me from the top of the sarcophagus was indeed marble and belonged to the tomb of our client's grandmother.

The entire structure had been pivoted round on its base which ran in a circular groove which I had originally thought to be an incised pattern in the flooring.

"The bloodied hand marks on the sarcophagus, Pons!" I whispered excitedly.

Pons nodded grimly and motioned me to silence. We moved forward quietly and as we drew nearer I could see that a shallow flight of steps led downward into the aperture that the removal of the sarcophagus had disclosed. We had silently covered half the distance when there was a sharp whirring noise from below, followed immediately by a soft thud and one of the most terrible cries it has ever been my misfortune to hear uttered by a human throat.

I stood paralysed as that unearthly scream echoed and re-echoed round the dome of the Mausoleum but Pons dashed forward, all caution abandoned. I could hear his feet echoing over the steps as I hurried down after him. The cry had ceased now and a moment later I learned the reason why. Pons was kneeling by the crumpled figure at the foot of the steps, while scarlet pumped steadily over the stone floor.

The electric lantern set to shine upon the stout wooden door that barred the passage disclosed a terrible and bizarre sight. From the ceiling protruded a shining metal shaft which had descended with tremendous force from a slot in the wall. The metal arm ended in a lead-cased weight into the tip of which was set the broad blade of an enormous knife, now coated with blood and rust.

"The Shaft of Death!" said Pons, white-faced. "I did not know it would end like this. Your department, I think, Parker. But be careful, in case there are any other lethal devices left by old Brimstone Grimpton."

I bent over the recumbent figure in the expensive overcoat only to recoil with a cry of shocked surprise. It was not just the terrible, gaping wound in the chest, so tremendous that it actually exposed the heart; or the certainty that a corpse lay before me in the passage; or even the horribly distorted face, the staring eyes or the tongue protruding from the bleeding lips. It was an abysmal catalogue all too familiar to me as a medical practitioner.

I gently laid the mutilated remains back on the floor and stared in silence at the dreadfully changed face of Thaddeus Grimpton.

"Did you know this, Pons?"

Solar Pons stood and gave me an enigmatic glance.

"It came to me rather late, Parker, I regret to say. But we have other work before us. This diabolical toy appears to be actuated by a spring concealed beneath the flagstone here."

He bent to demonstrate and with a sudden whirring of gears, which made us start back in alarm, the dreadful weapon withdrew silently to its former position between two stones in the wall where it was difficult to detect. Pons had knelt again and was busy about Grimpton's clothing. He drew forth a bundle of blood-stained documents.

"The missing estate material, Pons."

Solar Pons nodded.

"Containing, I have no doubt, the specifications and details of the building of this passage beneath the sarcophagus, Parker. Though it is obvious the old man said nothing in there about his deadly sentinel."

"But what is the point of all this, Pons?"

"The object of the game, my dear fellow. Which lies behind that door. Just have a care and stand back."

Carefully skirting the flagstone set directly in front of the door, Pons cautiously tried the bronze handle. He gently opened the door and shone the lantern's beam within the small chamber disclosed. The light danced upon paintings stacked against the dusty walls; velvet-lined cases, some half-open, disclosing silverware; leather bags stacked in profusion upon a heavy table. I entered behind Pons as the lantern disclosed yet more valuables. Pons hefted one of the bags thoughtfully. The rotted fastening split and a cascade of sovereigns rained upon the table.

"Heavens, Pons!" I said in a none too steady voice. 'The Treasure of old Brimstone Grimpton."

"For once the legends did not lie, Parker," said Pons softly. "There will be little sleep for us tonight. We must first apprise my client of his sad loss and then telephone Inspector Morgan."

He pulled reflectively at the lobe of his ear, the torch beam dancing golden on the coins which had already cost two men's lives and had endangered that of a third.

"The gypsy must be released at once, Parker. Let us put matters in train without delay."

11

"I do not know how to thank you, Mr Pons. Though I cannot tell you what a shock it was to learn of my brother's treacherous behaviour."

Solar Pons looked sympathetically at Septimus Grimpton, who sat the other side of the library table from us, the sunlight from the windows making a halo round his white locks and revealing the ravages that the last three days had wrought upon him. Inspector Morgan sat awkwardly twisting a pencil between his fingers opposite, while Granger, the secretary, made the fifth member of our party.

"It was a long-planned strategy, I am afraid, Mr Grimpton. My own inquiries since and Inspector Morgan's investigations in Bristol have revealed your brother's intense jealousy over your inheriting this house and estate."

"But he was well provided for in my father's will, Mr Pons."

Solar Pons shook his head.

"The traditional jealousy of the younger son, I am afraid, Mr Grimpton. Though I was incredibly obtuse on this occasion, until a very late stage."

"Come, Pons," I protested. "It was a brilliant performance, particularly as there was no discernible motive."

"I am still completely in the dark, Mr Pons," said the secretary. "Why, for example, should Mr Grimpton's brother make these crude burglary attempts?"

Solar Pons tented his fingers before him and looked sombrely round the table.

"Desperation, Mr Granger. For years he had been searching for the money and valuables recovered from the chamber below the Mausoleum. He regarded them as his own portion of his patrimony, despite the generous provision made in his father's will. He was convinced there was a hiding place and that some record would be found among the estate papers. That was why he cultivated you so assiduously during the past years, Mr Grimpton."

"He was here a good deal at week-ends, from Bristol, Mr Pons."

Solar Pons nodded.

"Exactly. And one could imagine his annoyance when he discovered a year ago that you had engaged a secretary to help you with your scholarly researches."

"How so, Mr Pons?"

"Because he was in the habit of spending long periods in the library. I have that from your butler, Simmons. He was undoubtedly searching for clues. But when Mr Granger came things changed drastically. The library was no longer available to him. Or, if it were, he could not very well rummage through the shelves and document files without engendering suspicion in the breast of Mr Granger here."

I stared at Pons for a long moment.

"So he staged the burglaries, Pons?"

"Not quite, Parker. He had to ensure at times that Mr Granger was out of the way and nowhere near the library. An illness of some sort provided the answer."

"But Mr Grimpton's herbal tea did me the world of good, Mr Pons," the secretary protested.

Solar Pons gave a thin smile.

"By clearing up a stomach disorder that Grimpton had himself induced. I found a large assortment of highly potent but quite harmless substances in Simmons' pantry. To an amateur herbalist like Grimpton it would not take much to concoct a mixture that would upset the most stable stomach. It could be introduced into food or drink in a number of ways. And Simmons has told me that small quantities of things like spices and curry powders have been missing over a long period."

"I am sorry to speak ill of your brother, Mr Grimpton," said the secretary bitterly. "But that is a most damnable thing."

"I am not excusing my brother, Granger," said Septimus Grimpton in a low voice. "He appears to have been the blackest of villains."

"Masquerading in the guise of a person of great charity and compassion," put in Inspector Morgan. "I am afraid I was completely on the wrong track over the gypsy, Mr Pons."

"It was an understandable error, Inspector. And fitted most of the known facts at the time. This was the confused background which suited our man. With Mr Granger out of the way he could pursue his search uninterrupted."

"But the burglaries, Pons," I interrupted.

"That was elementary, Parker. They were the most palpable simulations, staged merely to hide the real purpose of the search. On one occasion Mr Grimpton here surprised his brother late at night in the study; on another Mr Granger chased an intruder. Thaddeus Grimpton, when disturbed, had little time other than to hastily seize a few items from the house and make his escape through the French windows, leaving the occupants to believe a burglar responsible. As you know, we have found the things in a trunk in his room. I have no doubt he conveniently re-appeared at the height of the disturbances and, of course, the burglaries would have occurred only when he was staying here. I noted that from our conversations, gentlemen."

Septimus Grimpton passed a shaky hand across his brow.

"That is perfectly correct, Mr Pons. I had not seen the connection."

"There is no reason why you should have, Mr Grimpton. And you would certainly not have suspected your own brother of any ill will."

"If I had known of his intentions, Mr Pons, I would gladly have shared my grandfather's treasure with him." Solar Pons smiled wryly.

"Ah, there we have one of the supreme ironies of life, Mr Grimpton. Two men lying dead and all these tragic circumstances, with greed again responsible. Now, from what Inspector Morgan tells me and from what I have been able to piece together, it is almost certain that the man Stokoe and your brother together plotted to steal the secret cache of valuables from the Mausoleum. Your grandfather's eccentricity had devised, as he thought, a perfect way of guarding his valuables. He had constructed the secret room beneath the sarcophagus of his wife, telling everyone at the time that he himself would be interred there. This was the reason the plinth pivoted on that curious turn-table. I had seen the circular groove in the floor when we visited the building but foolishly failed to make the connection, taking it to be part of the pattern of the tiling. It was cunningly done, so there may be some slight mitigation in my own defence.

"Of course, it was obvious to me at once that the quarrel and the knife theory regarding the gypsy would not hold water. It was evident from the circumstances that the fatal blow had been struck within the Mausoleum. But there was the problem of the missing weapon; and furthermore, there was no trace within the chamber of the man who had struck the blow. I saw these facts at once and also noted the curious corollary that the old gentleman himself was interred on the far side of the Mausoleum, away from his wife. But I had not then learned of the story of the treasure from Mr Grimpton, neither did anyone know anything about the hidden chamber, so that I was unable at that time to piece these disparate segments together."

"Come, Pons," I said. "You are being too modest."

Solar Pons made a faint clicking noise with his tongue.

"I should have seen the connection at once, Parker. The fact that the grandfather was interred on the far side should have plainly spelled it out to me. He left careful instructions in his will about that, I now understand. And to guard the valuables he left the terrible device, so picturesquely referred to by the unfortunate Stokoe, as The Shaft of Death. Perhaps you can enlighten us there, Mr Grimpton?"

"I cannot vouch for it, Mr Pons, but I often heard my father say that Grandfather was a wonderful mechanic and watch-maker. It was a particular hobby of his."

Solar Pons inclined his head with a sombre expression.

"He said nothing, of course, about this diabolical instrument in his estate book notes, so your brother would have had no inkling of the danger. And he naturally did not anticipate Stokoe's own treachery in attempting to secure the money for himself."

"I am still not clear about all this, Pons," I said.

"And yet it was all there before us, Parker," said Solar Pons. "I myself failed to draw the necessary conclusions until quite late in the day. The bloodied hand-prints Stokoe left on the tomb effigy were not simply put there when he tried to steady himself when dying. Gravely wounded as he was, his first instinct was to protect the secret by pushing the plinth back over the entrance passage. In so doing he used almost his last strength and he was undoubtedly on his way to the house either to warn or upbraid your brother when he collapsed and died, Mr Grimpton."

The old man shook his head.

"A terrible story, Mr Pons."

"The connection between Stokoe and the late Thaddeus Grimpton is by no means clear," said Inspector Morgan, clearing his throat.

"Yet, it was perfectly simple once we had learned the motive," said Pons. "Grimpton had the secret and he guessed, rightly, that a fortune lay within his grasp. But to remove the treasure he needed a man more used to danger and the sterner side of life. He was himself a scholar and a man well into late middle-age. He required a ruthless, younger man, who would work under his direction for a share of the fortune. He found that man in the person of the ex-convict, Abel Stokoe."

"I see, Pons," I said. "You mean .. . ?"

"Exactly, Parker," Solar Pons interrupted cuttingly. "It leapt at me when Mr Grimpton here said his brother was a member of charitable trusts and a prison visitor. Bristol Gaol was the former habitation of Stokoe, and Grimpton visited there. He no doubt cultivated Stokoe over several years and primed and recruited him before his release. He would have been the perfect tool. Used to dangerous house-breaking work at night and physically strong, as he would need to be, to remove the materials Grimpton hoped to find in the vault. But the two men either quarrelled or else Stokoe decided, unknown to his employer, to make his own attempt on the Mausoleum.

"The doors had been greased so as to avoid attracting attention by making a noise at dead of night and Grimpton had stolen the key from Captain Mannering's desk at the estate office, after having found it impossible to get at either of the two keys Mr Granger kept in the study."

"They were away under lock and key, Mr Pons," said the secretary earnestly. "I made sure of that."

"So that was what you meant at the Home Farm, Pons," I said. "But how did Stokoe get the key?"

"But surreptitiously making a wax impression of the stolen one," said Pons. "We can be reasonably sure that this would have been done when the two men first vis- iced the Mausoleum to try to uncover its secret. They may well have made several nocturnal excursions for, as you have seen, Inspector, the catch which actuates the pivot is damnably hard to find."

"That is so, Mr Pons."

"You may remember, Parker, I particularly questioned Mr Granger about the keys and was reasonably satisfied that no-one could have had access to them. There remained then the only other known key, that at the Estate Office. When we visited Captain Mannering there, I saw at once that the key must be missing. He was so ill at ease and inclined to bluster that I was sure the key left in his charge had been stolen. He felt guilty and realised he might be implicated after the Mausoleum had been found open and Stokoe murdered. He was not going to admit to the key's loss without a struggle and nor do I blame him."

"Even so, Mr Pons . . ." our host began.

"What you decide about your Estate Manager is your business, Mr Grimpton," continued Pons. "I am merely stating the facts."

"But how would anyone have got the key?" I asked.

"Pshaw, Parker, use the evidence of your eyes. We were complete strangers when we arrived at Home Farm yet the groom immediately directed us to the Estate Office, which was empty. Any intruder would have only to search the desk undisturbed to find the key. And as Mr Thaddeus Grimpton was a trusted member of the household and might well have visited the Farm in the normal course of events, nothing would have been easier than to get hold of that key. I do not like telling tales out of school, Mr Grimpton, but it was common knowledge that the Captain liked the bottle and he might not have discovered the theft of the key for weeks. He only realised its significance following the tragic events at the Mausoleum and quite naturally attempted to cover things up when I so unexpectedly visited him."

"You make it sound so easy, Pons," I said.

Solar Pons shook his head.

"On the contrary, Parker, I have been extraordinarily obtuse. It is extremely difficult when working without discernible motive, as we were. And the gypsy Smith's action in throwing the knife into the river confused the issue."

"Do not remind me of that, Mr Pons," said Inspector Morgan ruefully.

"You acted perfectly correctly as an official representative of the law, Inspector. Stokoe had stayed at the caravans with Smith and his fellow gypsies. For the business he had on hand in the neighbourhood, it probably suited his purpose to submerge himself among the Romanies. And if anything had gone wrong they might well have been blamed. But he was a surly fellow, as we have learned, and he quarrelled with his gypsy hosts and was told to leave. This was awkward, as he was placed close to his base of operations at the estate. He could not stay at Penderel Parva because it was too small and might excite comment so he took cheap lodgings in Bath. There Inspector Morgan recovered the mould from which he made the fourth key to the Mausoleum entrance, the one found in the door. You have been extremely useful in that direction, Inspector."

"It is good of you to say so, Mr Pons," the Inspector murmured. "Though I was so taken up with the gypsy and the knife theory that I quite overlooked a number of salient points."

"Most understandable," said Solar Pons soothingly. "It was your gardener, Hoskins, who inadvertently gave me a vital clue, Mr Grimpton."

Our host looked up with quick interest.

"What was that, Mr Pons?"

"We spoke of spades and mattocks and such broad-bladed instruments. I saw at once that such a weapon would have perfectly fitted Stokoe's terrible wound and that again directed my attention back to the Mausoleum and the dying man's cryptic reference to The Shaft of Death."

Pons turned to the table and picked up his pipe with a frown.

"When we recovered Mordecai Smith's knife from the Avon I saw it was a hopeless match and had to let him go," said the Inspector resignedly.

"And that, I think, Parker, almost clears up the salient features of one of the strangest and most terrible cases in which I have ever been involved."

'There remains one important point, Pons," I said mischievously.

Solar Pons paused in lighting his pipe, his brown corrugated.

"And what might that be?"

"I am sure Mr Granger will forgive me, but I suspected him at one stage. He had every opportunity of finding the Mausoleum details from the records and of staging the sham burglaries."

Solar Pons shook his head with a faint smile.

"I absolved Mr Granger from all suspicion immediately, Parker. You really must learn to apply your grey cells in the approved manner. There was ample opportunity for Mr Granger to have used either of the two Mausoleum keys, which were in a locked drawer in his desk. So why would be need to draw attention to himself by staging robberies? Even more ludicrous for him to go to Home Farm to burgle Captain Mannering's desk. Things began to point toward Mr Thaddeus Grimpton but it was not until the legend of the money was mentioned that the missing motive was supplied. My suspicions crystallised from that point, strengthened by mention of the prison visiting. I decided to test my theory by announcing my withdrawal from the case and its solution by Inspector Morgan, with the tragic result we have seen."

"But why did Grimpton go there so unwittingly after Stokoe's death, Pons?"

"That we shall never know, my dear fellow. But he must have been desperate. It was obvious to him that Stokoe was after the money himself, because of the duplicate key. He might perhaps have felt that Stokoe had recruited one of the gypsies; that the two men had quarrelled and that the man with him had knifed him and fled. This was extremely plausible, as we all know. And was obviously reinforced with the arrest of Smith. But he knew that he had to act fast and resolved to try to remove the money himself. That was what I relied upon when I staged our little charade which ended in such a macabre manner. It was his first opportunity to re-visit the Mausoleum since the police had been called in."

"It does not dispose of the central enigma, Pons?" "And what might that be, my dear Parker?"

"Old Brimstone Grimpton's motive in all this, Pons. He amassed a second fortune, which he secreted. He guarded it with that abominable instrument which Mr Grimpton has just had dismantled. But he apparently made no mention of this treasure in his will."

Solar Pons smiled a strange smile.

"I have the benefit of hindsight there, Parker. I have been browsing through the old man's papers and diaries, with our host's permission, since the conclusion of the case. I have found some curious things. Money was a religion with him. He not only worshipped it but felt somehow that wealth could transcend even the snuffing out of life upon this earth."

"You cannot mean it, Pons!"

"But I do mean it, Parker. His beliefs were basically those of the Ancient Egyptians, and paralleled exactly by his underground treasure house, which mirrored that race's burial customs. The money was for his own use and that of his wife in the after-life."

There was a long silence in the room, broken at last by Septimus Grimpton.

"I think you ought to know, Mr Pons, that part of the money will be used for various charities, including those for the welfare of ex-prisoners and gypsies."

"Remarkably appropriate, Mr Grimpton," said Solar Pons, rising from the table. "But I think we should be on our way back to Bath. If I could trouble you for a lift, Inspector?"

"Certainly, Mr Pons. It has been an education."

Grimpton rose too and pumped Pons' hand warmly.

"I will be in to see you in a day or two, Mr Pons."

"It will be a pleasure, Mr Grimpton. And now we really must sample more of the delights of Bath. I think we should stay on for a further week in view of the brighter weather. After all, it has not been much of a holiday for you so far, Parker. And you have not yet taken the waters."

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 quitted 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 untimely, 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 gained 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 round 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?"

Our client's surprise showed on her face as she took fastidious little sips at the hot tea.

"That is correct, Mr Pons. Clitherington, a small village on the Redhill line."

Solar Pons inclined his head and favoured me with a faint smile as he bent forward in his armchair.

"That light, sandy soil is quite unmistakable, Parker. You no doubt noticed, as did I, a distinctive sample on the seams of the young lady's right boot."

I cleared my throat, caught unawares with a piece of toast halfway down.

"Now that you point it out, Pons, certainly."

"It is obviously something serious that brings you to us at this hour, Miss Helstone and you have already told me it is a matter of life and death. You are equally obviously agitated beneath your calm manner. Please take your time. You are among friends."

The young woman drew in her breath with a long, shuddering sigh.

"That is good to know, Mr Pons. It has indeed been quite unbearable this last day or two. And affairs at the house . . ."

"You live there with your parents?" interrupted Pons. The young woman paused and made an engaging little contraction of her mouth.

"I beg your pardon, Mr Pons. I am telling the story very badly. I am engaged as a governess at The Priory, Clitherington, the home of Mr Clinton Basden."

Solar Pons tented his thin fingers before him and gave our fair client his undivided attention.

"So far as I know, Miss Helstone, there is no train on the time-table which leaves a remote place like Clitherington at such an hour as 4:30 a.m."

Miss Helstone gave a faint smile, the first sign of returning normality she had evinced since I had entered the room.

"That is correct, Mr Pons. I came up on the milk train. There are always two carriages used mainly by railway staff and I found an empty compartment."

"So that the matter is one of the utmost gravity. Pray continue."

"My full name is Helen Jane Helstone, Mr Pons, and I come of a good family originally settled in the West Country. My parents were killed in a local uprising in India some years ago and after I had completed my schooling in England it became necessary to earn my living. I enjoy the company of children and so I became a governess with a view to entering a teacher-training college when I am a little older."

"What is your age now, Miss Helstone?"

"I am just turned twenty-one, Mr Pons."

Solar Pons nodded and looked thoughtfully at the girl, who had now recovered the colour in her cheeks.

She looked even more handsome than before and I found the contemplation of her most engaging but turned again to the tea and toast, aware of Pons' glance on me.

"I give this information, Mr Pons, so that you shall know all of the salient circumstances."

"You are telling your story in an admirable manner, Miss Helstone."

"I had two positions, Mr Pons, one in Cornwall and another in Cumberland, which I held for several years, but I decided to move nearer to London and when I saw Mr Basden's advertisement in a daily newspaper, Surrey seemed ideal for my purposes and I hastened to answer his announcement."

"When was that, Miss Helstone?"

"A little over three months ago, Mr Pons."

Our visitor paused again and sipped at her tea; her face was thoughtful as though she were carefully contemplating her next words but my professional eye noted that her breathing was more regular and she was becoming calmer by the minute.

"There was something extremely strange about my engagement as governess, Mr Pons. I have often thought about it since."

"How was that, Miss Helstone?"

"For example, Mr Pons, it was extraordinarily well-paid, though the duties are somewhat unusual."

Pons nodded, narrowing his deep-set eyes.

"Pray be most explicit, Miss Helstone."

"Well, Mr Pons, I have no hesitation in telling you that the salary is some five hundred pounds a year, payable quarterly in advance."

Pons drew in his breath in surprise and I gazed at him open-mouthed.

"That is indeed princely for these times, Miss Helstone. I should imagine there would have been quite a few ladies in your position after the appointment."

"That is just it, Mr Pons. There were literally queues.

I met some people on the train who were answering the advertisement. Apparently it had been running in the daily newspapers for more than a week."

"That is highly significant, Parker," put in Pons enigmatically and he again resumed is rapt study of Miss Helstone's face.

Our client went on breathlessly, as though some reserve had been breached by the confidence my friend inspired in her.

"My heart sank, Mr Pons, as you can well imagine but as the train stopped at Clitherington, my spirits rose again. You see, I had heard one of the girls say that though the announcement had been running for some time, the prospective employers were very fastidious and no-one had yet been found to suit them."

"And as you already had experience of two similar appointments, you had high hopes?"

"Exactly, Mr Pons. But my spirits were dashed when we arrived at the house. A large car had been sent to the station to meet applicants and we were taken to a vast, gloomy mansion, set in an estate whose main entrance was locked and guarded by heavily-built men."

"An odd circumstance, Miss Helstone," said Pons, glancing quizzically at me.

"You may well say so, Mr Pons. But though the grounds, with their great clumps of rhododendron and pine plantations were gloomy and sombre indeed in that bleak December weather, the interior of the mansion was extremely luxurious and well appointed, evincing the most refined taste. It was evident that the prospective employer was a man of enormous wealth."

"And of fastidious nature if it took him so much time to select a governess for his children, Miss Helstone. How many were there, in fact?"

"Two, Mr Pons. A boy and a girl, aged nine and twelve respectively. But my heart sank again, when we were shown into a sumptuously furnished drawing-room to find between twenty and thirty young ladies already there."

"It sounds more like theatrical producer's office, Pons," I could not resist observing.

Solar Pons gave me a faint smile and his eyes held a wry twinkle.

"Ah, there speaks the sybarite in you, Parker. The lover of night life, good wine and chorus girls."

"Heavens, Pons!" I stammered. "What will Miss Helstone think of me?"

"That you are a poor recipient of waggish remarks at your own expense, my dear fellow. But we digress."

Miss Helstone had smiled hesitantly at this little exchange, revealing two rows of dazzling white teeth.

"Well, there is a great deal of truth in Dr Parker's remark, Mr Pons," she said earnestly. "It did in truth look like a theatrical agency, though they are a good deal shabbier as a rule. But the most extraordinary thing was the proceedings. A hard-faced woman in black beckoned to the first girl as I sat down and she disappeared through the big double doors. In less than a minute she was back, with an angry shake of the head."

Miss Helstone put down her cup and leaned forward in her chair, regarding my companion with steady grey eyes.

"Mr Pons, five of the applicants went in and out of that room in five minutes and it was obvious that none of them were suited by their angry expressions. But even more extraordinary—and I learned this afterwards—each and every one was given a new five pound note for her trouble, a car to the station and a free railway ticket to London."

Solar Pons clapped his hands together with a little cracking noise in the silence of the sitting-room.

"Excellent, Parker!" said he. "This gets more intriguing by the minute, Miss Helstone. There is more, of course."

"Much more, Mr Pons. Of course, I got most intrigued as the minutes went by and the girls disappeared into the room. Those of us who were left moved up and fresh arrivals sat down behind us. Now and again there would be loud exclamations from behind the door and it was obvious as I got closer and closer to the double-doors guarded by the woman in black, that none of the girls had been found suitable by the mysterious advertiser. I did not, of course, at that stage, know the name of my employer, Mr Pons, as it was not given in the advertisement."

"I see. It was a box number?"

"Exactly, Mr Pons."

I got up at Pons' glance and re-filled the tea-cups for all of us.

"But I was within three places of the door before a girl came out with whom I had travelled down from London. She was angry and had a heavy flush on her cheeks. She came across to me and had time for a few words before the woman, who was letting in a new applicant, came back. She said she was not asked for references or even any questions. A tall, dark woman was sitting at a desk and she looked at someone obviously sitting behind a heavy screen who was concealed from the applicant. He must have had some method of observing the candidate but in every case the answer had been no, for the woman merely nodded and said that the interview was closed. My informant said she was merely asked her name, address and if it were true that she was an orphan. It was obvious that even these questions were a mere formality."

"An orphan, Miss Helstone?"

Solar Pons had narrowed his eyes and on his face was the alert expression I had noted so often when moments of great enterprise were afoot.

"Why, yes, Mr Pons. That was one of the stipulations of the advertisements. I have one here in my handbag. Another requirement was that applicants should be single or widows."

"Sounds most peculiar, Pons," I put in.

"Does it not, Parker?"

Solar Pons glanced at the newspaper cutting Miss Helstone had passed to him and read it with increasing interest.

"Just listen to this, Parker."

He smoothed out the cutting on the table in front of him and read as follows:

"YOUNG GOVERNESS REQUIRED FOR TWO SMALL CHILDREN IN HOME OF WEALTHY SURREY WIDOWER. LARGE MANSION, CONGENIAL SURROUNDINGS. DISCRETION ESSENTIAL, MANY ADVANTAGES. SALARY £500 PER ANNUM. NO-ONE OVER THIRTY NEED APPLY. REPLY INITIALLY IN WRITING AND WITH TWO REFERENCES. THE POSITION IS FOR THE BENEFIT OF ORPHANED YOUNG LADIES ONLY. BOX 990."

Solar Pons frowned and looked at me quizzically.

"Extraordinary, is it not, Parker. I am obliged to you, Miss Helstone. Despite my enthusiasm for bizarre cuttings, this is something I missed. There are a number of unusual points, Parker."

"Indeed, Pons. The orphan stipulation is strange, to say the least."

"And tells us a great deal," said Solar Pons slyly. "Coupled with the lavish inducements it indicates a certain line of thought. What happened at your own interview, Miss Helstone?"

Our visitor put down her tea-cup and wiped her mouth fastidiously with a small lace handkerchief, waving away my proffered plate of toast.

"That was the most extraordinary thing of all, Mr Pons. Within thirty minutes of my arrival at The Priory, thirty applicants had passed through those doors and then it was my turn. It was a large, though quite ordinary room, except for a circular window high up, which made it a dark, shadowy place. There was a desk  underneath the window and a desk lamp alight on it, which threw the light forward on to a chair placed in front of the desk.

"A dark-haired, pleasant-looking woman with a central European accent asked me to sit down and then put to me some perfunctory questions. I naturally observed the large, heavy screen to the right of the desk and was then startled to see, in an angled mirror placed as to favour my place on the chair, the reflections of a man's bearded face, with eyes of burning intensity."

2

There was another long pause which I employed in refilling my tea-cup. Miss Helstone leaned back in her chair and put out her hands to the fire, which was now blazing cheerfully.

"Some signal must have passed between the two because the woman at the desk gave a relieved smile and, as though making the decision herself, informed me that the position was mine. She called me over to another table in the corner and asked me to sign a document. I just had time to see that this asserted that I was an orphan, specified my age and verified my references, before I heard a door close softly somewhere. I was sure that the man behind the screen had quitted the room, Mr Pons, and when we went back to the desk I could see that a chair placed behind the screen was empty."

Solar Pons rubbed his hands briskly.

"Admirable, Miss Helstone. This is distinctly promising. I may point out, by the way, that the document you signed has no legal standing whatsoever."

The girl smiled.

"I am glad to hear you say so, Mr Pons. But that is the least of my worries. You may imagine the consternation and dismay among the young ladies in the ante- room when they heard the position was filled. I was astonished when Mrs Dresden, the dark-haired woman, whom I then learned was the housekeeper, said I should start on my duties at once. But I prevailed upon her to let me return to my old employers to collect my luggage and to inform them of my new post, though even then they insisted on sending me by chauffeur-driven car in order to save time."

"You did not think this at all strange, Miss Helstone?" "Strange indeed, Mr Pons, but the salary was so princely that I did not hesitate, I was so excited."

"So you left The Priory without seeing your future charges?"

"That is correct, Mr Pons. I was told the children were on holiday and would not be back until the following Monday.

"When I returned I was a little perturbed to see that the grounds were patrolled by similar men to those at the main gate and I realised then that I would not be free to get out and about as I had hoped and in the manner I had become used to in my other situations."

"You met this mysterious Mr Basden?"

"Almost at once on my return, Mr Pons. He was quite an ordinary little man, an Englishman obviously, and rather ill at ease, I thought, among the foreign-sounding employees among his retinue."

Solar Pons tented his fingers and stared at me sombrely.

"Does not that strike you as strange also, Parker?" "Perhaps he had served in India, Pons?"

Solar Pons shook his head with a thin smile.

"I believe the young lady referred to Central Europeans, Parker."

'That is correct, Mr Pons. There were other extraordinary requirements in my new duties also. For example, I was asked by the housekeeper to leave my own clothes in my room. She supplied me with a new ward- robe. They were very expensive clothes, Mr Pons, but I had no objection, of course."

"Indeed," I put in.

"But then Mrs Dresden asked me to put my hair up in a different style and gave me expensive jewellery to wear. I was a little apprehensive in case I lost any but was told not to worry as Mr Basden was a very wealthy man. I was given the run of the magnificent house and was told I would be treated as a member of the family.

"I dined with Mr Basden that evening and my impression of him being ill at ease in his own house was reinforced. He said little and after two days at The Priory I knew very little more about the post than when I arrived. I noticed one other odd thing, also. I could go almost anywhere I liked in the house, but there was a wing stretching off the main landing. I was forbidden to go there by Mrs Dresden, as it was private.

"But I could not help seeing what went on, Mr Pons. There were disturbances in the night once and I have seen what looked like nurses with trays of medicine. One morning also I surprised a tall, dark man on the stairs, with a little black bag. He looked grave and I was convinced he was a doctor."

Solar Pons leaned forward and his deepset eyes stared steadily at the tall, fair girl.

"Just what do you think is in that wing, Miss Helstone?"

"Some sort of invalid, evidently, Mr Pons. I did not enquire, naturally."

Solar Pons leaned back again in his chair and half-closed his eyes.

"And you have not seen the bearded man again since that first accidental glimpse at the interview?"

"Not at all, Mr Pons. I had another shock when my two charges arrived. The children were attractive enough, but their voices were low and husky and I was told by Mrs Dresden they had colds. They seemed rather odd and sly and I was completely non-plussed when I found that neither spoke a word of English."

Solar Pons gave a low chuckle.

"Excellent, Miss Helstone."

The fair girl stared at my companion with very bright eyes.

"And what is more, Mr Pons, I am convinced their father cannot speak their language either!"

"Better and better, Parker."

Miss Helstone stared at my companion in astonishment.

"I do not follow you, Mr Pons."

"No matter, Miss Helstone. What was the next thing that happened in this extraordinary ménage?"

"Well, it was obvious, Mr Pons, that I could not begin to conduct any lessons. When I pointed this out to Mrs Dresden she said it was of no consequence as they had a tutor in their own tongue. I would be required for companionship; to take them on walks in the grounds; on motor-rides and to control their deportment."

"An unusual list of requirements and one which apparently commands a salary of five hundred pounds, Parker," said Pons, a dreamy expression on his face. "It gives one pause to think, does it not?"

"My words exactly, Pons."

"And when you hear that the walks were mostly conducted at night in the floodlit grounds of The Priory, you will begin to realise my perplexity, Mr Pons."

My companion's eyes had narrowed to mere slits and he leaned forward, an intent expression on his face.

"The grounds were floodlit, Miss Helstone? And the walks were how many times a week?"

"About three times on average, Mr Pons. Between ten o'clock and midnight."

"Unusual hours for small children, Parker."

"There is something wrong somewhere."

"For once you do not exaggerate, my dear fellow." "The last three months have been strange ones for me, gentlemen," said our visitor, whose paleness had gone and whose natural vivacity had evidently returned, for her eyes were sparkling and her manner more animated.

"I took occasional meals with my employer; walked or drove with the children; read and played patience. I soon found that I was not allowed outside the gates alone, but I have learned that the art treasures in the house are so valuable that Mr Basden is scared of burglars. I think myself he is afraid that his employees will be approached by criminal elements, for he insists that if one goes outside, then one does not go alone."

"Another curious circumstance which gives one much food for thought," observed Solar Pons.

"This was the odd routine of my life until a few weeks ago," Miss Helstone continued. "The people in the house were kind to me and I was well treated, but I felt circumscribed; almost imprisoned. The sealed wing was still barred to me and medicines and medical staff were in evidence from time to time, but nothing was explained and I did not think it circumspect to ask. But there was another peculiar circumstance; my employer does not smoke, or at least I have never seen him do so, yet I have on several occasions smelt strong cigar smoke in the children's room when I go to collect them for their walks. On one occasion there was a half-smoked cigar end on the window sill and the little girl looked distinctly uneasy. I myself think that the bearded man had something to do with it."

Solar Pons looked searchingly at the girl.

"You think he may be the real father and not Mr Basden?"

Miss Helstone looked astonished.

"Those were my exact thoughts, Mr Pons! You see, there is no genuine resemblance to Mr Basden and the man with the beard had a foreign look."

"You may have stumbled on to something, Miss Helstone," Pons went on. "It is a most intriguing tangle that you have described. But you mentioned life and death?" The girl swallowed once or twice and her eyes looked bleak.

"Twice in the past fortnight we have been accosted on our walks abroad, by strange, bearded men in a car. They spoke first to the children and then became very excited when I approached. I could swear they were all speaking the same language together. Yesterday a big black car tried to force ours off the road near Clitherington when we were out driving. Our chauffeur accelerated and drove back to the estate like a madman. We were all considerably shaken, I can tell you."

"Mr Basden was informed of this?"

"At once. He looked white and ill and came down to apologise to me immediately."

Solar Pons pulled once or twice at the lobe of his right ear and looked at me quizzically.

"Which brings us to the early hours of this morning, Miss Helstone."

"I was walking in the grounds with the children last night, Mr Pons. They sleep much during the day and their parent does not seem to mind their nocturnal habits. We had left the floodlit portion and followed the drive as it curved around. It was nearly midnight or a little after and we were about to turn back when there was a shot. It gave me such a shock, Mr Pons! The bullet glanced off a tree-trunk only a few feet from my head. I could hear guttural cries and I told the children to run."

"Highly commendable, Miss Helstone," I put in.

"Unfortunately, in their panic to escape they ran toward the voices," the girl went on. "Naturally, I had to go after them as they were my charges. We all got lost in the darkness, blundering about. I heard two more shots and then the same guttural voices I had heard from the men who had questioned the children on the road. I was so frightened, Mr Pons, that I hid. I must have been in the woods for hours.

"I found myself in an unfamiliar part of the grounds; it was dark and cold and I did not know what to do. I was in an absolute panic. I had abandoned my charges, you see, and I did not know what might have happened to them. I could not face Mr Basden. I found a small wicket-gate in the wall, which was unlocked; it may even have been used by the men to gain entrance to the grounds. Anyway, Mr Pons, to bring a long and exceedingly rambling story to an end, I ran from The Priory and caught the milk train. I had read your name in the newspapers some months ago as being the country's greatest private detective so here I am to put my destiny in your hands."

3

Here our client paused and looked so appealingly at Pons that I could not forbear saying, "There, do not distress yourself further, little lady," while Pons himself looked at me disapprovingly.

"While deploring Parker's sentimental way of expressing it, I am in great sympathy with you, Miss Helstone. I have no hesitation in saying I will accept your case."

"Oh, thank you, Mr Pons."

Helen Helstone rose from her chair and shook Pons' hand warmly. Pons looked at me interrogatively. "Are you free, Parker?"

"Certainly, Pons. I have only to telephone my locum." "Excellent."

He turned back to Miss Helstone.

"We must make arrangements to get you back to The Priory as soon as possible, Miss Helstone."

"Go back?"

Dismay and apprehension showed on the girl's face. "It is the only way. We all want to know what went on there and I must confess I have not been so intrigued for a long while. And Parker and I will be with you." "How are we going to manage that, Pons?" I said.

"Considering that the estate is so well guarded." "Tut, Parker," said Pons severely. "We have found

Miss Helstone upon the road in the early hours of the morning when we were driving through the district, brought her home with us and are now returning her to her employer. The man Basden will have to see us. If there are such strange goings-on at his estate he will deem it imperative to discover just exactly what the outside world knows."

"Of course, Pons. I follow you."

Pons turned to our visitor.

"Do you feel up to it, Miss Helstone?"

"If you gentlemen will accompany me, Mr Pons." "That is settled, then."

The girl looked ruefully at her bedraggled coat and her muddied boots.

"If you will give me an hour or so, Mr Pons, I must get to the shops and purchase a few things."

"Certainly, Miss Helstone. If you will give me your parole?"

"I do not understand, Mr Pons."

"If you will promise to come back within the hour." Our visitor flushed and glanced from Pons to me. "Of course, gentlemen. I am over my fright now and am as anxious to know what is happening at Clitherington as you."

"Very well, then."

Pons looked at his watch.

"It is a quarter past eight now. Shall we say ten o'clock at latest."

"I will be here, Mr Pons."

When I returned from showing our visitor to the front door Pons was pacing up and down in front of the fireplace, furiously shovelling blue smoke from his pipe over his shoulder.

"This beats everything, Pons," I said. "I have never come across such an extraordinary story."

"Does it not, Parker? What do you make of it? Let us just have your views."

"Well, Pons," I said cautiously. "I hardly know where to begin. There is something curious, surely, about the high salary being paid to this young lady for her purely nominal duties."

"You have hit the crux of the matter, Parker. Inadvertently, perhaps, but part of the central mystery, certainly."

"Ah, I am improving then, Pons," I went on. "But I confess that I cannot see far into this tangle. The children who speak a different language to their father; the nocturnal habits of such young people; the invalid in the sealed wing; the heavily guarded estate; the floodlit promenades. And who is the bearded man who sat behind the screen?"

Solar Pons took the pipe from between his strong teeth and looked at me with piercing eyes.

"Who indeed, Parker? You have retained the salient points admirably and isolated the most important. you are at your most succinct, my dear fellow, and it is evident that my little lessons in the ratiocinative process have not been entirely lost."

"Let me have your views, Pons."

"It is foolish to theorise without sufficient data, Parker. But I see a few features which must resolve themselves with determined application. It is obvious why Miss Helstone was engaged but I would rather not speculate further at this stage."

"It is far from obvious to me, Pons," I said somewhat bitterly.

"Well, well, Parker, I am sure that if you employ your grey matter to good advantage, the solution will soon come to you."

And with that I had to be content until Pons returned from some mysterious errand of his own. I had just telephoned my locum when I heard his footstep upon the stair.

"I have hired a car, my dear fellow. If you will just step round to the garage in the next street and familiarise yourself with its controls, we will make our little expedition into the wilds of Surrey. Ah, here is Miss Helstone now."

Our client's step was light and she looked transformed as Mrs Johnson showed her into the sitting-room.

"I am quite ready now, Mr Pons."

Pons looked at her approvingly.

"Good, Miss Helstone. There are just a few preparations more. I have our plan of campaign mapped out. Parker, you will need your revolver."

"Revolver, Pons?"

"Certainly. I do not think the danger lies within the house. But the gentlemen who broke into the grounds appear to me to be an entirely different quantity altogether. Is there a tolerable inn in this village of Clitherington, Miss Helstone?"

"The Roebuck is very well spoken of, Mr Pons." "Excellent. We shall make that our headquarters, Parker."

I fetched my revolver and packed it in my valise. When I returned from the garage with the car, Pons and Miss Helstone were at the door of 7B in conversation with Mrs Johnson, Pons well supplied with travelling rugs, for the day was a bitter one indeed. There was the usual tangle of traffic in town but I think I acquitted myself rather well, losing my way only once at a major junction, and we were soon well on the way to Surrey, the engine humming quietly while Pons and Miss Helstone, in the rear seats, conversed in low tones.

We arrived in the village of Clitherington about midday, smoke ascending in lazy spirals from the chimneys of the cluster of red-roofed houses which comprised the hamlet. As Miss Helstone had told us, the Roebuck was a comfortable, old-fashioned house with roaring fires and a friendly, well-trained staff. When we had deposited our baggage Pons, Miss Helstone and I repaired to the main lounge for a warming drink after our journey while Pons put the finishing touches to our strategy.

As we sat at a side table he looked sharply at a tall, cadaverous man in a frock-coat of sombre colour, who was just quitting the room.

"Memory, Parker," he said sharply. "Quite going. Once upon a time I should have been able to recall that man in a flash. A doctor, certainly. And a Harley Street man if I mistake not. You did not see him?"

I shook my head.

"I was attending to the inner man, Pons. Is the matter of any importance?"

Pons shook his head.

"Perhaps not, Parker, but the name is struggling to get out."

"Perhaps it will come later, Pons. In the meantime . . ."

"In the meantime we have much to do," he interrupted, draining his glass and getting to his feet. He smiled reassuringly at our companion.

"And now, Miss Helstone, to penetrate your den of mystery."

4

A drive of about twenty minutes over rough, unmade roads, the traces of which Pons had already noted on our visitor's boots, brought us up against a high brick wall which ran parallel to the highway for several hundred yards.

"That is the wall of the estate, Mr Pons," said our client in a low voice.

"Do not distress yourself, Miss Helstone," said Pons warmly. "I would not ask you to go inside again if I did not think it necessary. And, as I have already pointed out, you are in no danger from the occupants of The Priory unless I miss my guess. The shot came from the men who broke into the grounds; therefore the peril is from without."

Miss Helstone gave a relieved smile.

"Of course, Mr Pons. You are right. But what could those men have wanted with me?"

"That is why we are here, Miss Helstone. Just pull over in front of those gates, Parker."

It was indeed a sombre sight as we drew near; the sky was lowering and dark and it was so cold that it seemed as though it might snow at any minute. The road ran arrow-straight past the high walls of the estate and two tall, gloomy iron gates with a lodge set next to them framed a drive that was lost among dark belts of trees.

I drew up at the entrance lodge and sounded the horn. Almost at once a roughly dressed, dark man appeared, a sullen look upon his face.

"Open the gates," I called above the noise of the engine. "Inform your master that Miss Helstone is here."

As I spoke our client showed herself at the rear passenger window and the big man's jaw dropped with surprise.

"One moment, sir. I must just inform the house," he said in a marked foreign accent.

He shouted something and a second man whom I had not seen set off at a run along the driveway and disappeared. I switched off the motor and we waited for ten minutes. All this time Pons had said nothing but I was aware of his comforting presence at my back. The sentry at the gate—for that was his obvious function—stood with arms folded behind the locked portals and stared impassively in front of him.

Then there was the sound of running footsteps on the drive and the second man re-appeared, close behind him a tall, dark woman whom Miss Helstone immediately identified as Mrs Dresden, the housekeeper. A short conversation followed, in a language with which I was not conversant, and then the first man unlocked the gates and drew them back. I drove through and Mrs Dresden, who at once introduced herself, got into the rear of the car with Pons and our client.

"My poor child!" she said, obviously moved, and embraced the girl. "We thought something dreadful had happened to you."

"These gentlemen found me on the road and took me to their London home," Miss Helstone explained. "I was exhausted and incoherent, I am afraid. I explained the situation this morning and they kindly brought me back."

I was watching Mrs Dresden closely in the rear mirror as I negotiated the winding driveway and I saw her look sharply at Pons.

"That was very good of them, my dear. Mr Basden has been frantic with worry, I assure you. The children are quite safe."

"Thank God, Mrs Dresden. I have been so concerned. What will Mr Basden think? And what could those evil men have possibly wanted?"

The housekeeper faltered and I saw a look of indecision pass across her face.

"Do not trouble yourself further, Miss Helstone. Mr Basden will explain. He is waiting for you. And he will certainly want to thank these gentlemen."

I drove on for some way and then the estate road widened out into a gravel concourse. I was prepared for an imposing building but the fantastic folly which rose before us in the darkling winter morning was a Gothic monstrosity on the grand scale, with turrets like a French château and crenellated walls grafted on. All surrounded by sweeping banks of gloomy rhododendrons, interspersed here and there with groups of mournful statuary, which seemed to weep in the moist air.

I stopped the car before a massive flight of steps, at the top of which another bulky, anonymous-looking man waited to receive us. I felt somewhat apprehensive but Pons looked immensely at home as he descended from the vehicle and looked approvingly about him with keen, incisive glances.

You have not exaggerated, Miss Helstone. The Priory is indeed a remarkable piece of architecture."

Our client said nothing but took Pons' arm timidly as he mounted the steps after the hurrying figure of the housekeeper. She paused at the imposing front entrance to the house.

"Whom shall I say, sir?"

"My name is Bassington," said Pons in clear, pleasant tones. "And this is my friend, Mr Tovey."

"A ridiculous name, Pons," I whispered as Mrs Dresden disappeared through the portals and we followed at a more leisurely pace.

"Perhaps, Parker, but it was all I could think of at the moment. It is not unpleasing, surely? The name of a distinguished musician came into my mind."

"As you wish, Pons," I said resignedly. "I only hope I can remember it."

We were being ushered into a vast hall floored with black and white tiles now and we waited while Mrs Dresden and our client hurried up the marble staircase to the upper floors.

I looked round curiously, only half aware of the bustle in the great house; it was evident that Miss Helstone's return had caused quite a stir and I could hear a man's voice raised in tones of relief. The mansion itself was magnificently appointed and all the strange circumstances of our client's story came back as I took in the details of our opulent surroundings.

We stood there for perhaps ten minutes, Pons silently observing the dark-coated men who scurried about the hall on furtive errands of their own, when a man came hurrying down the staircase. From his appearance and his timid air, I recognised the figure described so eloquently by Miss Helstone as Basden, the head of this strange household.

"Mr Bassington?" he said in a trembling voice. "I am indeed indebted to you for the rescue of our little Miss Helstone. I have been distraught with worry. Mr Tovey, it is? Do come into the drawing-room, gentlemen. Miss Helstone will join us once she has removed her hat and coat."

He led the way into a large, pine-panelled room in which an aromatic fire of logs burned in the marble Adam fireplace.

"Please be seated, gentlemen. May I offer you coffee or some stronger refreshment?"

"That is indeed good of you, Mr Basden," said Pons blandly. "But speaking for myself I require nothing."

I smilingly declined also and studied Basden closely while his conversation with Pons proceeded. He did indeed look furtive and ill at ease, and constantly glanced about him as if we were being observed, though we were quite alone in the room.

"And how are the children?"

Basden looked startled and then collected himself.

"Oh, quite well, Mr Bassington. They were merely frightened and ran back to the house. But I am not quite sure how you came across Miss Helstone . ."

"We were on our way back to London in the early hours when we found the young lady bedraggled and half-conscious, lying by the side of the road. We got her into our car and as my companion is a doctor we thought it best to take her straight to my London house, where my wife made her comfortable overnight. In the morning, when she was sufficiently recovered, she told us her story and so we brought her immediately back."

Basden licked his lips.

"I see. As I have already indicated, that was extremely good of you both. If there is any way in which I could defray your expenses ..

Pons held up his hand with an imperious gesture.

"Say no more about it, Mr Basden. But they sound a dangerous gang of ruffians about your estate. Ought we not to call in the police?"

The expression of alarm that passed across Basden's features was so marked it was impossible to mistake, though he at once attempted to erase it.

"We have had a good deal of trouble with poachers, Mr Bassington," he said awkwardly. "My gamekeepers have dealt with the problem. We called the police, of course, but unfortunately the rogues got clean away without trace. The neighbourhood has been much plagued with the rascals."

"Oh well, that would appear to dispose of the matter," said Pons with a disarming smile. "I am glad it was no worse. And now, if we could just say goodbye to our young companion, we will be on our way."

"Certainly, Mr Bassington. And a thousand thanks again for all your trouble."

We had just regained the hall when our client came hurrying down the stairs, the worry and strain of the past time still showing plainly on her face.

"Going so soon, gentlemen? I had hoped you would be staying to lunch."

"We have to get back to London immediately, Miss Helstone. But we leave you in safe hands, I'm sure."

Basden beamed in the background, one of the dark-coated men holding the hall-door ajar for us.

Pons bent his head over Miss Helstone's finger-tips in a courteous gesture. I was close to him but even I had difficulty in making out the words he breathed to the girl.

"Have no fear, Miss Helstone. You are not in any danger. The doctor and I will be just outside the estate. Make sure you show yourself in the grounds tonight at about eight o'clock."

"Goodbye, gentlemen. And thank you."

There was relief on Miss Helstone's face as she and Basden said goodbye. The latter shook hands with us briefly and the two of them stood on the front steps watching us as we drove away. I had noticed previously that there were other cars in front of the house and Pons seemed to show great interest in a gleaming Rolls-Royce Silver Ghost which was parked near the steps. As soon as we had been passed through the entrance-gates by the guards and were rolling back toward Clitherington, Pons became less reticent.

"Well done, Parker. You played your part well. What did you think of The Priory?"

"Miss Helstone had not done it justice, Pons. But I judge it to be an elaborate facade."

"Excellent, Parker! You improve all the time. If Bas-den is master there I will devour my hat in the traditional manner. Just pull into the verge here like a good fellow, will you. I have a mind to engage in conversation with the owner of that Rolls-Royce when he comes out."

"But how do you know he is coming this way, Pons?" I protested.

Solar Pons chuckled, his face wreathed in aromatic blue smoke as he puffed at his pipe.

"Because, unless I am very much mistaken, the gentleman concerned is staying at the very same hostelry as ourselves. I assume that he would have remained at The Priory in order to let us get well clear."

"What on earth are you talking about, Pons?"

Pons vouchsafed no answer so I pulled the car up in a small lay-by at the end of the estate wall, where the road curved a little. We had not been sitting there more than ten minutes when Pons, who had been studying the road keenly in the rear mirror, which he had adjusted to suit himself, gave a brief exclamation.

"Ah, here is our man now. Just start the engine and slew the vehicle round to block the road, will you?"

I was startled but did as he bid and a few seconds later the big grey car glided up behind us and came to a halt with an imperious blaring of the horn. An irate figure at the wheel descended and I recognised the tall man in the frock coat whom Pons had pointed out in the bar of The Roebuck.

Pons bounded out of the passenger seat with great alacrity and beamed at the furious figure.

"Good morning, Sir Clifford. Sir Clifford Ayres, is it not? How goes your patient's health?"

The tall, cadaverous man's jaw dropped and he looked at Pons sharply, tiny spots of red etched on his white cheeks.

"How dare you block the road, sir? So far as I am concerned I do not know you. And I certainly do not discuss the private affairs of my patients with strangers."

"Come, Sir Clifford, you are remarkably obtuse for a Harley Street man. If you do not remember me, you must recall my distinguished colleague, Dr Parker?"

Sir Clifford made a little gobbling noise like a turkeycock and stepped forward with white features, as though he would have struck Pons.

"By God, sir, if this is a joke I do not like it. My presence here was confidential. If you are Press you will regret printing anything about me. I'll have you horsewhipped and thrown into prison. Clear the road or I will drive to the police immediately.

Pons chuckled and motioned to me to remove the car.

"Well, well, it does not suit your purpose to remember the Princes Gate reception last month, Sir Clifford. No matter. We shall meet again. Good day, sir."

And he politely tipped his hat to the apoplectic figure of Ayres at the wheel and watched him drive on in silence. He was laughing openly as he rejoined me.

"Sir Clifford is noted for his fiery temper and bad manners and he is running true to form today. Either he genuinely did not recognise me or it obviously suits his purpose to plead ignorance. But it merely strengthens my suspicions about his patient."

"What is all this about, Pons?" I said as we drove on. "I must confess the matter becomes more confusing by the minute."

"All in good time, my dear fellow. I must contact Brother Bancroft when we get back to the inn and then I must purchase a daily paper. We shall have a busy evening if I am not mistaken."

And with these cryptic utterances I had to be content for the time being. We lunched well at The Roebuck and though Pons was obviously on the lookout for Sir Clifford, the tall doctor did not put in an appearance. We were eating our dessert before Pons again broke silence.

"Come, Parker, I need your help. You are obviously more au fait than I with Sir Clifford. Just what is his forte?"

"In truth I have never met the man, Pons," I said. "Though you seemed to think he should know me. I do not move in such exalted circles. As a humble G.P. . . ."

"Tut, Parker, you are being too modest. My remark was merely meant to inform him that you were a fellow physician. We were introduced at the reception I spoke of but there were many people there; we were face to face for only a few seconds; and I relied on the traditional obtuseness of the medical profession and felt confident that he would not recall me."

"Come, Pons," I protested. "That is a definite slur." Solar Pons chuckled with satisfaction.

"You are too easily ruffled, my dear fellow. You must practice indifference in such matters. But you have not answered my question."

"Sir Clifford? I know of his work, of course. He is one of the country's foremost specialist in heart disease and strokes."

"Indeed. I find that singularly interesting. This may not be so difficult as I had thought. If you will forgive me, I must telephone Bancroft. I will rejoin you for coffee in the lounge."

5

"Now, Parker, let us just put a few things together. In addition to the other small points we have already discussed, we have an eminent Harley Street specialist staying in this small place and in attendance on someone within The Priory. Does not that suggest a fruitful line of enquiry?"

Solar Pons sat back in a comfortable leather chair in the coffee-room at The Roebuck and regarded me through a cloud of blue pipe-smoke. It was early evening and the place was quiet, only the occasional rumble of a cart or the higher register of a motor-vehicle penetrating the thick curtains.

"Certainly, Pons. The invalid in the sealed wing suffers from heart trouble."

"Elementary, Parker. But why?"

Pons' brows were knotted with thought and his piercing eyes were fixed upon a corner of the ceiling as he pulled reflectively at the lobe of his right ear.

"I do not follow the question, Pons."

"It is no matter, Parker. Things are becoming clearer and I should be able to arrive at some definite conclusion before the evening is out."

"You surprise me, Pons."

Solar Pons looked at me languidly, little sparks of humour dancing in his eyes.

"I have often heard you say so, Parker. I have spoken to Brother Bancroft and he has given me some interesting information on affairs in Eastern Europe."

"I should have thought this was hardly the time for it, Pons."

"Would you not? However, it is no matter. My thoughts were directed to the subject by the events of the last day's newspapers. Apparently things in Dresdania are not going too well. Her Highness is out of the country and there is a concerted effort to unseat the government in her absence. Bancroft is most concerned."

"I must confess I am completely bewildered by your line of thought, Pons."

"Perhaps this will clarify matters."

Pons handed me a bundle of newspapers, among them the Times and the Daily Telegraph. I perused them with mounting puzzlement. In each case Pons had heavily ringed or marked certain items in ink. I caught the large heading of the Daily Mail: PRINCE MIRKO APPEALS FOR CALM. Apparently things in the state Pons had mentioned were in serious disarray.

"I must admit that The Balkans has increasingly occupied the world's thoughts, Pons," I observed. "Matters are constantly in ferment there and it is certain that our own Foreign Office has a definite interest in maintaining peace in that area of the world. But I know little about such affairs .. ."

Solar Pons chuckled, holding his head on one side as he looked at me.

"Do you not see the connection, Parker? Oh, well, there is really no reason why you should. All will be made clear to you in due course. Now, you have your revolver handy, I trust?"

"It is in my valise in my room, Pons."

"Good. Just run along and fetch it, there's a good fellow. We may well have need of it before the night is out."

He paused and stared at me sombrely.

"Pray heaven we are in time, Parker. Either she is already dead or so ill that she cannot sign documents."

"Good Lord, Pons!" I cried. "If anything has happened to Miss Helstone through our neglect . . ."

To my astonishment Pons burst out laughing.

"Do not distress yourself, my dear fellow. I was not referring to Miss Helstone at all. You are on entirely the wrong tack."

He glanced at his watch.

"It is only just turned six o'clock. We have plenty of time. It is a fine night and we will walk, I think. As long as we are at the estate by eight we shall have ample room for manoeuvre."

It was a long and lonely walk, on a clear, moonlit night, though bitterly cold. As Pons and I, both heavily muffled, walked along the grass verge at the side of the road, with the wind whistling through the leafless branches of the trees which came down in thick belts of woodland close to the highway, I could not help reflecting on the anguish and terror which must have animated Miss Helstone when she ran along this same thoroughfare to catch the early morning train to bring her to Pons.

It wanted but a few minutes to eight when we arrived at the high wall of the estate belonging to The Priory. Pons' eyes were bright in the moonlight and his entire form seemed to radiate energy and determination.

"Now, Parker," he whispered, looking about him keenly. "We will just cast about for the side-gate Miss Helstone mentioned. I have a feeling that it may be in use again this evening."

"I do not see how we are to get in, Pons. Basden's people may be watching the entrance there."

"We shall have to risk that, Parker. And I daresay I can get over the wall at a pinch, with the aid of your sturdy shoulders. But come what may, we must get inside The Priory tonight."

I followed Pons as he stepped off the road and we skirted the wall for something like a quarter of a mile, beneath the dark boughs of overhanging trees.

"We must go carefully now," Pons breathed. "It cannot be far. I questioned Miss Helstone carefully about this gate and it should be somewhere here, according to her description."

As he spoke the moonlight shimmered on a gap in the wall; a few strides more brought us to the gate in question. I looked at Pons swiftly but he had already noted what I had seen. The portal was slightly ajar. I had my revolver out and we crept forward quietly. Pons bent to examine the chain and padlock.

"Our friends are already in the grounds," he whispered. "Cut through with a hacksaw. They must have made some noise. It is my opinion, Parker, that Basden's employers mean to bring the game to them. Which merely substantiates my conclusions."

"I wish I knew what on earth you were talking about, Pons," I murmured irritably.

Solar Pons smiled thinly.

Just keep your revolver handy, friend Parker, and follow me."

He disappeared quietly through the small gate which pierced the massive wall and I followed him quickly, finding myself in almost total darkness, the shrubbery grew so thickly and so close to the boundary the other side.

But as we went farther in, treading carefully and taking care to see we made as little noise as possible, the trees fell away and soon we found ourselves near the estate road along which we had driven earlier in the day. There was a strange light in the sky ahead and as we rounded a bend, skirting the drive and keeping well into the thick undergrowth, the facade of The Priory suddenly sprang sharply into view, clear-etched in the flood-lights.

"The little charade seems to be successful," said Pons drily. "Now, just keep a sharp look-out, Parker. You are an excellent shot and I should not like the men who have preceded us through that wicket-gate to come upon us unawares."

I knelt by his side and looked somewhat uneasily. We were well concealed here but through the fringe of leafless branches we had a good view of the house with its lawns and statuary. Even as we settled, the slim figure of Miss Helstone and two small children were descending the steps.

"Ah, they are early this evening, Parker," said Pons with satisfaction. "It seems that things are expected to happen. If I were you I should just throw off the safety-catch of your revolver, there's a good fellow."

I obeyed Pons' injunction, secretly puzzled at his remarks. Our client, after pausing initially at the foot of the steps, was now coming toward us across the grass, while the children shouted and ran in circles about her. Their shadows, caught by the glare of the floodlighting, cast long replicas before them across the lawn.

I was shifting my position when I was almost thrown off balance by my companion seizing my arm.

"There, Parker, there! We are just in time to avert tragedy."

I followed his pointing finger and saw the bushes move at the other side of the drive. Then I became fully aware of what his keen eyes had already discerned. A thin, dark man with a pointed beard, down on one knee, crouched over a black rectangle which glinted as he moved. Pons was up like a flash and running back down the verge, away from the figure in the bushes. I was only a yard away as we crossed the roadway behind him.

"Your bird, I think, Parker," Pons called as the bearded man turned. The flare of light was followed by the slap of the shot and I heard the bullet whistle somewhere through the bare branches. I was cool now and sighted the revolver carefully as I squeezed the trigger. The rifle went off in the air as the man dropped.

The night was suddenly full of cries and noise; heavy bodies blundered about the bushes. I saw Miss Helstone frozen in mid-stride, the two children running from her. I dropped to the gravel as more shots sounded. Then Pons was beside me and urging me up.

"We must get to the young lady, Parker."

A group of dark figures had debouched from the terrace and were running down the grass; I heard a whistle shrill. Miss Helstone's face was white as we drew near. But the children were before her. The little girl's face was twisted. I saw the knife glint and was astonished to see Pons fell her with a deft blow from the flat of his hand. The knife fell on the grass and I levelled my revolver at the little boy who was barking orders in a strange, guttural language. He sullenly let the barrel of the pistol in his hand sag toward the ground.

"What does all this mean, Mr Pons?"

Helen Helstone's face was white, her eyes wide in astonishment.

"That the charade is over, Miss Helstone. You are quite safe now and have nothing to fear."

"I do not understand, Mr Pons. The children ..." Solar Pons smilingly shook his head and went to help the little girl up.

She was quite unhurt and kicked him on the shin for his pains.

"Not children, but midgets, Miss Helstone," said Pons gravely. "Evidently to guard your safety. I will give the Prince that much, at any rate."

"What is all this, Pons?" I began when a sullen ring of dark figures closed in on us. Others appeared behind, bringing with them three roughly-dressed men with beards; one was wounded and had a blood-stained handkerchief clapped to his wrist. A tall man detached himself from the group which had come from the terrace. He had a commanding air and his eyes glittered.

"Drop that revolver!" he ordered me. "You will find it is a good deal easier to get in than to get out."

Solar Pons smiled pleasantly.

"On the contrary. I beg you not to be foolish. Just inform Prince Mirko that we are here and that we have averted a tragedy."

The big man's face was puzzled. His English was almost perfect but his sudden agitation made him stumble over the words as he replied.

"Who are you?"

"My name is Solar Pons. Just give the Prince my card, will you, and tell him that the British Foreign Office knows we are here and will hold him responsible for our safety and that of Miss Helstone."

The tall man stood in silence for a moment, studying the card Pons had given him, while the floodlights beat down their golden light on the melodramatic tableau on the broad lawn, turning the faces of ourselves and the guards into ashen masks.

"Very well, Mr Pons," the tall man said at last, lowering his pistol. "We will all go into the house."

6

"I think you owe me an explanation, Mr Pons."

The tall man with the quavering voice took a step forward and regarded Solar Pons with indignation. The big room with the opulent appointments seemed full of people; apart from ourselves there were a number of armed guards and the sullen captives. Only Solar Pons seemed supremely at ease as he stood, an elegant, spare figure, and regarded our host thoughtfully.

"On the contrary, Mr Basden, it is you who must explain yourself."

"I do not know what you mean."

"Oh, come, Mr Basden, if that is really your name. Shots, a murderous attack, threats, armed guards. To say nothing of the danger to Miss Helstone, a British subject. His Britannic Majesty's Government would not take kindly to a Balkan enclave within a friendly sovereign state."

Basden stepped back, his face turning white; he looked as if he were about to choke.

"Pray do not discompose yourself," said Solar Pons. "My guess is that you are an excellent actor, hired for the occasion, but a little out of your depth. Now, if you will kindly ask Prince Mirko to step out from behind that screen in the corner, we will proceed to hard facts."

Pons turned a mocking gaze toward the screen in question; now that he had directed my attention to it I could see a thin plume of blue smoke rising from behind it.

"How is Her Royal Highness' health this evening, Prince?"

There was an angry commotion and the screen was flung violently to the ground. A huge man with a thick beard stood before us, his eyes burning with rage.

"Why, that is the gentleman I glimpsed at my interview, Mr Pons!" said Miss Helstone in surprise.

"Allow me to present His Highness, Prince Mirko of Dresdania," said Pons. "Your real employer and the instigator of this elaborate farce."

Mirko had recovered himself.

"Hardly a farce, Mr Pons," said Mirko levelly, regarding Pons with a steady gaze from wide brown eyes. "You have unfortunately penetrated to the heart of Dresdania's secrets and you may find the price a high one to pay."

"I think not," said Solar Pons coolly. "My brother Bancroft holds an eminent position in the Foreign Office. If anything happens to us, troops will be here in short order."

He broke off and glanced at his watch.

"In fact, you have an hour to give me a satisfactory explanation of this affair."

There was an air of grudging admiration about Prince Mirko as he stared evenly at Pons.

"You do me a grave disservice, Mr Pons," he said quietly. "I wish you no harm and I have certainly done my best to protect Miss Helstone."

"After first putting her life at peril."

Mirko shrugged his massive shoulders.

"Politics, Mr Pons. Dresdania must come first with us. I implied no physical threat by my remark about paying a high price. Merely that the British Government will find the Balkans aflame if my efforts fail. Let us lay our cards on the table, shall we?"

"By all means," said Solar Pons equably. "Will you start or shall I?"

The Prince smiled grimly and led the way across to the far door. He said something in a foreign tongue to the big man who led the guards and they trooped from the room with their prisoners.

"We will be more comfortable in the library, Mr Pons. Will not you, the lady and the doctor sit down? Ah, I think you already know Sir Clifford Ayres." '

The tall, sour figure of the Harley Street man uncoiled itself from an armchair and came down the room toward us. He held out his hand stiffly, embarrassment clear on his face.

"I must apologise for my earlier rudeness, Mr Pons; Dr Parker. I could not breach the code of professional conduct, as you well know. I did remember you from the reception, Mr Pons."

"Good of you to acknowledge it, Sir Clifford," said Pons smoothly, as we seated ourselves. "This is an unfortunate affair but events appear to have taken a turn for the better. How is the man Dr Parker shot?"

"Dead, Mr Pons," said the Prince.

He waved me down as I started to get up from my chair.

"You need not distress yourself, Dr Parker. Krenko was one of the most murderous scoundrels who ever walked in shoe-leather. You have done Dresdania a great service tonight, doctor, for which she cannot thank you enough."

I cleared my throat.

"Thank goodness for that, anyway, Pons. I should not like the thing to lie heavily on my conscience. And then there is the little matter of the police ..."

Pons smiled.

"That is the least of our problems, Parker. You must just content yourself with knowing that you have saved Miss Helstone."

"At your instigation, Pons. I am completely baffled."

"And yet the matter was a fairly simple one, Parker, merely requiring the key. I am sure Prince Mirko will correct me if I am wrong, but it was obvious from the moment Miss Helstone consulted us that she was not required for duties as a governess; neither was she being paid five hundred pounds a year for her undoubted skills in that area."

"But for what Pons?"

"For a masquerade, my dear fellow. For her remarkable resemblance to the Princess Sonia, the ruler of Dresdania. Everything pointed to it. And as soon as I saw the Princess' picture in the newspapers, the whole thing became clear. The interview with Mr Basden—he is an actor in your employ, is he not?—the man behind the screen who was making the selection; and the quite extraordinary way in which Miss Helstone alone from all the hundreds interviewed suddenly fitted the bill. She could not even speak the same language as her charges.

"But it was crystal-clear that the sole object of her employment was her unwitting impersonation of an absent person, even to changing her hair-style; wearing unaccustomed jewellery and expensive clothing; and to being seen late at night beneath the floodlighting outside this house. The whole thing smacked of the stage, Parker."

Prince Mirko gave a wry smile and studied the tip of his cigar.

"I can now see why Mr Pons is spoken of as England's greatest consulting detective," he observed to Sir Clifford.

Helen Helstone's eyes were wide as she turned toward Pons.

"Of course, Mr Pons. It is so simple when you put it like that. I had not thought of it."

"Exactly, Miss Helstone. And there was no reason why you should. But it is at least to the Prince's credit that while tethering you as a decoy he at least provided you with adequate bodyguards."

"It was a regrettable necessity," said Prince Mirko. "Dictated by the inexorable requirements of the State."

"And a most original method," said Pons reflectively. "They looked exactly like children. And they are potentially deadly."

He rubbed his shin with a slight grimace. Prince Mirko's smile broadened.

"They are the Zhdanov Twins, circus and music-hall performers. Boy and girl. They specialise in the personation of children and both are expert at ju-jitsu, knife and pistol. You were lucky they did not shoot you first and ask questions afterwards. We have several times used them in our secret service operations."

"But how could you know this, Pons?" I cried.

"It was a fairly rapid process to the trained mind, Parker. I soon came to the conclusion they were midgets. The harshness of voice; the fact that they stayed out so late at night, which no real children would do; their peculiar actions when the attempt was made on Miss Helstone's life." His smile widened.

"You remember they ran toward the source of danger when Miss Helstone's life was attempted. That was significant. To say nothing of the male twin's cigar-smoking in their rooms. The lady suspected that you were the parent in the case, Prince."

The bearded man bowed ironically to our client. "That was most careless and I will see that the guilty party is reprimanded."

"Your prisoners, Prince," put in Solar Pons sharply, as though the idea had only just occurred to him. "No Dresdanian summary justice on British soil."

"It shall be as you say, Mr Pons," said Prince Mirko. "In any case Dr Parker has despatched the principal viper. And with the imprisonment of the others, the threat to Dresdania's internal politics is entirely removed."

"If you would be kind enough to elucidate, Pons!" I said hotly.

"My dear fellow. Certainly. If you had taken the trouble to read the newspapers properly this morning, they would have told you most of the story about Dresdania's internal troubles. It is Princess Sonia, is it not?"

Mirko nodded gravely.

"Her Royal Highness was in England incognito, on a short holiday. She is only thirty-eight, as you know. To our alarm and astonishment she had not been here more than three days when she was laid low by a crippling stroke. That was some four months ago. When she was well enough to be moved from a small, private nursing home near Epsom, we brought her here to this mansion, which belongs to the Dresdanian Embassy. Our own personnel surrounded her and we had the world's finest medical attention and nursing staff."

Here Sir Clifford bowed gratefully in acknowledgment of his services.

Solar Pons turned his lean, alert face toward the Prince.

"And how is Her Royal Highness at this moment?"

"Much improved, I am glad to say. It was a freak condition, I understand, and rare in one so young. I am assured by Sir Clifford that she will make a complete recovery. She will be well enough to sign State documents within the next few days."

"I am still not quite sure that I follow, Pons," I said. "I see that you do not understand Balkan politics, doctor," said the Prince.

He held up his hand.

"And there is really no reason why you should. But Dresdania's internal stability is a vital element in the uneasy peace in that part of the world. Dissident elements have long been pledged to opposing the Throne and tearing it down. Vilest of them was Krenko; bombings, murder, political assassination and torture were only a few of the weapons he employed. As you know, the Princess is a widow and she has ruled as Regent, with me to guide her, on behalf of her son. He is now fourteen and of an age when he may soon be able to assume his responsibilities. Princess Sonia is anxious that he should do so, as the last decade has been a fearful strain. Indeed, it was probably this which precipitated the stroke. Her medical advisers prescribed complete rest and she came to England.

"But there was an attempted coup within a week of her arrival and unfortunately she was already ill. It was imperative for the country and for the sake of the young Crown Prince, who knows nothing of his mother's condition, that all should appear to be well."

"Hence the masquerade!" I put in.

I stared at Pons in admiration.

"And you saw all this at a glance?"

"Hardly, Parker. But it was not too difficult to arrive at the truth, once all the threads were in my hand."

Prince Mirko cast a regretful look at Miss Helstone.

"I must confess that I did not really think I would have much success with my ruse but I inserted the advertisement which Miss Helstone answered. I was in despair when I saw her at the interview but then realised what an astonishing likeness she had to the Princess."

Here he indicated a photograph in a heavy gilt frame which stood on a piano in one corner of the library.

"I determined to take a chance. It was a desperate act but the only card I had left to play. It was imperative that the Princess should be seen behaving normally. Hence the deception; the floodlighting and the nightly promenades. We had heard that Krenko and a band of desperadoes had arrived in England. He would either make an attempt on the Princess' life, in which case we would be ready and try to eliminate him; or, he would merely report back to his political masters that the Princess was well and carrying out her normal duties. Either would have suited us, because there is no fear of a coup while the Princess is alive—she is so popular among the common people. All we wanted was to stabilise things until the Princess should be well enough to sign the Instrument of Succession on behalf of her son. But Krenko evaded our vigilance and made an attempt on her life; we knew he would try again."

"For which purpose you put on a visible show of guarding the estate, while deliberately leaving the side-gate vulnerable," said my companion. "And you required an orphan in case of any tragic developments."

"Exactly, Mr Pons. We had hoped that the presence of so distinguished a heart-specialist would pass unnoticed in the district—Sir Clifford insisted on staying at the inn where he could obtain his peculiarly English comforts—but we had not reckoned on your deductive genius."

"You are too kind, Prince Mirko."

Pons consulted his watch.

"I shall need to telephone Brother Bancroft, unless we wish the military to descend upon us."

Mirko nodded thoughtfully, the smoke from his cigar going up in heavy spirals to the library ceiling.

"It would be helpful if you would ask him for a responsible officer from Scotland Yard to attend to this affair, in conjunction with your Home Office and our Foreign Office, Mr Pons."

"Superintendent Stanley Heathfield is your man, Prince," said Solar Pons, with a conspiratorial nod which took in myself and Miss Helstone. "If you will just excuse me."

He paused by the door.

"It occurs to me, Prince Mirko, that Miss Helstone has been in considerable danger while under your roof. Now that her duties are prematurely ended, do you not think that some compensation is in order?"

"I had not overlooked that, Mr Pons," said Mirko gravely. "My Government's cheque for twenty thousand English pounds will be paid into any bank of her choice." "Twenty thousand pounds!"

Helen Helstone's face was incredulous as she gazed from me to Pons.

"The labourer is worthy of his hire, my dear young lady," Solar Pons murmured.

"And it is cheap for the security of the state," Prince Mirko added.

"I hardly know what to say, Mr Pons,"

"Take the money, Miss Helstone. I assume that Mr Basden has been well looked after?"

"You may rely upon it, Mr Pons," said Mirko gravely. "Though an admirable actor he is hardly ideal when called upon to play a part in which reality may intrude at any moment. His behaviour under stress has made him an unstable tool at times. And though we coached him carefully in the language he forgot even those few phrases when under pressure."

Solar Pons returned from telephoning within a few minutes, rubbing his thin hands together.

"Excellent! Superintendent Heathfield is running down with a party of selected officers just as soon as train and motor-car can bring him. In the meantime I think our work here is ended, Parker. No doubt you will wish to come with us, Miss Helstone?"

"If you will just give me a few minutes to pack, Mr Pons."

"Certainly. And I must emphasise that you must exercise the utmost discretion as to what you have heard in this room tonight."

"You have my word, Mr Pons."

Mirko looked on with admiration.

"Mr Pons, you should have been a diplomat."

"I leave all that to my brother, Prince Mirko," said my companion carelessly. "But I think that under the circumstances you would have done better to have taken our Foreign Office into your confidence."

"Perhaps, Mr Pons," said Prince Mirko, studiously examining the glowing red tip of his cigar.

Sir Clifford Ayres rose to his feet and stiffly shook hands.

"A rapid convalescence and a complete recovery to your patient, doctor. And my congratulations."

"Thank you. Good night, Mr Pons. Good night, doctor."

"Good night, Sir Clifford."

We waited in the hall as Miss Helen Helstone descended the stairs, her face still bearing traces of the excitement of the night and of her unexpected good fortune. Prince Mirko took the paper bearing her address and studied it beneath the chandelier in the hallway, his bearded face enigmatic.

"Dresdania is grateful, young lady."

He brushed her hand with his lips and bowed us out. The Princess' car was waiting outside and conveyed us back to the high road.

"A remarkable achievement, Pons," I said, as soon as we were driving back in the direction of Clitherington.

"A case not without its points of interest, my dear fellow," he said with tones of approbation.

He smiled across at our fair client.

"They do things a great deal differently in the Balkans, Parker, but by his own lights Mirko has not done badly by Miss Helstone. By the time she marries—and providing she has handled her funds wisely—she will be a well-propertied woman."

And he lit his pipe with considerable satisfaction.

The Adventure of the Defeated Doctor

1

"AH, PARKER, I see that our old friend Jamison is in difficulties again."

"You have the advantage of me, Pons."

"Naturally. You do not command a very good view of the window from your position at the breakfast table. And the casements opposite are making an excellent reflector for the sunshine, which penetrates even into the interior of the police car."

It was a beautiful morning in early June and my friend Solar Pons was standing smoking a reflective after-breakfast pipe at the window of our sitting-room at 7B Praed Street.

I remained sitting at the table and spread some more marmalade on my second slice of toast.

"He is exploiting your talents, Pons."

"Possibly, Parker, possibly. Though it would not do to underestimate the doggedness of Inspector Jamison. Obtuse he may be occasionally; and plodding certainly; but method and devotion to duty usually get him to his destination in the end."

"You are being unusually generous this morning, Pons."

Solar Pons smiled amiably.

"But then it is such a superb morning and London

has been extremely dull of late. Jamison's arrival may mean action and opportunity. I have been chafing at the bit this last week and our somewhat heavy-footed colleague may unlock the gates for us. You have no objection, I take it?"

"I, Pons? Most certainly not. I am taking a sabbatical today in any case."

"Excellent, Parker. You are usually on your rounds by this time. Ah, here is Mrs Johnson at the door now."

The beaming, well-scrubbed face of our excellent landlady had indeed appeared round the panel and at Pons' crisp summons to enter she ushered in the worried-looking figure of Inspector Jamison. Pons had already thrown off his old grey dressing-gown and donned his jacket and now he strode forward, his face alert and quite transfigured from its languid expression of a few minutes earlier.

"Welcome, Jamison. Will you not have some coffee?" "Thank you, Mr Pons. It has been a week and a half I can tell you."

The Scotland Yard man sank into an armchair indicated by Pons and mopped his brow with a polka-dot handkerchief. His sallow face was beaded with perspiration and his complexion looked grey.

"You need a holiday, Inspector," I suggested.

Jamison gave a wry smile as he put his handkerchief back in his pocket.

"You will have your little joke, doctor."

Mrs Johnson had withdrawn to her own quarters and Pons passed the big cup of black coffee over to Jamison who seized it as though he had not taken nourishment for a fortnight.

"Trouble?"

Inspector Jamison nodded, a gloomy expression on his face.

"Difficulties, Mr Pons. I should be glad of a little help."

"This agency exists to assist the forces of law and order, Jamison. Pray be more specific."

Solar Pons drew up a chair to the table opposite the Inspector and tented his fingers before him, while his penetrating eyes searched our visitor's face.

"It is a crime of capital dimensions; it has happened within the past twenty-four hours; and there is great pressure on you from above."

Jamison's face turned a mottled colour.

"How did you know that, Mr Pons?" he snapped. Solar Pons smiled.

"It is obvious, Jamison. You would not seek my advice unless it were important. Similarly, the same set of criteria apply if you are stuck in your investigations. I estimate it would take you no more than twenty-four hours to conclude that the matter is beyond you. So with pressure on you from above—perhaps from Superintendent Heathfield or even the Commissioner himself—you come to me."

There were dull red patches burning on Jamison's cheeks now.

"You have an unfortunate way of putting it, Mr Pons," he mumbled. "But basically you are correct."

Solar Pons leaned back in his chair, a thin smile on his face.

"What is the problem?"

Jamison put down his coffee cup on the table with a thin clink in the silence.

"Romaine Schneider is dead, Mr Pons."

Pons looked at Jamison in silence, his brows drawn, while my own astonishment must have shown on my face.

"The sculptor, Inspector? The one who has the International Exhibition on in London at the present time?"

"One and the same, Dr Parker. Though I know little of such matters he is described as the greatest sculptor this country has ever produced."

Solar Pons' eyes were sparkling and he looked at our visitor piercingly from beneath the lids.

"How did he die, Jamison?"

"Murdered, Mr Pons. In his own studio in Hampstead. Done to death with one of the mallets he used for his sculpture work."

There was something so evocative in Jamison's hushed tones as he came to the last sentence that an involuntary shudder passed through me.

"When was this?" asked Solar Pons, opening his eyes. "The early hours of this morning, Mr Pons. It will be in all tomorrow's editions."

He paused and looked uncomfortable.

"It was a sore point with me, Mr Pons. I will be quite frank. It took me only a few hours to see that the matter presented certain difficulties."

"Which has brought you here at breakfast-time?" "Exactly."

Jamison took out his handkerchief again and mopped the nape of his neck with it.

"I have seldom seen a more pointless sort of crime, Mr Pons. There was no robbery as far as we can make out; no-one has a motive; and the studio had not been broken into."

Solar Pons shook his head, a reproving expression on his face.

"Come, Jamison. How many times have I told you. No visible motive. There is always a motive for every crime, however pointless it may appear to the casual bystander."

"You are undoubtedly right, Mr Pons. But I have seldom been faced with such difficulties. Could you spare time to step around?"

"Certainly. But first I should like to know a little more about the details. We have time for that, I should imagine?"

"Certainly, Mr Pons," said Jamison gloomily.

"Whoever murdered Romaine Schneider will be miles away by now."

Pons held up his finger reprovingly.

"We do not know that, Inspector. And it is useless to speculate without sufficient data."

He looked across at me with satisfaction.

"And as the crime was committed only a few hours ago it means that the trail is fresh."

"You may well be right, Mr Pons," Jamison went on lugubriously.

"Come, Jamison," said Pons cheerfully. "I have never seen you so down. Pray favour us with some facts."

Jamison put his handkerchief away for the second time and frowned at me before turning his attention to my companion.

"A patrolling constable found the body of Mr Schneider at three o'clock this morning, Mr Pons. He saw the light from the skylight. Mr Schneider lived in a big house in the Vale of Health, which is just off Hampstead High Street."

"Yes, yes, Jamison," said Pons irritably. "I am tolerably familiar with the area. Get to the facts and leave the guide-book details to friend Parker here when he comes to write the case up."

He smiled wryly, ignoring Jamison's frown of discomfiture.

"Very well, Mr Pons," he continued in a weary voice. "P.c. Daniels would not normally have bothered about a solitary light at that time of the morning except that he knows the area; knows the house; and also knows that Mr Schneider rarely works by artificial light; and never after ten o'clock in the evening. He is a man of very fixed personal habits. Or was."

"I see."

Solar Pons' eyes were very steady and piercing as he stared at the Inspector.

"So he decided to investigate the light, Mr Pons. He did not want to arouse the house, which was in darkness. It is a Georgian building and he walked to the back, through the extensive garden to where the studio stands. It is a detached building of some size. It has a garage and store-rooms at the bottom and a timber staircase and balcony which give access to the studio on the first floor."

"I think I know the house, Pons," I put in. "Cheneys, is it not?"

Inspector Jamison nodded.

"Correct, Dr Parker. You have an excellent memory." "It is improving, Jamison," said Pons. "I give you that. You were saying?"

"Pc. Daniels walked up the stairs, Mr Pons, and knocked. He received no reply. The door was locked so he went around the verandah. There were thick curtains over the windows on the far side. What he saw through a chink in the coverings brought him back to the front where he broke the glass-panelled door in to gain admission. What he found inside made him so sick that he had to come out again for air."

"Heavens!" I exclaimed. "Shocking, was it?"

Jamison nodded.

"Horrible, doctor. Mr Schneider had been badly battered about the head with one of his own mallets as though by a maniac. So ferocious was the attack that there was blood all over the room; on the base of a statue on which he had been working; and the handle of the mallet itself, though of thick wood, had been clean snapped off. There were no finger-prints, as the murderer had worn gloves."

Solar Pons leaned forward in his chair, thin plumes of smoke from his pipe ascending to the sitting-room ceiling in the still June air.

"You intrigue me, Jamison. I take it the body is still in situ?"

Jamison nodded.

"Nothing has been disturbed, Mr Pons. Our own people have been there, of course, but we have used extreme care."

Solar Pons rubbed his thin hands together.

"Excellent, Jamison. To what conclusion did your constable come?"

"He very wisely telephoned his own station, Mr Pons, and the C.I.D. were soon out there under a very experienced man named Mooney. He got on to the Yard within the hour, not only because Schneider was such a famous man but because of the extraordinary circumstances."

"Pray tell me about them."

Jamison shrugged.

"I hardly know where to begin, Mr Pons. We did not arouse the household at that time of the morning and carried out our preliminary investigations as quietly as possible. Our police doctor confirmed that Schneider had died earlier that evening, of shock and haemorrhage when the skull was crushed with the blow. The door of the studio was locked and there was no key; we found no signs on the staircase or door that would indicate forcible entry. The skylight is more than twenty feet from the ground and was locked. Moreover, there are no other entrances and exits and the only key to the door known to be existence was in the dead man's waistcoat pocket."

"You intrigue me, Jamison."

"I am glad you are able to feel so light-hearted about it, Mr Pons. This, on top of all my other current cases, beats everything."

"If you did not rouse the household, how did you know that Schneider had the only key?"

Inspector Jamison looked smug.

"For the very good reason, Mr Pons, that we kept details of the house in a book at the local police station. It is standard routine where there is much valuable property on a particular premises. Mr Schneider asked our local people to keep an eye on the house and studio, and he always notifies them when he goes on holiday. They asked for a spare key but though he supplied them with one for the house he refused in the case of the studio, emphasising that he had the only one, which was never off his person."

"I see. What about the floor of the studio, Jamison?"

"We thought about that. Heavy tongued and grooved pine throughout, highly polished; with a platform for sitters up at one end."

"Hmm."

Solar Pons rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

"And the garage and store-rooms underneath?"

"Nothing, Mr Pons. I looked through the garage window with a torch soon after I arrived on the scene but it has a solid cement ceiling. So far as I can make out, the storehouses are crammed from floor to ceiling with crates and packing cases."

"So you have not yet apprised the household of Mr Schneider's death?"

"That is correct, Mr Pons. But my colleague, Inspector Buckfast, intended to do so. At a reasonable hour, of course, when the occupants were up and about. Mr Schneider was a bachelor and had only a secretary and housekeeper living on the premises."

Jamison glanced at his watch.

"He would have done so by now at any rate. And we may well learn more from them. Schneider had enemies, I should imagine."

Pons' face bore the alert and keen look that I had observed so often.

"Ah! Whom, for example?"

The Inspector shook his head.

"Every man in the artistic world and especially a preeminent man like Mr Schneider has them, Mr Pons. Ranging from critics to fellow artists."

Jamison had a self-satisfied expression on his features as he sat facing Pons and I could see my companion had a small crease of humour at each corner of his mouth.

"I am much obliged to you for the lecture, Inspector. I had no idea that you were so well-informed in such matters. But you no doubt discovered something in his studio to give you that impression?"

Inspector Jamison looked uncomfortable.

"Well, that is so, Mr Pons. I took the opportunity of perusing the brochure of Mr Schneider's current Exhibition while I was there. It had fully documented notes on his career."

Solar Pons smiled.

"You have been most frank, Jamison. It does you credit."

He looked across at me.

"Well, Parker, as it is your day off and you have nothing better to do, perhaps you would care to step around with me? It is not often that Inspector Jamison is at such a dead end and I am feeling unusually public-spirited on such a beautiful morning."

2

A short drive through relatively traffic-free streets brought us to the scene of the tragedy. We turned off Hampstead High Street and drove uphill for a short distance through the Vale of Health. The entrance to Cheneys was in a small lane and the house itself, trim and sparkling with white paint and yellow front door looked prosperous and cheerful across the soft arc of the green.

Jamison ordered the driver to stop a little distance away and we walked in the welcome shade of leafy trees up to a driveway which led down the side of the house. There was another police car parked nearby and a thin, sandy-haired man in a dark brown suit, with a worried expression on his face came hurrying down toward us as soon as we were seen.

"This business gets stranger every minute, Inspector," he said curtly.

His faded blue eyes looked curiously at us.

"This is Mr Solar Pons and his colleague, Dr Lyndon Parker," said Jamison by way of introduction. "My associate, Inspector Buckfast."

"Delighted to meet you both, gentlemen."

Buckfast's expression was cordial and friendly but the worried look remained. He fell into step with us as we walked along the side of the house, ignoring the salute of the constable stationed in the driveway.

"Something wrong?" queried Jamison.

The other man scratched his head.

"I went to the house about an hour ago. Apparently Schneider rented it to some people called Gantley six months ago. They have no connection with him. They have the use of the building below the studio but Schneider naturally retained the latter for himself. From what I gather Schneider suffered some financial reverses and decided to let. He himself now rents a smaller house on the other side of the Heath."

Jamison raised his eyebrows.

"That puts a different complexion on the matter. Have the Gantleys anything to tell us?"

Buckfast shook his head.

"They see Schneider come and go from time to time, of course. They were most helpful but they neither saw nor heard anything last night. I have not told them of the tragedy, of course. They think there has been a burglary."

Inspector Jamison nodded his head in satisfaction.

"I should like a look at the rest of the studio block, nevertheless."

"There is no difficulty about that. I have the keys." Jamison turned to us.

"Which would you like to see first, Mr Pons?"

"Oh, the studio, of course. The garage can come later, though I fancy it will tell us little if you have already examined it."

The studio block itself was a handsome, timbered structure, built of stone in rustic style for the lower portion and with mock Tudor beams in the upper. Jamison led the way up the wide teak staircase, pointing out the massive doors to the garage and store-rooms as we ascended. After a short distance the staircase turned at right-angles, terminating in a covered landing with glass windows.

A constable was on guard at the carved oak door and we went through into a large lobby which contained some coats and hats, together with dusty smocks hanging on pegs; a heavy door-mat; and some canes and walking sticks in a rack. There was a large, gilt-framed mirror, full-length, hanging on the far wall.

Jamison pushed open the inner door and we were soon able fully to realise the horror of the situation which had confronted P.c. Daniels in the small hours of the night.

The studio was a high, long room with white walls and oak beams set diagonally. It was lit from a vast circular skylight about twenty-five feet overhead and there were several hanging lamps of antique pattern but wired for electricity, suspended from the ceiling. The floor was made of heavy pine planking, as Jamison had said, and was evidently buttressed from the store-rooms below to take the enormous weight of the masses of sculpture set about on metal plates and in various stages of completion.

There was a large platform up at one end of the room, approached by shallow steps, and with a polished handrail round it. There was an easel on the platform and a drawing board with a hanging lamp above it. There was also a camera on a tripod but my eyes passed over all this at a glance.

Everyone who entered had riveted his gaze on the thing that was sprawled before a piece of white marble sculpture in front of the platform and just a few feet away. The beauty of the statue was in such marked contrast to the awful, bloodied creature lying in an agonised posture beneath it that I think we were all momentarily struck dumb. Even Pons' iron nerve was visibly shaken.

"Venus Aphrodite," he murmured. "This would have been an exquisite piece of work had its creator lived."

Inspector Jamison cleared his throat.

"I don't know about that, Mr Pons," he murmured. "But she is certainly a beautiful lady."

I caught the faint glimpse of a smile in the mocking glance Pons turned on me at the Inspector's gaucherie; that and the marvellous expression on the face of the naked goddess rising from the astonishingly sculptured spray had lightened the moment and I stepped forward briskly as Pons said, "Your department, Parker, I think."

I was already on my knees by the remains of Romaine Schneider. He lay with his knees drawn up, his arms outstretched. The fury of the attack had been so great that the whole of the front of the skull had been caved in; death must have been instantaneous. Blood was thickly encrusted on the hair and face and was running from the ears, eyes, mouth and nose.

Great gouts of blood were splashed for yards about the floor and up the base of the statue and the heavy wooden mallet with the broken handle which lay upon the planking was smeared with blood and brains.

I had difficulty in finding a suitable spot in which to kneel with safety but rapidly concluded my examination.

"I agree entirely with the police surgeon's conclusion, Pons," I said. "I can find nothing further."

I rose and dusted my trousers. Pons had already produced the powerful pocket lens, which he habitually carried, and was making a minute examination of the statue, the floor and the immediate area of the body. Jamison and Buckfast stood, a thoughtful group, at the edge of the platform and watched in silence.

Pons straightened up with a grunt.

"The murderer was a man over six feet tall; of enormous strength; but at the same time able to walk as quietly as a cat. The death of Schneider was obviously a matter of great urgency and carried out with technical precision. The motive, when it can be discovered, was so important that it was necessary to eliminate Schneider as rapidly as possible."

I glanced at the two detective officers who were standing open-mouthed upon the platform.

"Come, Pons," I protested. 'That the murderer was a man of enormous strength, is fairly obvious. But how do you arrive at your other conclusions?"

"It is surely elementary, Parker," said Solar Pons quietly. "From a careful examination of the body I estimate that Schneider was a man of some five feet eleven inches, perhaps six feet. The single shattering blow that snuffed his life struck him squarely on the crown of the head, carried on into the brain pan and caved in the front of the skull at the same time. To do that the man of normal height, were he tremendously strong, would have to stand upon a box or some form of support. No, Parker, the man who took Schneider's life would need to be at least six feet four inches in height to inflict such a blow. What say you, Jamison?"

The Inspector scratched his head.

"You are certainly correct, Mr Pons, now that you have pointed it out. We have established Mr Schneider's height as being five feet eleven."

Solar Pons gave me a thin smile as he turned back to look at the statue of Aphrodite.

"Very well, Pons. But the cat-like qualities?"

"The murderer came from the direction of the door, Parker. To do that he would have to walk a long way. It was obvious that Schneider was at work upon the statue, with his back to the door. Therefore, it was not until his attacker reached him that he became aware of his presence. Will you stand over here, Parker? There, that is correct. Your shadow, as you will notice, is now thrown across the base of the statue. Schneider whirled to receive the mallet blow upon the crown and front of the head. He died instantly."

"That is undoubtedly right, Mr Pons," said Inspector Buckfast quietly. "But how did his attacker escape?"

"We have yet to establish that, Inspector. But it is obvious that he walked back toward the door. And equally obvious that he dried his shoes at a point here. There was a light rain last night."

Pons walked rapidly to a spot below the railed platform where the two police officers stood and examined the planking minutely with his lens.

"Here, you see, he has wiped his shoes upon the planks. When they were sufficiently dry to leave no marks, he then left. Let us just see .. ."

Pons moved from board to board, his movements intent and bird-like, his ascetic face alight with concentration. Impressed despite themselves, Jamison and Buckfast remained silent.

"There is a little dust but not enough," said Pons presently, rising from his bent posture. "The traces become illegible halfway between the door and the platform."

He glanced upward at the skylight far above our heads.

"It is possible that he was lowered by a rope from above, though unlikely. We shall want that skylight carefully examined, Jamison."

"We have already done so, Mr Pons."

"I am aware of that. But the operative word is carefully. I suggest it was done cursorily in the early hours of this morning. Incidentally, why was not Pc. Daniels aware that Schneider had let his house and moved?"

"I have already asked him that, Mr Pons. He is on nights and would not have been aware of any such move. He usually saw Schneider at the studio or thereabouts. Daniels was sometimes in the habit of trying the studio door in the small hours on his beat."

"Hmm."

Pons stood frowning, tugging at the lobe of his right ear as was his habit in moments of great concentration.

"You have not yet told us why the act was so important, Pons, and how you arrived at the conclusion that Schneider had to be eliminated as soon as possible."

Solar Pons turned his piercing glance upon me.

"Tut, Parker, it is self-evident. Learn to use your own ratiocinative faculties. The blow proves that. One colossal, shattering stroke that extinguished life in a second. Schneider had to be killed as quickly as possible.

That stands out clearly. The murderer obviously seized the nearest tool to hand; the mallet undoubtedly came from this table here, halfway between the door and the statue."

"You are right, Pons, as always," I muttered.

Solar Pons smiled thinly.

"Right on this occasion, Parker. I am not always so, as I would be the first to admit."

"But could it not have been jealousy or some mad rage, Pons?"

My friend shook his head.

"A jealous rival you mean? A feud in the artistic world? It is barely possible. A person in a mad rage would have gone on battering at the body long after life was extinct. But this was one devastating blow. One would say a clean blow if it had not left such an abattoir-like aftermath."

He looked round with distaste, turning his gaze up to the two silent men in front of us.

"You are right in one thing, Jamison. This is a case which presents a number of baffling aspects. We will just look at the store-rooms below before questioning the occupants of the house."

3

"There is little to see here, Pons."

"I am inclined to agree with you, my dear Parker. But even a negative result tends to eliminate the possibility of error."

We stood in the garage below the studio, Inspector Jamison gloomily behind us. Inspector Buckfast had excused himself and gone back to Cheneys to warn the occupants of our impending arrival.

As Jamison had already told us, the roof of the garage was made of metal girders and cement and there was obviously no way into the studio from the ground. As I moved aimlessly about the interior, noting the Rolls Royce Silver Ghost and the other opulent touring car in the interior, my mind was overcome by the obvious difficulties in reconciling the facts of Romaine Schneider's death. There was no way into the studio; there was no reason to believe there had ever been a second key to the front door; and Pons had already ascertained that the door in question had not been tampered with.

Even as the thought crossed my mind there was a shadow at the garage entrance and a plain-clothes man reported to Inspector Jamison, "The skylight has obviously not been opened for years, sir. It is secured with  heavy bolts from the inside and when we tried to open it, we found the framing screwed down."

Inspector Jamison thanked his subordinate and turned to Pons, his lugubrious features even more grave.

"It just gets more difficult, Mr Pons."

"On the contrary, light is beginning to show, Jamison. By blocking it out we must eventually arrive at one compact beam which will illuminate the truth for us."

Jamison frowned at me.

"Very picturesquely put, Mr Pons. Let us just hope you are right."

He led the way through a connecting door in the wall of the garage to a large storage area on the right. This was divided into brick bays and the place was, as Jamison had already told us, jammed from floor to ceiling with crates and boxes. Pons looked keenly about him in the shadowy light. It was difficult to see the thick pine boarding but it was evident that the ceiling was solid and heavy. Moreover, the crates in the bays extended to within an inch or so of the woodwork overhead.

"Just as I told you, Mr Pons," said the Inspector.

"What is in these boxes, Inspector?"

"I understand from Buckfast that Colonel Gantley, the gentleman who has leased Cheneys, is an antique dealer and importer of curios. Some of the stuff is very valuable, according to Buckfast; while other material is Oriental workmanship of no very great value imported into the country for the Colonel's business. He has a shop in Hampstead High Street, which was why he wanted to move nearer his premises."

"Just so," said Pons languidly, looking through half-closed eyes at the legends stencilled on the wooden boxes immediately in front of us.

"The gentleman certainly seems to have very extensive sources, Parker. Hong Kong, Manila, Singapore, Peking and Hangkow are just a few of the names I see before me."

He stepped round a bundle of straw and looked sharply at a small porcelain Buddha which had been unpacked on a rough wooden bench.

"Rather charming work, wouldn't you say so, Parker?" "Excellent, Pons," I agreed.

Indeed, the workmanship was first-rate and I was surprised to see that the label bore a price of only seven guineas.

"It is astonishingly cheap, Pons."

"Is it not, Parker. But then labour is plentiful in the East, as you are no doubt aware."

"I should not mind that on the mantel at 7B, Pons."

"As you say, Parker, a nice piece. No doubt you may make the Colonel an offer for it when we see him in a moment."

Pons moved away and as he did so his shoe made a harsh, gritty noise on the cement floor of the storeroom. Jamison had already turned back to the open air as the thin form of a man came hurrying down the garden toward us, visible through the half-open door. To my astonishment Pons was on his knees, scraping with his finger-nails at some white substance on the cement.

My amazement was increased when I saw him tentatively taste it with the extreme tip of his tongue. He put his hand back in his pocket, turned to me and then we were walking up the garden to meet the hurrying figure, before I had time to make any comment on this strange behaviour.

Colonel Gantley turned out to be a tall, fussy-looking man in his early sixties with whitening hair and a frayed silver moustache. He had deep furrows at the corners of his mouth that made his yellow face look like something out of one of those plays set on tropical islands which were becoming the vogue in the West End. He wore a lightweight drill suit with military-style buttons and his brown eyes twinkled benevolently from behind silver-rimmed spectacles.

"A disturbing business, gentlemen," he said briskly, as Jamison introduced us. "I hope that nothing has been stolen from my premises."

"They were all secure, sir," said the Inspector. "And thank you for letting us look around."

"Always anxious to assist the police," said the Colonel, clasping my companion by the hand. "Mr Solar Pons. It is a pleasure, my dear sir. But you are surely not interested in this trifling affair of my neighbour's burglary?"

Pons gave a dry laugh.

"Not at all, Colonel. I am assisting the police in another matter and needing to consult Inspector Jamison, was told I could find him here."

"I see. Well, I am at your disposal, gentlemen, but I do not think I shall be of much help."

"One never knows," said Jamison mildly. "You heard nothing at all during the night, I understand?"

"Nothing, Inspector. But then I am a very heavy sleeper and my room is at the side of the house. Of course, anyone could have approached the studio by way of the drive. The gates are never locked. Mr Schneider sometimes leaves at a late hour. I hear his car during the night on occasion."

"Indeed," said Pons casually.

We were strolling back down the garden now in the bright sunlight, the faint hum of traffic coming from the main road which passed through the Vale of Health.

"You have not contacted Mr Schneider, then?" said Colonel Gantley.

Inspector Jamison shook his head.

"We have rung his house, of course. But I understand from his secretary that Mr Schneider is away at present."

"I see. Well, I hope you catch your man. Now, if there is nothing further, I must get back to my business."

"By all means, Colonel. I am sorry to have taken your time."

We shook hands with the Colonel and watched as he strode back down the driveway to where his car was parked in the side road. A few moments later its engine faded into the general traffic noise.

"So much for that, Pons," I observed.

Solar Pons had been silent, idly drawing patterns in the dust at his feet with the toe of his shoe.

"As you say, Parker."

Jamison frowned, screwing up his eyes against the strong light.

"What next, Mr Pons?"

"I really think a call at Mr Schneider's private residence is indicated, Jamison."

"Just as you say, Mr Pons."

Schneider's new address proved to be a narrow-chested three-storey house of mellow red brick, just off the bustle of Hampstead High Street. The brass fittings of the red front door sparkled in the sunlight and in the small front garden I recognised a granite phoenix created by Schneider, which had once been exhibited at the Paris Exposition.

The door was opened for us by Inspector Buckfast, who had preceded his colleague. He jerked his thumb back over his shoulder.

"I have just told his secretary, Godfrey Horrabin. He has taken it badly. The housekeeper, Mrs Biggins, is resting in her room."

Jamison nodded without speaking and a moment later Buckfast led the way down a thickly carpeted corridor to a well-appointed study where the secretary was waiting.

Godfrey Horrabin turned out to be a dark-haired man of about thirty, with an ashen-white face and full lips from which the colour had now fled. He rose from his employer's desk as we entered and I then realised he was of an enormous height, well over six feet tall. I shot a significant glance at Pons but he appeared to be occupied in looking about him at the contents of the study as Buckfast introduced us.

"I am sorry, gentlemen, but this has been a dreadful shock. A dreadful shock."

Horrabin slumped back into his chair and passed a handkerchief over his face. Pons sat down opposite him at the other side of the desk and looked at him sympathetically.

"I quite understand, Mr Horrabin. These things tend to fell one at the time. You'll forgive me, Jamison, for asking the questions."

"Go ahead, Mr Pons."

Jamison and I sat down in padded leather chairs which were set near the desk and I looked round curiously as Horrabin fought to control his feelings.

"You have been with Mr Schneider how long?"

"For the past five years, Mr Pons."

"So that you know him and his habits fairly well?" "As well as anyone could, I should imagine."

The secretary replaced the handkerchief in the breast pocket of his blue jacket and appeared more composed.

"Was he a tempestuous man? One who would have made many enemies in the course of his career?"

The secretary gave a faint smile which momentarily lightened his features.

"Like most artists he was extremely temperamental. He had been involved in some tremendous arguments and on occasion in actual physical violence."

Pons' eyes were fixed on the secretary's face. He tented his fingers before him and leaned back in his chair, his whole figure expressing dynamic energy.

"Tell me about it, Mr Horrabin."

The secretary shrugged.

"It is a well-known story, Mr Pons. A famous rivalry between two sculptors. I have known them take each other's mallets and actually demolish portions of each other's work with which they were offended."

"Indeed."

Solar Pons' eyes were sparkling now.

"You are referring to Sir Hercules Kronfeld, I take it?"

Horrabin looked surprised.

"You knew about it, Mr Pons?"

My friend chuckled.

"One could hardly avoid it. I would not say that the world of sculpture is one with which I am entirely au fait. But I do read the newspapers assiduously and I do seem to remember an item about two years ago when the couple were engaged in a fracas at the Paris Salon."

"You are perfectly right, Mr Pons. They were once good friends but their rivalry developed to such an extent that one could say that only hatred kept them together."

"An extremely apt summing-up," said Solar Pons. "And one that might well apply to many marriages. Eh, Parker?"

"No doubt you are right, Pons."

Solar Pons cupped his lean fingers round his right knee and rocked to and fro as he regarded the secretary keenly.

"You have opened up a fruitful field for investigation, Mr Horrabin. Are there any other people to whom you would particularly wish to draw my attention?"

The secretary shook his head.

"I cannot think of any, Mr Pons. There were a number of rows, of course. Various critics and journalists displeased Mr Schneider from time to time. But the feud with Sir Hercules is the one which stands out."

Pons nodded, tugging at the lobe of his right ear.

"Is Sir Hercules in London, do you know?"

"I believe so, Mr Pons. He actually telephoned Mr Schneider a few days ago. He lives in Chelsea. I will get you the address."

"Thank you, Mr Horrabin. And now, if you will excuse us, I would just like to look around this study for half an hour or so."

"Certainly, Mr Pons. You have only to ring that but- ton there if you require my services. It is connected directly with my quarters."

He pointed to a brass bell-push set into the surface of the desk and quitted the room. Solar Pons sat quietly for a moment, before searching in his pocket for his pipe. He turned to the Inspector as he lit it.

"What do you make of that, Jamison?"

The Inspector wrinkled his brow. The three of us were alone in the room now, Inspector Buckfast having left us at the door. I could see him through the window, painstakingly quartering the garden outside, scrutinising every inch of pathway and turf.

"You mean his size, Mr Pons?"

Jamison's face lightened for the first time since he had requested Pons' help.

"Well, he is certainly big enough, Mr Pons. He fits the bill."

"I did not say he did it, Inspector. But it is a possibility which we must not overlook. It is motive which interests me at the moment. And after all, London is full of men who are more than six feet tall. It is the ones who have been in contact with Mr Schneider who interest us. What say you, Parker?"

"Just what I was thinking, Pons."

Solar Pons smiled faintly.

"You are ever the receptive listener, Parker. That is an invaluable quality and one consistently underrated by the world."

"You are too good today, Pons."

"It is the weather, Parker. I find the combination of such a day and a case of this complexity irresistible."

Inspector Jamison threw up his hands and looked at me helplessly but Pons was already on his feet, his smile intensified, as he went rapidly back and forth across the shelves of the dead man's study.

We waited silently as he continued with his examination. He paused in front of a row of letter files and lifted one out. He put it down with a grunt and started to go through the contents. Soon he had three open on the desk before him. He threw a bundle of envelopes over to me.

"What do you make of those, Parker?"

I scanned the contents with rising agitation, passing them to Jamison before I finished.

"Why, these are love-letters, Pons!" I said with indignation. "And not to put too fine a point on it, the dead man sounds an unmitigated swine!"

"Does he not, Parker," said Solar Pons with a dry chuckle. "Letters from a wide variety of different women, most of them with a grudge. And significantly, the studio has been used as a rendezvous, it seems clear."

"A deplorable business, Pons."

Solar Pons pulled at the lobe of his left ear and regarded me thoughtfully.

"You take an altogether too moralistic view of the world, Parker, if you do not mind me saying so. An artist of Mr Schneider's calibre and one barely into his fifties would be bound to attract the attention of women. A famous name is like a magnet to a certain type of feminine personality."

"For a bachelor you seem to know quite a bit about it, Mr Pons," put in Jamison sourly.

Creases of amusement appeared at the corners of Solar Pons' mouth.

"A touch, a distinct touch, Jamison," he murmured. "But as Dr Johnson once said, a man does not have to be a carpenter to criticise a table. These letters raise a number of interesting possibilities."

I stared at Pons as he went on sifting through the correspondence in the files on the desk before him.

"Surely, Pons," I began. "You do not mean to say a woman committed this crime?"

Solar Pons shook his head.

"I hardly think so, Parker. It is not a woman's type of crime. The female mind is far more subtle, which is why we have so many lady poisoners in the annals of murder.

And I hardly think a woman would have had the strength to strike Schneider in that fashion. She would have had to have been an Amazon indeed. And as I have already indicated, there would have been a multiplicity of blows in the case of a jealous rage. Even Inspector Jamison here referred to a battering when he consulted me. Yet we have one blow only."

"That was an error on my part, Mr Pons," Jamison put in. "It is still difficult for me to believe such damage could be inflicted on the human frame with a single stroke."

Solar Pons put the files back on the shelves and sat down at the desk.

"Nevertheless, these letters are of considerable interest."

Light broke in.

"You mean a jealous husband might have killed his wife's lover, Pons!"

"It is not outside the bounds of possibility, Parker. I have not yet made up my mind. But now, if you are ready, Inspector, we shall see what Sir Hercules Kronfeld has to say for himself."

4

Our destination was one of those tall, elegant and extremely expensive houses in Cheyne Walk, which command a magnificent view of the Thames frontage and Chelsea Bridge from the topmost windows. Our driver pulled in from the traffic stream and we walked up the leafy crescent to a large house in the middle which, to gather from the white trellis-work sparkling in the sunshine, boasted an extensive roof-garden.

"Sir Hercules appears to live in some style, Pons," I observed.

"Does he not, Parker. It would seem that his star is in the ascendant whereas, if Colonel Gantley's information be correct, Mr Schneider's was waning. If not from an artistic, certainly from a financial point of view."

"It is often the case, Pons, in the world of the arts."

"You astonish me with your knowledge of such matters, Parker," said Solar Pons gravely.

His ring at the front door bell brought a trim little maid in her early twenties, an appealing sight with her lace collar and cuffs and bobbed dark hair; and we were speedily shown through an elegant suite of rooms to Sir Hercules' studio. This was a large, spacious room on the second floor with a huge skylight and large oval window to admit the north light.

Sir Hercules himself was a gigantic figure with a beard heavily flecked with grey. Contrary to my expectations he was elegantly dressed in a light grey suit and blue bow-tie and his fresh complexion and careful grooming completely belied the conventional picture of the artist. He was leaning carelessly against a winged female nude, evidently one of his own works, while he carried on a murmured conversation with an elegant young man with patent leather hair and a soulful expression.

As we were announced he excused himself to his companion and came striding down the room toward us. So massive was he that the studio seemed to tremble as he advanced. Solar Pons' eyes had a mild twinkle as he gazed at the Inspector. Sir Hercules Kronfeld was close to us now, looking from one to the other with an inquiring expression on his face. He gave a wry chuckle.

"My accountant."

He jerked his thumb in the direction of the figure by the statue. "All the same these young fellows nowadays. They seem to think we're in this for art's sake."

He chuckled again and pumped Inspector Jamison's hand.

"Pleased to meet you, Inspector, though I don't know why I should be so honoured."

"I am sorry for the intrusion, Sir Hercules. This is Mr Solar Pons and Dr Lyndon Parker."

The deep brown eyes swivelled and studied us closely. "It is always interesting for a master in one field to meet a maitre in another, Mr Pons."

"You are too good, Sir Hercules."

"We will not keep you a moment, sir," Inspector Jamison broke in without further preamble. "We have come in the matter of Romaine Schneider."

Sir Hercules Kronfeld looked at the Inspector in silence for a moment. His manner was distinctly cooler and little flecks of anger were dancing in his eyes.

"I do not care to hear anything of that unmitigated charlatan, Inspector, and I will thank you not to mention that man's name within the walls of my house." Jamison reddened but pressed on stolidly.

"I'm afraid we're going to have to mention it, Sir Hercules. This is a Scotland Yard matter."

"Oh."

There was intense curiosity on the sculptor's face.

"What has he been up to now? I should be glad to hear you are on the point of arresting him but that is too much to hope for."

"You did not like him, then, Sir Hercules?"

"I? I detest him."

"You need do so no longer," interrupted Solar Pons quietly. "He has been murdered in the most brutal and horrifying manner."

A remarkable change had come over Sir Hercules. Pons' words seemed visibly to deflate him. He staggered, his face went white and he moved over toward a wooden stand supporting one of his sculptures, bracing himself with a thick, fleshy hand. His lips moved once or twice but he was unable to articulate the words.

"It seems to be a shock to you," went on Solar Pons calmly. "I have often observed that the removal of an object of hatred may be as traumatic as that of a loved one."

Sir Hercules had recovered himself by now. He cleared his throat harshly.

"Forgive me, gentlemen," he murmured. "It was a shock, I must admit. I hardly know what to say."

"You are unable to help us, then, in the matter of Mr Schneider's death?" muttered Jamison.

Sir Hercules fixed him with a stern glance.

"I? How on earth could I help? I have not even seen him for three months."

"A pity," the Inspector went on. "I had hoped you might have thrown some light on the matter."

"You must disabuse yourself of that, Inspector. Like me, Schneider had many enemies. It is inevitable in the art world, I am afraid. How did he die?"

"Struck on the head with tremendous force with one of his own mallets. His skull was completely shattered and he must have expired instantaneously."

Sir Hercules Kronfeld drew in his breath with a shuddering sigh.

"Horrible, Inspector. Just horrible. I did not think I could feel so drained."

"I am sorry to be the first to bring you the news. Have you anyone in mind who might have done this dreadful thing?"

Sir Hercules, obviously moved, now had his back turned but faced us again. His lips were trembling and his features were still bleached of all colour.

"No-one, Inspector. He had no specific enemies that I know of."

He gave a short, cynical laugh.

"Except myself."

"Pray do not punish yourself, Sir Hercules," said Pons quietly.

The sculptor shot him a shrewd glance.

"You are a remarkable man, Mr Pons. I can see that the true situation has not escaped you."

Pons smiled wryly.

"We have many examples in the arts. Gilbert and Sullivan in more recent times, of course."

Inspector Jamison had watched this exchange with obvious bewilderment.

"I do not see how this helps us, Mr Pons," he said heavily.

"Of course not, Inspector," said Solar Pons. "We must be going. We can do no good here and I am sure Sir Hercules has much to occupy him."

He rested his hand lightly on the sculptor's shoulder as he passed. Sir Hercules recollected himself with an effort.

"Good day, gentlemen. You will forgive me for not showing you out."

We were silent as we walked back through the house, preceded by the same parlour-maid who had let us in.

"Well, Mr Pons," said Inspector Jamison as we regained the street. "A giant of a man. One with strength enough and opportunity enough to commit such a crime. I shall have him carefully watched."

Solar Pons raised his eyebrows.

'Take my advice, Jamison, and direct your attention elsewhere," he advised.

Jamison frowned.

"Come, Mr Pons," he said heavily. "You are not omniscient. We know Sir Hercules and the dead man were bitter enemies. There is reason enough for the committing of such a crime, surely ..."

"You have still to explain how Sir Hercules got in and out of that studio like a puff of smoke, Jamison. It really will not do."

Jamison's face assumed a stubborn aspect which I knew of old.

"Nevertheless, Mr Pons, you must allow me to pursue this affair in my own way."

"Certainly, Inspector. That is your prerogative. I think we have done all we can for the moment, Parker. Allow us to bid you good day, Jamison."

5

"What do you make of it, Parker?"

We were seated in our comfortable sitting-room at 7B Praed Street. Pons had been silent for the last hour, after the tea-things had been cleared away, and the upper air of the room was blue with pipe-smoke.

"You already know my feelings, Pons. It is baffling indeed."

"Nevertheless, I should like to have the benefit of your observations in the matter."

I put down my newspaper and regarded my companion sceptically but there was nothing but concerned interest in his face. Beams of evening sunlight, striking through the windows that overlooked Praed Street, made a scarlet mask of his face as he waited for my reply.

"We have no motive, Pons."

"Exactly."

"We have a studio which was locked and to and from which no-one apparently came or went.

"The salient points have not escaped you, my dear fellow."

"The murderer, according to your conclusions, must have been over six feet tall."

"Agreed."

"His greatest enemy, Sir Hercules, fits that physical description."

"So do a great many men."

"His secretary, Godfrey Horrabin, for example, Pons?"

Solar Pons gave a dry chuckle and looked at me mockingly.

"You now have two suspects, Parker. I suspect we may find a third—or even a fourth—before this case is over."

He rose, stretched himself and walked casually across toward the window.

"Are you free to accompany me this evening?" "Certainly, Pons."

Pons came back from the window and sat down again.

"It is a pity it does not get dark until almost ten o'clock at this time of the year. It would be better to go there after dark. It would not do to let Colonel Gantley see us in his garden at night. He might suspect us of being burglars."

"What on earth are you talking about, Pons?"

"Nothing, Parker. It is just that I have a mind to look at that studio again. I fancy Jamison will not have the body removed until after dark. Discretion is one of the virtues of the British police, after all."

"But how will we get in, Pons?"

"I took an impression of the key when we were at the studio this morning, Parker. I have had it made up this afternoon."

I stared at Pons in astonishment.

"I fail to see ..."

"You fail to see, my dear fellow, because you do not draw the correct conclusions from the data before you. You remember the letters we found in Schneider's study?"

"It will be a long time before I forget them, Pons." "Exactly. Yet those letters told you nothing?"

"That the sculptor was a cad and an unscrupulous cheat where women were concerned."

"Tut, Parker. We are not concerned with moral strictures. Murder has been done."

"I realise that, Pons."

"The studio was a quiet, discreet place. Schneider was not known to use it at night. He sculptured female nudes there. And he would not give the key to his local police-station."

I stared at my companion for a long moment.

"I see your reasoning, Pons, but I cannot quite grasp the conclusion."

Solar Pons made an irritated clicking noise with his tongue.

"I am bluntly suggesting that Schneider, a successful and well-known sculptor was quite patently a secret womaniser on an heroic scale. What more likely rendezvous for his amorous intrigues than the studio?"

"I follow that Pons, but where does that lead us?"

Solar Pons' face expressed sorrowful resignation.

"The studio is altogether too open and simple, like the face of an ingenuous man. There has to be something else beneath it. What more likely than a secret entrance so that his lady friends could come and go without being suspected? And also that they might be kept from seeing one another if one ever came to the front door? Or their husbands. Do I make myself clear?"

I gulped.

"Good heavens, Pons. It is crystal clear, now that you put it like that, The skylight, perhaps .. ."

Solar Pons laughed. It was not an unkind laugh but it cut nevertheless.

"We must look to the ground, not skywards, Parker. Though it seems unlikely from the solid construction of the studio, there must be a way in from below."

"Ah, the garage?"

Pons shook his head.

"The ceiling was of solid cement. Most likely the storeroom."

I smiled.

"You mean that Schneider's style was cramped by his letting Cheneys to Colonel Gantley? Necessity compelled him to do so. Perhaps he hoped to continue his liaisons but the stacking of the crates for the Colonel's business prevented the use of the secret entrance?"

"It may well be," said Pons airily. "There are a number of intriguing possibilities. Linked, I have no doubt, with the extortionately high rent charged by Schneider for his house."

"I do not follow you, Pons."

"It would not be the first time, Parker. Nevertheless, while going through Schneider's papers today I found some interesting documents, obviously overlooked by Jamison and his colleagues. The late Romaine Schneider was charging the Colonel one hundred pounds a week for the use of Cheneys."

I stared at my companion in stupefaction.

"You cannot mean it, Pons?"

"The figures are there, in black and white, Parker. Intriguing, is it not? However, I suggest we set off. A walk in this agreeable weather will not come amiss. It should be dark by the time we arrive."

A few minutes later, having apprised Mrs Johnson of our departure, we were walking through the streets of London in the pleasant warmth of a perfect summer evening. It was cool in the shadows of the buildings after the intense heat of the day and my spirits rose as we walked up Gloucester Road in the direction of Hampstead. Traffic was light at this time of the evening and there was a good sprinkling of cyclists so that dust, the plague of the London summer, was at a minimum.

Solar Pons strode out at a great pace, discoursing on a wide variety of topics and I listened with interest, interpolating a question or a monosyllabic remark from time to time. So absorbed were we that I hardly notice the closing in of dusk but the lamps had just been lit when we at last turned into Hampstead High Street and on to the Vale of Health.

To my surprise Pons stepped aside and led me to a public house, where a few chairs and benches were set outside on the green turf. It was a cool and pleasant spot indeed and we sipped our pewter tankards of cold cider with pleasure while we waited for the last of the light to die from the sky. There were but a few bars of blood red lingering in the west and the hill was a lime-yellow glow of gas-lights before Pons rose from his seat and started off across the turf.

I was at his heels as he circled round, keeping a sharp eye on Cheneys in its quiet cul-de-sac. There were lights in the upper rooms of the house but so far as I could make out, the studio building at the rear was in darkness.

"Is this likely to be dangerous, Pons?" I asked, as we gained the road at the far side of the green and continued our walk onwards.

"Most decidedly, Parker, if my calculations be correct," said Pons.

"The police appear to have withdrawn and conditions are ideal."

"For what, Pons?"

"For our purposes, my dear fellow."

"Perhaps I should have brought my revolver?"

"I had not overlooked it, Parker. Thinking that you might need it I took the liberty of bringing it along."

And Solar Pons produced the weapon from the inside of his jacket pocket with a thin smile.

"Really, Pons!" I protested, thrusting it into my pocket. "I sometimes think you must be clairvoyant."

"Hardly, Parker. Merely thoughtful, but I do sympathise with your feelings."

We had turned again now and I was aware of a gigantic figure silhouetted against the gas-lamps in front of us.

"Good evening, Mr Pons. Thought I might find you here, sir."

The police constable touched the peak of his helmet and came to a stop in front of us. So huge was he that he towered over Solar Pons, despite his own not inconsiderable height.

"Ah, Pc. Daniels, is it not? The man who found the body?"

"Nasty business, Mr Pons. I understood from Inspector Jamison that you had been consulted. I have not seen you, sir, since that murderous affair in Paddington. Right on your own doorstep."

"Ah, the anarchists," said Pons, his keen eyes searching the giant's face. "I have not forgotten your services on that occasion. And in any event your remarkable physique makes you a difficult man to forget."

The constable laughed shortly. He was a man of about thirty with a heavy black moustache which stood out like a great bar of shadow on his alert, intelligent face.

"I must admit there are not many things I fear on night beat, Mr Pons, but that business of Mr Schneider gave me a nasty turn."

"I can well imagine, constable. Tell me, has the body yet been removed?"

"Not twenty minutes since, Mr Pons. You have just missed Inspector Jamison. Did you wish to gain entry to the studio, sir? The Inspector has the only key."

"It is no matter, Daniels. I was merely mulling over some problems in my mind. By the bye, I have not yet seen anything of the murder in the early editions this afternoon?"

The constable shook his head.

"It is being handled very discreetly, Mr Pons. Inspector Jamison had not made any announcement as yet, though I have no doubt the newspapers will have got hold of it by this time tomorrow."

"No doubt. Well, I must not keep you, Daniels. Goodnight to you."

"Goodnight, sir."

The constable touched the brim of his helmet again and moved off in the dusk, like an amiable but potentially dangerous bear. I looked after him thoughtfully, conscious of Pons' eyes on me.

"Formidable is he not, Parker?"

"Yes, Pons. Gracious, you surely do not suspect him of the crime?"

"It has been done before, Parker. Notably in a work by G.K. Chesterton. But I do not think that nature is imitating art in this case. I am merely pointing out that we begin to have a plethora of huge men on this case. Daniels is the third. Perhaps we may have more luck with the fourth."

"I am becoming more and more confused, Pons," I said. "One would have thought the singularity of the crime in the locked studio, let alone the height of the murderer, would have simplified matters. Instead, we have a multiplicity of suspects."

Pons chuckled drily.

"Have we not, Parker. But I think light is about to break."

6

And he said nothing more until we had skirted the bright windows of Cheneys and were standing within the deep shadow of the back garden. We cautiously crossed the lawn and once again came out on the paved concourse fronting the garage and store-room block below the studio. The moon was shining brightly and reflected a metallic sheen from the great domed skylight of the studio.

"I would give a great deal to have been at that skylight when Schneider was attacked, Pons," I whispered. Solar Pons nodded.

"Each to his own last, my dear fellow. You would have robbed me of a most fascinating problem had you done so."

He put his hand on my arm and drew me over toward the garage door. To my surprise he produced a metal instrument from his pocket and bent over the padlock. A minute or two passed and then there was a faint click. Pons turned to me.

"Now, inside with you, Parker and be quiet about it."

I slipped through the door and waited until he had softly closed it behind us, leaving the padlock hanging from the hasp outside.

"I thought we were going into the studio, Pons," I whispered.

"Later, Parker. You forget the crates in here. It would not do to wreck the Colonel's precious imports." I nodded, following close behind as Pons tip-toed through the garage, past the bulky forms of the two automobiles it contained. As we had seen that morning, there was a connecting door to the store-room, which was unlocked. Solar Pons led the way to the far wall and gazed up through the gloom at the piled boxes which climbed toward the ceiling.

"This will be a difficult job, Pons."

My companion shook his head.

"I think not, Parker, if my suppositions be correct. Just place that large box at the foot here, will you."

I helped him slide the crate over. Solar Pons fingered the lobe of his left ear and looked at me reflectively in the gloom.

"Just as I thought, my dear fellow. A natural staircase."

I soon saw what he meant, for he simply marched up the slope of heavy boxes, which were arranged in tiers, rather like steps. I followed and joined him on the topmost crates.

"What now, Pons?"

"Nothing could be simpler, Parker."

So saying he pulled at the large boxes in front of him and which stretched from the crates to the ceiling. I gasped, for the enormous pile, at least ten feet high, came away with the utmost ease, Pons holding the lowest easily between the tips of his fingers. He chuckled at my expression.

"As I suspected. Mere cardboard, Parker, glued together. You will see that there is nothing between the crates on which we are standing and the floor yonder. Just help me with these other piles."

In a few minutes we had removed all four piles of boxes, and placed them lower down. We now had a clear space from floor to ceiling, revealing a large expanse of concrete at the rear of the wooden crates. Pons glanced keenly at the slated wooden ceiling revealed.

"We can learn nothing further here, Parker. The answer must lie in the studio above. Come."

Gaining the outside and first making sure that there was no-one else in the garden, Pons crept quietly up the staircase to the studio. I followed quickly, just in time to see the lean form of my friend glide through the door, which he had swiftly opened with the duplicate key. I moved toward the light switch but Pons instantly stopped me.

"I think not, Parker. It is annoying, I know and will make the task doubly tedious but we must work without the benefit of the main light."

He moved over cautiously through the studio into which silvery moonlight was filtering from the skylight above. The body of the unfortunate sculptor had been removed, as Pc. Daniels had told us, but the tarpaulin which covered the spot where he had lain and the gouts of blood upon the statue of Venus Aphrodite were a vivid reminder of the brooding horror of that moment when we had first entered the chamber of death.

Pons had a small flash-light out now and was moving cautiously across the planking of the floor. To my surprise he ignored the main studio and went up the shallow staircase to the platform where the easel stood. Pons remained musing for a moment, his right hand stroking his chin, while the beam from his torch played quickly up and down the flooring.

"Why do you feel any entrance must be here, Pons?" I whispered.

"Simply because there is no other place, Parker," said Solar Pons. "The crates below are solid, except for those we have just moved. The corner of the cleared area corresponds to this platform here. Besides, the buttressed sections below would not allow it."

"I saw no buttresses, Pons."

"Because you were not looking for them, my dear fellow. There were several steel beams, against which boxes and crates had been stacked for the purposes of Colonel Gantley's antique business. We must not forget the enormous weight of these sculptures."

"But I cannot possibly see how there could be an entrance, Pons. As we have just noted the ceiling below here is solid."

Solar Pons turned to me. In the dim light of the torch his eyes were twinkling.

"I have already pointed out, Parker, there must be an entrance. Otherwise, Romaine Schneider would still be alive. You really must learn to eliminate all inessentials."

He turned from me and gave an experimental tug on the cord by which the overhead light was suspended. Satisfied, he moved over to the polished wooden railing that surrounded the platform and examined it carefully. When he had concluded his scrutiny he turned to the camera and tripod. He next went over the floor, section by section. All this took more than twenty minutes and I must confess my heart sank as the time passed without his discovering anything out of the ordinary.

He straightened up eventually and dusted the knees of his trousers. I was surprised to see an expression of alert excitement on his features.

"This does not bode well, Pons?"

"On the contrary, it tells me everything, Parker."

He moved over to the heavy wooden easel which stood in one corner. There was no canvas on it and I would not have given it a second glance. But as Pons grasped it he gave an exclamation of satisfaction.

"As I suspected, Parker. The whole thing is fastened to the floor."

"To the floor, Pons?"

"Yes, Parker. If I am not much mistaken it is used as a lever. Just hold the torch will you and stand close by me."

I took the flashlight from him and steadied it up on the wooden structure. Pons bent to it with a grunt. His hands moved about, seeking a purchase and then he had thrown his whole weight against it as though it were a point-lever in a railway signal cabin.

"There is a counter-weight, evidently," he said thoughtfully as there came a perceptible rumble. I was so startled that I almost dropped the torch when a black hole suddenly appeared in the flooring of the platform, growing longer until it reached almost to my feet.

"Brilliantly ingenious," said Solar Pons, taking the torch from me and casting its beam down the stairwell.

"As you will see the boarding was not tongue and groove up here, but fitted flush. It was the only possible explanation to the mystery."

I now saw that the heavy pine planks of the floor had separated to form steps; they were held from beneath by flat pieces of metal screwed to them and which from below I had taken as strengthening bands for the ceiling. The whole thing resembled nothing so much as a gigantic piece of trellis-work.

"But why all this elaboration, Pons?"

"Supposing some of Mr Schneider's lady-friends were illustrious names, who could not afford a scandal, Parker. What simpler than the pretence of renting a garage in this quiet spot. The lady could simply drive her car in, lock the door behind her and ascend to the studio from the interior of the store-room and no-one the wiser."

I gazed at Pons in mute admiration.

"You are undoubtedly right. You knew this all the time, Pons!"

Solar Pons slowly shook his head.

"I knew there had to be an entrance. The motive for it did not cross my mind until we found those letters in Schneider's study."

He put his hand on my arm, his head on one side.

"Have your revolver ready, friend Parker. Something is moving in the garage below. I fancy I have just heard the outer door softly close. Take no chances but if you have to shoot try to wound rather than kill. I will just get to the light-switch yonder."

He moved silently away, extinguishing the torch. I had the revolver in my hand when the staircase trembled to a furious tread and a gigantic shadow rushed toward me in the bleached moonlight.

7

There was a savage cry which made my nerves jump but my hand was steady enough as I levelled the revolver. The huge figure reached the top of the stairs and turned toward me with incredible speed, the heavy mass of timber held threateningly over its head.

"For heaven's sake, man!"

Pons' voice, crisp and incisive rang out as there came the click of the light-switch and the studio was bathed in incandescence. I stood as though paralysed but I came to myself at Pons' cry.

"Fire for your life, Parker!"

The vast man with the yellow face distorted with hatred was almost on me when I squeezed the trigger. He grunted and turned aside, scarlet spreading on his shoulder. I jumped back to the edge of the platform as he fell with a crash, the heavy billet of wood flying from his hand. Pons was beside me in a flash, pinning the fallen giant.

"Help me with this rope, Parker. A flesh wound only, I fancy, but he will be formidable indeed when he recovers from the shock."

I swiftly helped him to pinion our prisoner's hands and when we had secured him, I urged him up with the revolver. The heavy yellow face was sullen, the eyes burning viciously with pain and anger.

"Take no chances, Parker," said Pons coolly. "If he tries anything further shoot him in the leg."

The Chinese, who was dressed in blue chauffeur’s livery, with white gloves, turned to Pons.

"I do not understand."

"I think you understand well enough," said Pons equably.

He helped the groaning man into an armchair which stood just below the platform. He crossed over to me to take the revolver.

"Now, Parker. Your department, I think."

He covered the Chinese while I made a rapid examination and roughly bandaged the wound with my handkerchief. I pressed it back and bound it with an old trunk strap I found in a corner of the room.

"A flesh wound only, Pons. It has gone right through."

Pons smiled slightly.

"You have been fortunate, my friend. Dr Parker here is an excellent shot. Though I fear you have been spared merely to provide work for the hangman."

The chauffeur shook his head stubbornly.

"I do not understand. I see light. Think burglars."

Solar Pons' smile widened.

"I think not. It really will not do. This man is undoubtedly the murderer of Romaine Schneider, Parker.

Though obviously the tool of others."

"I do not understand, Pons."

"You will in due course, Parker. We are nearly at the end of the road. But here, for a start, is the big man we were looking for."

"He is certainly that, Pons."

"Is he not?"

Solar Pons had a mocking smile on his face.

"We will just have a few words with his employer."

"His employer, Pons?"

"Certainly. Colonel Gantley."

I stared at Solar Pons in puzzlement.

"Come, Parker. It does not take very much reasoning. This is Colonel Gantley's chauffeur and general factotum or I will give up any title to whatever reputation my modest talents have earned me."

"But what has Colonel Gantley to do with this, Pons?"

"Everything, Parker. He pays one hundred pounds a week for Cheneys, as a start. And by the time we have crossed the strip of lawn which separates this studio from the house, I shall no doubt have thought up a few more questions for him."

He prodded the bound giant to his feet. With me following behind we descended the outer stairs of the studio and picked our way through the garden to where the lights of the Colonel's house burned dimly before us.

A dark-clad servant answered Pons' insistent ringing at the bell and stared in disbelief at the bloodstained form of the groaning chauffeur.

"Kindly announce us to your master," commanded Solar Pons.

As the man still stood there Pons pushed him aside unceremoniously,

"On second thoughts we will announce, ourselves. Where is the Colonel?"

"In the drawing room, sir," the man stammered.

But our dramatic entrance had already been heard and before we were halfway across the luxuriously appointed hallway with its hanging brass lantern, a mahogany door on the far side opened and Colonel Gandey came out, his hair shining silver in the lamplight.

"What is the meaning of this outrageous violation of privacy, sir?"

"It means, Colonel Gantley, that your little charade is over. Unless you wish the entire household to hear, I advise that we adjourn somewhere private to talk."

The Colonel's face was suffused with rage as he took in the state of the chauffeur.

"Chang! What have you been up to?"

Then a shock passed across his face. It was cleverly done but I could have sworn he was acting.

"Why, it's Mr Pons, is it not? We met this morning." "You would have a short memory indeed, Colonel, if you had forgotten already."

The Colonel was leading the way into the drawing room. A tall, dark man who was sitting near the fireplace with a glass of brandy in his hand made as though to jump to his feet but the Colonel signalled to him with a lowering of the eyelids and he relaxed on to the divan again.

'This is my associate, Mr Belding."

Solar Pons inclined his head curtly and turned back to our reluctant host.

"You will be pleased to hear that we have found the man responsible for the death of Romaine Schneider, Colonel. Your chauffeur here."

Colonel Gantley gasped and took a step toward the big Chinese, who stood with impassive, if pain-wracked features.

"Romaine Schneider? Murdered? How terrible!"

"I said nothing about a murder, Colonel," said Pons blandly. "Though I see you know all about it. Remarkable in view of the fact that we mentioned only a burglary."

The Colonel's face went ashen and he made a choking noise. The man by the fireplace leapt up but I already had my revolver out.

"I think not," said Solar Pons gently. "Dr Parker here is a crack shot and we have already had enough violence for one evening. If you have a weapon in your inside pocket there, Mr Belding, I sincerely advise you to drop it."

Colonel Gantley's forehead was beaded with sweat and he seemed to sag suddenly.

"Do as Mr Pons says," he advised his colleague. "Pray collect it, Parker. I will look after these two.

Now, Colonel Gantley, I urge you to make a clean breast of things. You are already an accessory to murder and the other charges I will prefer should assure you at least twenty years in prison. It is in your interest to cooperate."

I took the heavy calibre pistol from the dark-haired man and motioned him over to join Gantley and the Chinese on a divan at the other side of the fireplace. Gandey sank into the cushions and passed a handkerchief over his face.

"I see it is useless to dissemble, Mr Pons. Just what exactly do you know?"

"That is better, Colonel Gantley," said Solar Pons crisply. "When there is truth between us, we may progress. If you assist the authorities in this matter, they may be inclined toward leniency. Otherwise, I can promise nothing."

A groan trickled out from beneath Gantley's tight-pressed fingers.

"You are right, Mr Pons. I did know about Schneider's murder. But I want you to believe I had nothing to do with it; it was not ordered by me and I was appalled and horrified when I learned what Chang had done."

Solar Pons' expression was grim and stern as he looked down at the abject figure of the Colonel.

"I am inclined to believe you And it may be that you have been more of a dupe than anything else, though there is little excuse for you. You have been engaged in a foul and inhuman trade and must take the consequences."

"I do not understand, Pons," I began, when my friend silenced me with a gesture.

"Realise, Colonel Gandey," he went on. "I can promise nothing, though my recommendation to the police authorities might carry some weight if I were able to present them with a watertight case."

We were interrupted at that moment by a loud rapping at the door.

"Are you all right, Colonel? Do you wish me to call the police, sir?"

"Certainly not!"

The Colonel's voice was a strangled squawk and Solar Pons gave me a thin smile as the Colonel hurried over toward the door. I noticed he remained close behind him while I kept my pistol trained upon the second man before me. There was a muffled colloquy at the door and then Gantley was back.

"I will tell you everything. I hardly know where to begin, Mr Pons."

"Let me tell you what I have learned, Colonel. Then you can fill in the missing pieces."

"Very well, sir."

Solar Pons went over to stand at a point midway between the two men. He made a subtle gesture to me with the thin fingers of his left hand and so I continued to cover the dark man, Belding. The chauffeur, Chang, sat silent and impassive, nursing his wound, his face white despite his yellow pigmentation. His eyes burned vindictively into mine.

Solar Pons faced me in a contemplative mood and began to speak to me as though we were alone at 7B Praed Street.

"There were two baffling mysteries about this case, Parker. The murder of Romaine Schneider in a sealed room and the lack of motive. You now know how the murderer gained access."

"But I still do not know why, Pons."

"Precisely, Parker. I shall proceed to tell you if I am allowed freedom from interruption. The puzzle in the sealed room was the method of entry and exit. There had to be one because the murderer could not just vanish into thin air. He had also to be a huge man, as I had already demonstrated because Romaine Schneider was about six feet tall and had been hit squarely upon the crown of the head with shattering force. As the skylight, the obviously solid walls and the main door were ruled out for the reasons we have already discussed, there remained only the flooring.

"I had already noticed from the building below that it would have been impossible for anyone to have gained entry from the garage as it had a solid cement ceiling. That left only the store-room and a number of interesting possibilities emerged. There were various buttresses and pillars which, to my mind, ruled out a staircase in that portion of the building. It had to be a staircase or ladder because of the height of the studio from the ground. There was only one possible place and I immediately saw that it corresponded with the position of the raised platform in the studio above."

Solar Pons paused and looked at the crushed form of Colonel Gantley with glittering eyes. The man Belding held himself coiled tightly like a spring but I held the revolver ready and the expression on my face evidently deterred him.

"You may recall that I paid particular attention to the studio flooring, Parker. And that I found traces of the murderer which petered out near the foot of the shallow stairs leading to the platform. That merely reinforced my suspicions and I soon saw that though the floor was apparently solid, there were faint cracks between the pine planking at various points, instead of the tongue and groove joints which obtained elsewhere. I was convinced that an entrance would be found there and so it proved. We then had the problem of why the staircase existed and who had used it.

"I had only to see Godfrey Horrabin and Sir Hercules Kronfeld to eliminate them from my inquiries. Though both physically fitted the requirements it was obvious, from the frank and open way in which he answered my questions and my reading of his character, that Horrabin would not have destroyed his own livelihood as the dead man's secretary. Similarly, Kronfeld was genuinely moved at his old enemy's death; as I observed, there was a similar love-hate relationship between Gilbert and

Sullivan. Sir Hercules had been a personal friend until the two men quarrelled; in my opinion the feud between the two men, real or supposed, added salt to life for both.

"Two vital pieces of information emerged from my examination of Schneider's study, both of which had been overlooked by Jamison. Or rather, no proper conclusions had been drawn from them. The existence of the staircase which led only to the store-room and garage was far more plausible when it became clear that the dead sculptor was a notorious womaniser. Discretion was assured when a woman had only to drive her car into the garage, using a key supplied by Schneider, and gain access to the studio secretly and privately by using the staircase.

"Though we have not had time to find it, there is obviously a button or some mechanism down below which operates the thing from the store-room. The motive for the crime was supplied by my finding among Schneider's papers that Colonel Gantley here was paying the incredible sum of £100 a week for the privilege of renting Cheneys. It would have to be a profitable antique business indeed which could support such an outlay."

Colonel Gantley gave another groan and turned a haggard face toward Pons.

"Shall I tell you why Colonel Gantley paid Schneider one hundred pounds a week, Parker?"

I nodded.

"Because so much money was being made by the Colonel and his associates that money was no object. There were certain pressures on them and they had to get a respectable address with storage facilities immediately."

Colonel Gantley nodded.

"The police had just raided our headquarters in Lime-house, Mr Pons. I had instructions from above to evacuate all our supplies from Deptford. I brought them here just in time."

Solar Pons nodded, tapping tobacco into the bowl of is pipe.

"I suspected something of the sort. I remembered the newspaper reports a short while ago. And my suspicions became aroused when I saw the crates which had come from such places as Hong Kong and other cities in the far East."

"I wish I knew what you were talking about, Pons," protested.

"Tut, Parker, it was a simple deduction," said Solar Pons, lighting his pipe. "Following the murder some of the crates had been hastily moved and part of the contents spilled. You may remember I tasted some white powder which was on the floor. As a doctor, Parker, he implications should have been obvious."

"Drugs, Pons!"

"Of course, my dear fellow. Cocaine and opium, mainly, I should imagine. Hong Kong is one of the great Tearing houses for the trade in the Far East. Furthermore, all the crates we saw were marked with red stars. felt certain in my mind that these would be sure to contain genuine antiques or souvenirs. Colonel Gantley sere was only a tool, part of a large ring. I have a shrewd suspicion who was at the centre of the web."

"I beg of you, Mr Pons," said Gantley, in a shaking voice. He looked quickly at Belding, bit his lip and turned away again.

"But what has all this to do with the murder, Pons?" "Everything, Parker. Let me just reconstruct the mater. Romaine Schneider was in financial difficulties, we already know. He decided to let his house and rent a less expensive one. He was naturally delighted when colonel Gantley turned up at the estate agents and made us extravagant offer. But may we not conjecture that her some weeks of tenancy, his curiosity got the better of him? Why was an antique dealer like Colonel Gantley, a man with a relatively modest income, so keen to pay one hundred pounds a week?

"Why did he store so many things from the Far East inside the rooms below the studio? And why did he  employ Chinese almost exclusively among his outside staff. That was so, was it not, Colonel Gantley?"

"You are guessing, Mr Pons, I imagine. But you are right, yes. A number of Chinese have been here. I have told my superiors about it, but these men are expert; at the trade. Mr Belding was their supervisor."

"You fool!"

Belding had sprung up with a white face before I could stop him and struck the Colonel in the mouth. caught the dark man across the skull with the barrel o my pistol and he dropped noiselessly on to the divan.

"Well done, Parker," said Pons drily. "I see that your reflexes have lost nothing of their hair-trigger reaction You had best examine him. I do not think we need fear trouble from Colonel Gantley."

I gave the dark man a cursory examination while Pons took the pistol and covered the chauffeur.

"He will be out for half an hour, Pons," I said.

"Excellent. That should be time enough. Where was I? Ah, yes, Romaine Schneider's fatal curiosity. As the months went by the movements and actions of his intriguing neighbours aroused his suspicions. Two night: ago he stayed in his studio after dark, keeping all the lights off.

"When he judged it was safe, he let down the stair case. I submit he had already looked through the store room window and noted that there were no crates in the area beneath. He crept down in the dark and made a thorough examination. What he discovered we shall never know. But the contents of the warehouse went so vitally important that the intruder could not be allowed to live. Or that was the reasoning of this mar here."

Pons looked at the sullen Chinese thoughtfully.

"I fancy we shall hear nothing from his own lips. He is certainly inscrutable enough for that, though there is enough circumstantial evidence to ensure him the hangman's rope. Schneider was in the store-room when he heard a sound. It might have been the Colonel's car returning. At any rate Schneider, thoroughly frightened, ran back up the staircase and regained the studio.

"He dare not return the staircase to its original position because of the noise. He decided on boldness. He put on the light in his studio as though he had just come in and started work on one of his sculptures. Unfortunately for him the Chinese must have seen the light shining down through the staircase and went to investigate. He saw at once how things were and being a man of action took the decision into his own hands to eliminate Schneider.

"He crept quietly up the staircase—perhaps under cover of the car engine he had left running below—and struck Schneider down from behind with his own mallet. He then retreated to the ground floor and informed the Colonel of his action."

"Brilliant, Pons," I said.

"It is a reconstruction only, Parker," returned Solar Pons. "We shall need the Colonel's verification."

"It is correct in every detail, Mr Pons," said Colonel Gantley, looking at my companion with something like awe. He had a handkerchief to his face and stanched the blood from his cut lip.

"Of course, my horror at the crime can be imagined, but it was all too late. We made a thorough search of the store-room and found a small lever at floor level which operates the staircase from below. After I had made an examination of the studio and made sure there was nothing incriminating left behind, we put the stairs back, left the lights on and piled up crates and boxes to ceiling level. We spent another hour in removing the remaining drugs to the cellar of this house."

"You did admirably under the circumstances," said

Solar Pons ironically. "I am sure you will correct any details in which I have gone wrong."

Colonel Gantley shook his head.

"I have only myself to blame, Mr Pons. Easy money was my downfall, as it has been for so many others. I had been cashiered from the Indian Army. I returned to the old country but nothing I touched prospered. I started an antique business but that was foundering. I was desperate for ready money when I met Belding in a public house one evening about a year ago.

"He told me of a way I could make money and I slowly became enmeshed. My business, which had legitimate contacts in the East was useful, you see, and the men behind the trade found I provided a respectable facade. There is no excuse for me, I know; I have helped to ruin countless lives—and now this."

"There is one way you can redeem yourself," said Solar Pons, a stern look upon his features. "The names and addresses of every contact and as many men as possible higher up in the organization."

Gantley shook his head.

"Belding was my only major contact. And the Chinese we employed. I will give what help I can."

"Be sure that you do."

Solar Pons stood deep in thought for a moment, pulling gently at the lobe of his left ear, while a thin column of blue smoke ascended from his pipe to the ceiling.

"It was too much to hope for, Parker. As I said before, the trembling of the web, but the spider remains concealed in the shadow."

"You surely do not mean your old enemy, Pons?" I cried.

"It is possible, Parker. No crime is too despicable for that scoundrel. And he would need such enormous profits as that generated by the drugs trade to fuel his infamous criminal empire. Just ring Jamison, will you? We must make sure he has not inadvertently arrested Sir Hercules or Schneider's unfortunate secretary."

8

"It was a remarkable case, Pons."

"Was it not, Parker?"

We were at lunch in our comfortable sitting-room at 7B Praed Street a week later and Mrs Johnson had just brought the midday post up. It was a beautiful June day and the window curtains stirred gently in the cooling breeze. Pons chuckled and passed me a copy of the Daily Telegraph. I found a large item on the front page ringed ready for cutting out and pasting into the book in which he kept records of his cases.

"Jamison has redeemed himself. At least one drugs ring has been smashed and a stop put paid to the traffic in that quarter. Belding himself led to some of those higher up. It was more than might have been hoped for."

"Thanks to you, Pons."

Solar Pons smiled wryly.

"Ah, Parker, you were ever generous in your evaluation of my work. In my humble way I seek to alleviate some of the ills of mankind."

"You have certainly done a good deal here, Pons," I said.

Solar Pons shook his head.

"It is just plugging holes in the dyke, Parker. There is such great profit in this foul trade that it is almost impossible to stamp out. One does what one can. My major satisfaction in this particular case is that the Doctor has been robbed of considerable profit in the matter. You will see that Heathfield, through Jamison, has made a clean sweep of the Limehouse area, and now that Gantley, Belding and the Chinese are going for trial, this will mean a considerable, if temporary setback, in the Doctor's plans."

"I do not see how you can be so sure about his part in this, Pons?"

"One develops a sixth sense, Parker. Hullo. Here is something interesting. Post-marked Switzerland, I see."

He tore open the thin blue envelope which Mrs Johnson had just brought up with the other letters. He studied it in silence, his eyes narrowed. Then he put it down with a low chuckle.

"Talk of the Devil, Parker."

"What is it, Pons?"

By way of answer he passed the single sheet of paper the envelope contained across to me. It bore just two lines, written in block capitals with a thin-nibbed pen.

MR PONS—YOUR ROUND, I THINK. WE SHALL MEET AGAIN.

F.

Solar Pons sat back at the table and lit his pipe.

"He is the most dangerous man in Europe, Parker. I would give a great deal to have netted him."

And his eyes looked beyond the homely commons of our room and gazed bleakly into the void.

Murder at the Zoo

1

"GOOD EVENING, PARKER!"

"Good evening, Pons!"

Solar Pons shook the droplets of water from his greatcoat and stamped his feet, his lean, feral face wearing a humorous expression. It was a foul, foggy evening in late November, and to make matters worse the capital was shrouded in a weeping rain that seemed to penetrate to one's very bones with its coldness. I had spent a frustrating day on my round of patients and had been very glad to come in at six o'clock and take refuge in our comfortable quarters at 7B Praed Street.

It was now turned seven and I was pleased to see Pons for I knew that Mrs Johnson, our amiable landlady, was delaying our evening meal until his arrival. I had not missed the ironic tone in Pons' voice with its implied commentary on the day and the subtle reference to the pending meal and now I vacated my comfortable chair and came forward to help my friend out of his soaked hat and coat.

"Thank you, Parker. As usual, you are a model of thoughtfulness and consideration."

"Good of you to say so, Pons. You won't mind me mentioning it, but you look as though you had just come out of a particularly muddy section of the line on the Ypres Salient."

Solar Pons laughed, drawing close to the fire and watching the steam ascend from the toe-caps of his stout boots.

"You are not so far short of the truth, Parker. I have been down to Hoxton ferreting about on the site of a new housing estate. The swindles of Jabez Wilson are about to be put a term to. The mud and debris on the site was somewhat reminiscent of the late war, I must say. If you will just give me a few minutes to change my suit and clean up a little, Mrs Johnson may serve as soon as she likes."

"Excellent, Pons."

I went down to acquaint Mrs Johnson with the gist of Pons' message and when I returned, my companion was restored to his immaculate self. He sat in his favourite armchair, his lean fingers tented before him, and stared reflectively at the dancing firelight in the grate.

"Might there be some notes for me in this business, Pons?" I asked.

My companion smiled.

"I fear not, Parker. It is too mundane for your chronicles and though The Adventure of the Hoxton Builder might raise considerable expectation in the reader, I fear it would fall far short of your best efforts in the field. Though Scotland Yard will be glad to learn that Mr Wilson is in the net."

We were interrupted at that moment by the entry of our landlady with a large tray containing a wide assortment of steaming dish-covers, from which came a variety of enticing aromas. We did full justice to our supper and when we had pushed back our plates and poured the coffee I was beginning to take a more sanguine view of the world.

Solar Pons, his empty pipe in his mouth, was absorbed in the evening paper and there was an agreeable silence between us for half an hour. Eventually he threw down the newspaper with an exclamation of disgust.

"This zoo business is intriguing, Parker, but the press has got hold of the wrong end of the stick."

"I have not seen it, Pons."

"The item is there, my dear fellow. It has been running for some weeks. I am convinced there is more to it than meets the eye. But you know the penchant the yellow press has for distortion and sensationalism."

"Come, Pons," I said, laughing. "You will be guilty of the very same fault of which you accuse your clients. I do not know the first thing about the matter."

Solar Pons smiled thinly and stroked his chin in a manner which had long become familiar to me.

"I apologise unreservedly, Parker. I always keep abreast of the criminal news and I must confess I sometimes forget that others do not always share my somewhat esoteric interests. You will find most of the salient features in this evening's journal, though pathetically tuppence coloured."

There was indeed a huge heading I saw, as I picked up the newspaper which Pons had laid down. The article was blazoned: GROTESQUE MYSTERY AT ZOO. Is There a Phantom at Work?

I read it with increasing interest. The gist of it was as follows. It appeared that a mysterious night-time intruder at the Zoological Gardens at Regent's Park had been leaving a trail of havoc behind him. The events had begun in October when a nocturnal prowler had opened monkey cages and chimpanzees and monkeys had run riot throughout the night. An incident the following week was more serious, when a Bengal tigress had been loosed from the Lion House.

"What might have been tragedy for the keepers when the first came on duty in the early morning, was narrowly averted when the Head Keeper, Norman Stebbins, an exceptionally strong man, came to the aid of his colleague. He held the main doors by sheer strength until help summoned. The beast was eventually netted and re-captured."

"A fine effort, Pons," I commented anent Stebbins' feat. "Putting his arm through in place of the door-bar like that."

"Indeed, Parker. Another case of nature imitating art." "I do not follow, Pons."

"Mr Stebbins would appear to have followed the example set by Kate Barlass, Parker."

My companion laughed at the blank incomprehension on my face.

"No matter, Parker. Pray continue."

I read on with mounting bewilderment. The events certainly seemed weird and disconnected. Other animals had been let loose, including ostriches and in one case, a rhinoceros. Damage to property and danger to life had been the principal features here though only one man, an under-keeper named Billings, had been slightly injured.

"The people at the Zoo have been extremely lucky, Pons," I commented, folding the paper.

"Have they not, Parker. What do you make of it?"

"I have not yet finished the item, Pons, but there seems little point in any of it, unless some member of the public has a grudge against the Zoo authorities."

"That is a possibility we must not overlook."

I looked at my companion sharply.

"You talk as though you expect to be retained in the matter, Pons."

"I must confess I am inordinately interested."

I read on in silence for another minute or so.

"This business of the spiders in the tropical house, Pons, is loathsome in the extreme. The Head Keeper had another narrow escape there."

"Did he not?"

"It is bizarre and inexplicable, Pons. I see that there is no evidence that any of the entrances or gates to the Zoological Gardens have been tampered with. Though the person who entered the Tropical House broke a glass door in order to do so, before letting those dreadful creatures escape. And locks on cages were smashed."

Solar Pons rubbed his thin hands together and picked up his coffee cup with an expression of enthusiasm dancing in his eyes.

"The police are completely baffled, Pons."

"I am not surprised to hear you say so."

"It says here," I went on, reading from the newspaper. " 'Public alarm is growing and the activities of what has come to be called The Phantom of the Zoo are becoming more bold and daring. Already life has been endangered and it is only a question of time before a fatality occurs. The cunningness of the Phantom . ..' "

"Pschaw, Parker," said Solar Pons, interrupting rudely. "Pray spare me the rubbishy fulminations of the popular press. This is all very well for the romantic shopgirl or the more lurid manifestations of the cinema, but we continue to apply the ratiocinative processes at 7B. As I have observed before, this agency stands foursquare upon the ground."

"That is all very well, Pons," said I, re-folding the paper and passing it back to him. "You have often remarked to me that such remarkable mysteries cannot be solved at long distance. And if you have not been retained, I do not see . . ."

"There is no mystery to be solved," said Solar Pons calmly. "Or, to be more precise, we can discount these rubbishy stories of Phantoms and prowlers of the night. A human hand is at work here, opening cages, throwing back bolts, breaking windows. That goes without saying. The method of entry to the Gardens is a little more interesting but not difficult for the right person. It is the motive which interests me. Human nature is one of the most fascinating of studies, Parker. I commend it to you."

"I am not entirely insulated from human nature in my profession, Pons," I commented somewhat stiffly. Solar Pons smiled wryly.

"Touché, Parker. It was not my intention to give offence. But you have not yet looked at the Stop-Press."

I again picked up the paper from the table and turned to the item at the bottom right-hand corner of the front page, which he had underlined.

I read: EARLY ARREST EXPECTED. Scotland Yard announced tonight they expect early arrest of Phantom of the Zoo. See story Page 1.

"That would appear to be the end of the matter, Pons." "We shall see, Parker, we shall see," said Pons, an enigmatic smile on his face.

As he spoke there came an imperative rapping at the front door, followed by an agitated ringing of the bell. A minute or two later Mrs Johnson's well-scrubbed face with its heavy coils of hair, appeared round the door.

"A young man to see you, Mr Pons. He is in a dreadful state. He says it is about the Phantom of the Zoo."

2

Pons looked at me in silence for a moment, a slightly mocking expression in his eyes.

"Show him in, Mrs Johnson," he said swiftly. "Pray do not go, Parker. I may have need of your commonsense and ready wit."

"You do me too much honour, Pons," I mumbled, stewing my chair round so that I could command a better view of the door.

A young man of about twenty-eight entered, with tousled fair curly hair. He was roughly-dressed in a dark blue uniform but there was an air of such honesty and decency about him, notwithstanding his haggard and distraught expression, that I warmed to him immediately. He looked from one to the other of us, then unerringly made for Solar Pons and held out his hand as though in mute appeal.

"Mr Solar Pons? I am in most desperate trouble, sir. I do not know which way to turn."

Solar Pons looked at him with a reassuring expression.

"Do not disturb yourself, young man. Sit down there. No doubt a cup of coffee would not come amiss on such a cold evening. If you would just do the honours, Mrs Johnson."

Our landlady bustled about the table, making sure our guest was settled comfortably before she withdrew to the privacy of her own quarters. The young man was silent for a moment after she had quitted the room, his thick, spatulate fingers gripped convulsively round the cup as he took long, deep draughts of the black coffee. "I do not seem to have caught your name," said my companion when our visitor seemed a little more himself.

"I am sorry, sir. This business has fair thrown me, Mr Pons. And now that I am suspected, my life is not worth the living."

He gazed fiercely at us for a moment and then relaxed again.

"My name is John Hardcastle, gentlemen. I'm an under-keeper at the Lion House at the Zoological Gardens, where all these terrible things have been going on."

"Indeed," said Solar Pons, a twinkle in his eyes. "This is my friend and colleague, Dr Lyndon Parker. I take it you have no objection to him hearing your little story?"

Our visitor shook his head.

"By no means. It takes some believing, sir, but I ask you to believe I am innocent."

"Come, Hardcastle," said Pons in a soothing voice. "Drink your coffee, have another and proceed with your story in a connected manner, if you please."

We both waited while Hardcastle poured himself more coffee with a hand that trembled slightly, despite himself. "You've read the stories in the papers, Mr Pons?"

"I am au fait with the salient points. Just exactly how you come to be connected with this affair is not quite clear at present. You are employed at the Zoo, as you have already told me. You are an old soldier; have seen much fighting in France where your health was broken; you have been wounded; and you are fond of pigeons; but these facts tell me little about your present problems."

Our visitor stared at Pons open-mouthed, his coffee cup half raised from the saucer.

"Good heavens, Mr Pons, the staff at the Zoo told me about you. They said you were some kind of magician, but I do not see how you could possibly know all these things."

"They are true, then?"

"Near enough, Mr Pons. But how ..."

"It was simple enough," said Solar Pons, giving me a mischievous little glance.

"You are a young man of some twenty-eight years, of vigorous aspect and in rude health, apart from your current agitation, yet your face is marked by illness. By your age it follows therefore that you would have served in the late conflict, as zoo-keeping was not a reserved occupation, to the best of my recollection."

"Correct, Mr Pons."

"Yet I noticed as you came through the door that you had a slight limp in your left leg. It was the merest conjecture, but I immediately concluded that you had been wounded in the war. When I see a scrap of wound ribbon on your uniform jacket there, my conclusion is confirmed. When I see next to it the ribbon of the Mons Star, it is no great feat of reasoning to deduce that you were in the infantry and had seen heavy fighting."

"Again correct in every respect, Mr Pons," said our visitor, awe and bewilderment on his frank, open face.

"I was a corporal in the Coldstreams. Lucky all through the war but caught some shrapnel in the leg only three months from the Armistice. I had trench-fever too and incipient tuberculosis and was laid up for a long time after the war, though I am fit enough now."

"I am glad to hear it," I put in. "As a medical man, my diagnosis exactly."

"You are ever reliable, Parker," said Solar Pons gravely.

"But the pigeons, Pons?"

"Ah, that was the purest flight of fancy, Parker. Mr

Hardcastle has some cuts on his left hand. That may have something to do with his work in the Lion House, though I am sure he would not be careless enough to get within striking distance of his charges. But I noticed a series of minute red scratches on the first finger of his right hand. Only a pigeon-fancier gets those. The birds perch and slight on the right hand and sometimes their sharp claws may inflict tiny scratches. It would take a deal of time to collect such a finger as our young friend there."

"That is so, Mr Pons," said Hardcastle.

"There is no tripping you, Pons," I complained bitterly. Solar Pons laughed shortly.

"I am far from infallible, Parker. But we stray from the point."

"I am not a rich man, Mr Pons," said our visitor anxiously. "I do not know what your fee would be .. ."

"Tut, man, let us not quibble about trifles," said Solar Pons impatiently. "You need not worry on that score.

If a case interests me I sometimes remit my fee altogether. And this one promises a maximum of interest. Pray proceed without further delay."

Some of the colour was coming back to the young keeper's cheeks. He looked a fine, manly figure in his tight-fitting uniform as he sat opposite, twisting his peaked cap shyly in his strong, capable hands.

"They all think I'm guilty, Mr Pons," he said quietly. "Even my girl, Alice. The only one who believes in me is the Head Keeper and the man in charge of the Lion House, Mr Hodgson. He has been most helpful. You see, Mr Pons, almost everyone at the Zoo thinks I did all these terrible things like letting Sheba out. Not to mention the damage."

He swallowed nervously. Then, encouraged by Pons' reassuring look, he went on.

"I love the work there, Mr Pons. I wouldn't do anything to harm the Zoo, the animals or the visitors. Let alone my colleagues. But they found things in my locker.

I don't know exactly what. Someone called the police, you see. I only heard about it in a roundabout way. My girl Alice came round early this morning to warn me. So I cut out. I wandered about all day. Then I remembered what I'd heard about you and decided to ask your help."

Solar Pons shook his head.

"Unwise, Hardcastle," he said gently. "It was the worst thing you could have done. If the police suspect you, as you suggest, and wish to interview you, they will find you soon enough."

There was dismay on the young man's face.

"I am sorry, Mr Pons. I probably lost my head. I felt trapped, you see."

"I understand the feeling," I said sympathetically. "But Mr Pons is right. We must go straight to the Zoo. We will both support you."

"Hold fast, Parker," said Pons with a light laugh. "I make allowances for your enthusiasm, my dear fellow, but this is my case and I dictate the conditions. I have not even agreed to take it as yet."

"I beg your pardon, Pons," I said apologetically. "I naturally assumed . . ."

Solar Pons held up his hand and Hardcastle, who had been rising to his feet, subsided gently in his chair.

"Do not concern yourselves. I have decided to take the case. Unless I am a worse judge of character than I imagine, Mr Hardcastle is a transparently honest man. But I have not yet finished my questions."

He got up briskly.

"Now, Hardcastle, cast your mind back. I want to know more about these incidents; what your movements were; and particularly what things were found in your locker."

He glanced at the clock in the corner.

"There is nothing to be gained by a visit to the Zoo at this hour of the evening. The premises will be closed and the authorities will not welcome us. There will be time enough tomorrow. But a visit to the police is an entirely different matter. We must make contact with them tonight and have our story ready. Superintendent Heathfield, I think. Scotland Yard are already engaged in the matter."

He turned back to me.

"Now, Parker, I am sorry to turn you out again but I would be grateful if you would hail a cab. I will finish questioning Hardcastle here en route to the Yard."

3

When I returned to 7B Pons was already dressed for the street and our client was wearing a suit of gleaming oilskins which Mrs Johnson had hung on a peg in the hall. Pons flung me a glance of approval.

"Hardcastle has just been telling me about the material discovered in his locker. An axe which had been used to smash a kiosk, fragments of wood still on it; some red paint similar to that which daubed a restaurant wall a few weeks ago; duplicate keys to some of the animal houses; a pair of gloves covered with paint-stains."

I stared at Pons sombrely.

"It looks bad on the face of it, Pons."

"Does it not, Parker. But there is a factor of great significance."

He smiled reassuringly at Hardcastle's doleful face as we descended the stairs to the lower hall.

"And what is that Pons?"

"There is no key to Hardcastle's locker and in fact none of the lockers belonging to the staff of the Lion House are ever locked."

"I fail to see the importance, Pons."

"Tut, Parker. Use your ratiocinative processes. If the locker had been secured things would have looked black.

But in such a situation anyone could have placed the material there."

"I see, Pons. Of course."

Solar Pons stroked his ear with a thin finger.

"In fact, assuming Hardcastle's innocence, I have never heard of such a fatuous and clumsy attempt to implicate anyone. But it gives rise to some intriguing possibilities.

There is a good deal more here than meets the eye. It is a pity you cannot remember more about the incriminating material in your locker, Hardcastle. I appreciate you heard most of the details from your young lady, but you should have paid closer attention."

"I am afraid I was too agitated at the time," said our client apologetically.

He led the way down the steps to where the taxi waited and a few moments later we were lurching through the fog and rain toward our destination. On arrival at Scotland Yard Solar Pons sent up his card and we were rapidly shown to a discreet room on the third floor where Superintendent Stanley Heathfield had his office. He himself rose from his desk as a plain-clothes officer showed us in, his eyes gleaming with pleasure.

"You know Dr Parker, of course," said Solar Pons casually. "This young man is a client of mine. I will introduce him presently."

"As you wish, Mr Pons."

Superintendent Heathfield waved us into comfortable chairs and went back to sit at his desk. A number of sporting prints in gilt frames were hung on the green-painted walls of his room and a gas fire burned comfortably in the grate.

"You are working late, Superintendent."

"You know very well this is our usual routine, Mr Pons. Fencing for information, are you?"

Solar Pons leaned forward in his chair and smiled thinly.

"Just sounding out the ground, Superintendent." "There is a great deal on, Mr Pons. And I am expecting a visitor. But it must be something of great importance that brings you here on such a foul evening. Perhaps you are stuck on a little problem? Well, we are always happy to assist at the Yard."

Solar Pons smiled again.

"Touché, Superintendent. You are in fine form this evening, I see."

Heathfield's eyes twinkled as he glanced round at us in turn.

"Have some tea, gentlemen. I have just taken the liberty of ordering a tray."

He sat back at his desk and examined his perfectly manicured finger-nails as a woman in dark overalls entered and set out the cups and a pot on a corner of the desk. When we were alone again he was silent as he poured. Hardcastle rose clumsily and passed the cups to us. Heathfield sat back and regarded us with quizzical brown eyes. With his tall figure and clipped, iron-grey moustache, he looked more like a dapper Army officer than ever.

"We have not worked together since that business of Elihu Cook Stanmore, Mr Pons."

"This is nothing like that, Superintendent. Just a little puzzle connected with London Zoo."

Superintendent Heathfield had straightened behind the desk now and his eyes were no longer humorous.

"Little puzzle or no, Mr Pons, it is certainly no joke. I am having to deploy a great many people in order to catch this madman who is endangering life and limb."

Pons' eyes caught our client's and then swivelled to the Superintendent again.

"Something has happened today?"

Heathfield nodded.

"It was in the evening paper but you may have missed it. Someone let out a Polar bear. Nasty business. One attendant badly injured. I had to get some marksmen in and shoot the brute."

Hardcastle had turned white and his eyes held a mute appeal as he stared at Pons. My companion appeared oblivious to him, however, his eyes apparently fixed vacantly in space.

"Dear me, Superintendent. You have been on the spot?"

Heathfield shook his head.

"I have just returned from a murder investigation in Surrey, Mr Pons. We are under some pressure at the moment. But I am on my way to the Zoo shortly, if you would care to accompany me. Sir Clive Mortimer, the President of the Zoological Society is coming over. No doubt he is enraged and will be critical of police methods. It is to be expected. I think it only right to go and see for myself, though this confounded Phantom is proving incredibly elusive."

"Well, well," said Solar Pons in a monotone. "Perhaps you will have some news for him. I would like you to meet my client here. John Hardcastle is under-keeper at the Lion House and a young man who is unhappy about this whole affair."

There was a long moment of silence as the Superintendent stared at Pons. Hardcastle had gone white and sat as though rooted to his chair, beads of perspiration streaking his face. Heathfield half-rose and then seated himself again.

"I am glad that he has come in," he said mildly. "He has nothing to fear if he has a clear conscience."

"That is what I have told him," said Solar Pons. "Though I am glad to have it confirmed from your own lips."

Heathfield leaned forward and pressed a button on his desk. A door in the far corner of the room opened and a tall, frosty-haired man came in. He looked incuriously at the Superintendent.

"This is Detective-Inspector Glaister. I would like you to take a statement from Mr Hardcastle here. He is the man we wish to question in connection with this business at the Zoological Gardens. He is the client of Mr Solar Pons, whom I believe you know."

The Inspector smiled and came over to Pons and shook his hand cordially.

"Glad to see you again, Mr Pons."

He waited while Hardcastle got to his feet. At a gesture from Pons Heathfield hesitated a moment and then added, "When you have finished with Mr Hardcastle bring him over to the Zoo, will you. I shall be there with Mr Pons and Dr Parker."

"Very good, sir."

Our client went out apprehensively with the big officer. Heathfield put down his cup with a clink in the silence.

"If all is as you say, Mr Pons, he has nothing to fear. Let us just hope he has been telling the truth."

"This business is all too curious to be the work of that young man, Superintendent," said Solar Pons.

Heathfield opened his mouth to answer but at that moment there came a deferential tap at the door and a uniformed Sergeant appeared to announce Sir Clive Mortimer. Pons and I would have withdrawn but Heath-field gestured to us to remain. The peppery little man who bounced into the room hesitated on seeing the three of us, but then squared his shoulders and advanced grimly toward the Superintendent's desk.

"I must say, Superintendent, that this is outrageous. Absolutely outrageous. That this scoundrel can lay waste the Zoological Gardens in such a manner without being detected is quite beyond my comprehension."

Sir Clive spluttered as if he had run out of steam and glared at Heathfield belligerently. He had a pink face almost like a child's, with feathery white hair and a thin smear of moustache like lather. With his old-fashioned frock-coat, his dark raincoat and the black wide-awake hat he carried in his hand, he looked like an illustration out of a nineteenth century volume by Dickens or Wilkie Collins.

"Please compose yourself, Sir Clive. Have a cigar, sir. I assure you we are doing all we can. Allow me to present Mr Solar Pons and his colleague Dr Lyndon Parker."

The little man brightened.

"Mr Pons. The eminent consulting detective?"

He came forward to shake hands with us both, then turned back to give a frosty glance to Heathfield.

"Is it too much to hope that Mr Pons has been retained in this matter? I would give a great deal if it were so."

Inspector Heathfield chuckled with amusement.

"Mr Pons is already connected with the affair, Sir Clive. One of your keepers, Hardcastle, has fallen under suspicion. Mr Pons has been engaged to represent him."

"Hardcastle?"

The little man wrinkled up his face.

"Well, I know nothing of the details, Superintendent. But I am responsible to the Fellows and the Society's Council. We have never had anything like this in all our long history. I hope that it will shortly be cleared up."

He came close to my companion and peered sharply in his face.

"And I trust your man is innocent, Mr Pons. Though I have no doubt you will shortly get to the bottom of the business. I have little faith in the London police."

Solar Pons smiled.

"You are too flattering in my case, Sir Clive. And too harsh in your strictures on the official force. I have no doubt that between us we shall introduce light into what has hitherto been murky."

"Well, you may well be right, Mr Pons," said Sir Clive grudgingly. "Now, Superintendent, I believe you wish to see me privately. After that, I am at your service. I would like to return to the Gardens at once. Some of my colleagues are standing by at my office there."

"Certainly, Sir Clive. If you would come into this inner room for a few minutes. I am sure you do not mind waiting a short while, Mr Pons."

"By all means, Superintendent."

When we were alone Solar Pons stretched himself out on his chair, put his long legs in front of him and lit his pipe. He wreathed blue smoke at the ceiling. His eyes were twinkling.

"Well, Parker, what do you think of this business?"

"It would seem dark and impenetrable, Pons. Assuming that your client, Hardcastle, is innocent. Apart from everything else it is completely pointless."

"Is it not. Yet does not the sheer welter of events and the degree of mischief involved suggest something to you?"

I stared at my companion in astonishment.

"I do not follow you, Pons."

"It would not be the first time, Parker. Just use those faculties of intelligence that you so often bring to your medical diagnoses."

"Ah, well, Pons, that is a matter of science, whose limits are well sign-posted with text-book examples." Solar Pons shot me a wry smile.

"But detection is an equally exact science, Parker. Every apparently disconnected fact has its place in the diagnosis. Just as you draw logical conclusions from your patient's perspiration, breathing and location of pain so do I similarly read a connected sequence of events from crushed blades of grass; cigarette ash carelessly scattered; or the angle of a wine-glass. Let me just have your thoughts on the present troubles at Regent's Park Zoo."

"You are right, Pons, of course," I replied. "But I fear I make a poor diagnostician in your sphere of life. Each to his own profession."

"Tut, Parker, you do yourself poor justice. You are constantly improving in your reading of events. For example, what motive would the person or persons committing malicious damage bring to these senseless acts?"

Pons stared at me through the wreathing blue coils of smoke from his pipe.

"It is just in those areas that I am such a poor reasoner, Pons."

"Pschaw, the matter is so simple as to be obvious. I have already given you the clue in my remarks. Malice, Parker. Malign, perverted anger and an urge to destroy, which does not even shrink at the possibility of taking human life in the process. When we get such acts then we begin to find our thoughts directed into other areas. As we progress, so will the motive become clear. But here is the Superintendent back again."

The vigorous figure of Heathfield had returned to the desk, reaching down his raglan overcoat and umbrella from the stand behind it. Behind him the uneasy, chastened figure of Sir Clive. Pons turned from the vinegary countenance of the Zoo official and the lid of his right eye dropped slowly. I savoured the moment all the way to the Zoo.

4

It was almost ten o'clock when we arrived at Regent's Park yet despite the lateness of the hour the main entrance to the Zoo was a blaze of light. But the police driver, at a sign from Heathfield, obeyed Sir Clive's instructions to drive farther on to the Fellows' Entrance.

"More discreet," said the President, clearing his throat with an irritating little coughing noise. Pons and I waited until he and Heathfield had alighted and then followed. The rain was still driving hard and I buttoned up my coat collar tightly as we crossed the asphalt. We were within the Zoo grounds as the police car had driven straight in and the coughing roar of a lion, drifting across the Regent Canal came to us, mysterious and sinister in the semi-darkness.

"I have an office in the administrative building," said Sir Clive fussily. "We had best go there initially. I have kept back the key staff following today's incident and you will no doubt wish to question them, Mr Pons."

"With the Superintendent's permission," said Solar Pons with a slight bow to the Scotland Yard man.

We followed the President through a metal gate and up a path to a large red-brick building set back amid gracious lawns and flower beds. It obviously fronted on to the Inner Circle because I could hear the faint hum of motor traffic from a roadway somewhere beyond. The facade of the building was a blaze of light and the large room into which Sir Clive led us was thronged with chattering groups of officials and attendants in uniform.

A respectful silence fell as we entered and a thin young man with sandy hair detached himself from a knot of people in soberly dressed clothing and hurried toward us.

"Everything is in readiness, Sir Clive."

"Good. This is my secretary, Conrad Foster. Superintendent Heathfield. Mr Solar Pons. Dr Lyndon Parker."

The young man nodded pleasantly.

"Welcome, gentlemen. Shall I lead on, sir?"

"By all means. I have just to give some instructions."

The secretary ushered us up a wooden staircase at the side of the building and into Sir Clive's office, a pleasant, simply furnished apartment, evidently one of a number debouching from a long corridor. There were framed photographs of wild animals on the walls, some obviously taken in Africa; and one group included Sir Clive in tropical uniform watching water buffalo through binoculars.

"Please make yourselves comfortable, gentlemen. Sir Clive will not be long."

As he spoke the Zoo chief's tread sounded along the corridor and the little man bounced in and took his place behind the desk, the secretary at his right.

"If you will take notes, Foster, I think we will shortly begin."

He looked at Heathfield and Pons with a quick, birdlike inclination of the head.

"With your permission, gentlemen, I will conduct the preliminary inquiry on today's incident, on behalf of the Society. Naturally you will be free to ask your own questions at any stage of the proceedings. Similarly, any particular member of the staff you require to be questioned can be brought here at short notice."

He sniffed, a smug expression on his face.

"Though I do not think that will be necessary, as almost everybody who could have the slightest bearing on the matter is waiting down below."

"I see."

Superintendent Heathfield nodded, his eye catching Pons with a twinkle.

"I cannot speak for Mr Pons, of course, but that seems perfectly satisfactory to me."

My companion nodded.

"I should like to see the Polar bear enclosure and the body of the animal, if it has not yet been removed, despite the lateness of the hour."

Sir Clive shifted in his chair.

"There will be no difficulty, Mr Pons. We have our own pathology department here where dead animals are dissected, as well as a well-equipped dispensary for the care of our charges."

"Excellent, Sir Clive," said Solar Pons crisply. "I would also particularly like to have a few words with your Head Keeper, Norman Stebbins, before you begin."

Mortimer looked discomfited.

"But he was not concerned in today's incident, Mr Pons."

"Exactly, Sir Clive. That is why I wish to see him." The President turned a little pink around the ears. "But Mr Pons, I fail . . ."

"Tut, tut, Sir Clive," said Solar Pons calmly. "It is surely self-evident. Stebbins is in charge of all your staff, is he not? And he obviously knows a good deal about them. I would like him present throughout even if only to corroborate the other attendants' stories. It is vitally important that we have a reliable check on such matters. It will save a good deal of time and can only act in the interests of my client, Hardcastle. Incidentally, I shall require Hardcastle to be present throughout, just as soon as he arrives."

"Very well, Mr Pons," said Sir Clive grudgingly. "There is a good deal of commonsense in what you say."

"It is good of you to say so," said Solar Pons ironically, evading Superintendent Heathfield's eye. "Now I would suggest we summon Stebbins without more ado."

The Head Keeper proved to be a thickset, muscular man in his early forties with a bright, intelligent face bisected by a heavy brown moustache. He was evidently ill at ease in the presence of the Zoological Society chief but sat down at Pons' request and waited expectantly for the questioning to begin. Sir Clive opened his mouth to speak but before he could do so my companion cut in smoothly.

"I would just like to ask a few questions, Sir Clive." "As you wish, Mr Pons," said the President in a disgruntled voice.

Solar Pons turned to the Head Keeper, tenting his fingers before him.

"That was a first-rate effort at the Lion House, Stebbins. You undoubtedly averted what might have been a major tragedy."

The Head Keeper's face flushed with pleasure.

"It is good of you to say so, Mr Pons."

Sir Clive cleared his throat.

"The Council has not overlooked the matter, Mr Pons. A presentation is to be made at a later date."

"I am glad to hear you say so, Sir Clive. A loyal and devoted staff is beyond price in these days of changing values."

Again the annoying throat-clearing by Sir Clive. "Quite so, Mr Pons."

Solar Pons turned back to Stebbins.

"Let us just hear your opinion of these strange goings-on."

"Well, sir, begging Sir Clive's pardon, there's not much sense to any of it. Trivial, silly things, like monkey cages being opened. Or windows broken and paint being smeared across buildings. Then the person responsible seems to become enraged and do something dangerous, or even murderous."

Solar Pons chuckled.

"Ah, so you have noticed that have you? I must commend your intelligence. You have no theory to account for it?"

Stebbins shook his head.

"The whole thing is pointless, Mr Pons, unless a member of the public has a grudge."

"That is what I particularly wanted to ask you, Stebbins. Would access not be difficult for the public?"

An embarrassed look passed across the Head Keeper's face.

"I get your drift, Mr Pons. I would be loath to suggest that any member of my staff would be responsible. Everyone here loves animals. That goes without saying, or they wouldn't work here."

"Yet dangerous animals have been loosed to kill or maim as they fancy. Is it not so?"

Stebbins nodded reluctantly.

"That is correct, Mr Pons. But it would not be beyond the bounds for members of the public to gain access to the Zoological Gardens after dark. There are a number of places where an athletic man could get over fences. I would say it seems like the work of an unbalanced person."

An alert expression passed across Solar Pons' feral features.

"What makes you say that?"

"Because locks have been smashed on cages where the doors could simply have been opened by the catches. Yet on the cages of dangerous animals such as the tigress, Sheba, or at the Polar bear pit today, heavy pad- locks, which one would expect to be smashed have been unlocked as with a key or a picklock."

There was a heavy silence in the room, broken only by the deep-throated roaring of some animal far off across the park. It seemed to give a dark and sinister cast to the subject under discussion.

"That is extremely interesting, Stebbins."

Solar Pons turned to me.

"You may remember, Parker, I told you there is a great deal more here than meets the eye."

"I must confess I am all at sea, Mr Pons," said the President, obviously nonplussed.

"Nevertheless, we progress, Sir Clive. Our talk here with your Head Keeper is proving invaluable. He is evidently a man who keeps his eyes open and knows his staff."

"I do my best, sir."

"I am sure you do. You will kindly remain here and give us the benefit of your wisdom when Sir Clive questions the other actors in this strange drama. Ah, here is Hardcastle, none the worse for his little adventure at the Yard."

Indeed, almost before Pons had finished speaking Hardcastle, his eyes bright and anxious was sitting down before Sir Clive's desk. That worthy was considerably irritated when Solar Pons calmly rose from his seat.

"I think I have seen and heard enough here for the moment, Sir Clive. We may safely leave this important matter in your hands. As for myself, if Superintendent Heathfield would be so kind, I should like to see the Polar bear enclosure and the other sites of the incidents under examination today."

"Very well, Mr Pons."

Sir Clive was evidently disgruntled and his face was pink. I saw the secretary Conrad Foster bent over his notebook. He flashed me a secret smile while still turned away from the peppery little man at his side.

Superintendent Heathfield rose and excused himself. Solar Pons nodded affably toward our client.

"Just answer the questions to the best of your ability, Hardcastle, and you will have nothing to fear. Come, Parker."

And he led the way from the room.

5

"But you have learned nothing yet, Pons," I protested as we descended the stairs.

"On the contrary, Parker, I have learned a great deal,' said my companion, lighting his pipe as we followed the tall form of the Superintendent out into the gardens The rain had stopped now but the mist persisted and I turned up my coat collar and followed the faint chair of sparks left by Pons' pipe as he hurried forward.

"Sir Clive's examination will lead only to a great deal of repetition. I have already come to some firm conclusions on this affair and would prefer to test them on the ground. I think I can leave it to Stebbins' commonsense to draw to my attention any anomalies in the attendants statements and no doubt Hardcastle will have his own interests at heart."

"You surprise me, Pons."

"The day I do not, Parker, I shall think my grip is slipping."

"Come, Pons," I said, a little put out. "For instance what about all these past incidents?"

"Nothing simpler, my dear fellow. I shall visit each site in turn and make my own observations on the spot The Superintendent has every detail at his finger-tips And then I shall want to see Hardcastle's lady-friend tomorrow."

"Lady-friend, Pons?"

Solar Pons chuckled as we followed Heathfield through the mist in the direction of the main-gate and he Polar bear enclosure.

"The girl, Alice, who warned him that he was under suspicion. She sounds a quick-witted young woman. I have no doubt she will have some ideas of her own bout this matter."

"Despite your remarks, Pons, you continue to surprise me."

"Ah, Parker, there is nothing like a woman's intuition in these affairs. Their minds often retain the most surprising information. But here we are at our destination." We had arrived at Mappin Terrace and Superintendent Heathfield led the way to the Polar bear enclosures, towering concrete structures, separated from the public by a deep artificial chasm in front of the viewing galleries. We walked up a series of steps to where a group of constables stood with portable electric lights whose thick cables snaked away into the darkness. Pons hurried forward and examined the heavy padlock and chains which were lying on the ground. A great white form lumbered by in the darkness beyond the bars and I glanced apprehensively at Heathfield. He smiled wryly.

"We are in no danger, Dr Parker. The Zoo authorities have placed temporary padlocks on this enclosure. The material on the ground here was used to secure the entrance door. It is lying just as it was found."

"Excellent, Superintendent. You have excelled yourself."

Solar Pons bent to one knee. He had his magnifying ass out and examined the lock carefully.

"Opened with a key. You have dusted for prints, I see?"

The Superintendent inclined his head.

"Nothing, Mr Pons. He was wearing gloves." Solar Pons smiled at me wryly.

"A cunning fellow, evidently, Parker. But this follow: the pattern. Flimsy material smashed. Massive defence: unlocked."

"I am sure I do not know what you mean, Pons." "Just think about it, Parker."

My companion turned to the Superintendent. "One bear only was involved?"

"Fortunately, Mr Pons. The animal was seen moving off down the ramp to the Zoo but was tackled with commendable courage by a junior keeper, Carstairs. He attempted to corner it with a pitchfork, but it attacked and savaged him. The attendants managed to keep it a bay, penning it with rope, hurdles and netting and whet my own people arrived they had to shoot it."

"I see."

Solar Pons stood in thought for a moment.

"It will probably tell us very little but I should like to look at the carcase. Then I think a little visit to the Lion House would be in order, if it can be arranged." "Certainly, Mr Pons. Sir Clive has assigned to us member of the Zoo staff who has most of the master keys."

"Excellent."

"The corpse of the bear is in the dispensary quarters, Mr Pons. It is on the way back to the Lion House."

I followed my two companions as they hurried of down toward the Gloucester Gate entrance while thickset, amiable-looking man in Zoo uniform, evidently the person with the keys mentioned by the Superintendent, followed on behind. Heathfield led the way to a large block of brick buildings which rose from a yard set beside some of the small mammal houses. There was the pungent smell given off by wild animals mingled with disinfectant as we crossed the yard, from which came the sound of a hose-pipe sluicing water over cement.

The corpse of the bear, partly dissected, was lying on a stone slab raised up from the floor under a powerful electric light in a corner of an enormous, bare, whitewashed room.

"I did not think it necessary to have the veterinary surgeons on call tonight, Mr Pons," said Heathfield. Solar Pons shook his head.

'They could add nothing and I presume that in any event you have their reports."

"Certainly, Mr Pons. But with today's near tragedy I felt it essential that we press on with the investigation with the utmost despatch before something more serious occurs."

"It seems difficult to imagine anything more serious," I observed, looking at the huge, blood-stained mass of the bear.

"Polar bears and tigers are serious enough. But I take it you were referring to fatalities."

"Certainly, doctor. It will be only a question of time before this ends in tragedy. The keeper attacked by the bear was badly savaged but is out of danger, I understand."

"Thank heaven for that," I said. "What are your findings there, Pons?"

I went round to stand with my companion as he went over the bear's claws with his powerful lens.

"Precious little, Parker. I did not expect to find anything. But the basic rule of detection is to make a thorough examination, however unlikely it may be to yield anything. One occasionally comes across surprises."

He bent over the blood-stained front paws of the colossal beast.

"Hullo!"

There was excitement in his voice.

"What do you make of this, Parker?"

Superintendent Heathfield was standing at the far end of the room now, chatting with the attendant and we were temporarily alone.

"It looks like a length of thread, Pons."

"Does it not? Perhaps from the uniform of the attacked keeper. However, I think I shall just retain it for the moment. One never knows when it may come in useful."

And he picked out the short length of grey thread and placed it carefully in one of the little envelopes he kept specially for the purpose. The examination was soon concluded and we walked back down toward the Superintendent.

"I take it there is no doubt the Polar bear is a wild and savage animal?"

"None at all, sir," said the attendant, touching his cap to my companion. "Polaris—that's the dead beast, sir, was particularly vicious. Took three shots to kill him."

"Indeed."

Solar Pons glanced around him.

"Well, Superintendent, I think we have done enough here. I suggest a short visit to the Lion House before we return to Sir Clive."

He glanced at his watch.

"I think that is all we can hope to do tonight. It will be midnight before we conclude in any event."

Heathfield led the way through the thin mist to where the police car was parked.

"I got Sir Clive's permission. I think it will save time if we go by car and prove less fatiguing. The Zoo grounds are so extensive."

"Admirable, Superintendent. You appear to have thought of everything."

Heathfield smiled thinly and took his place next to the driver while Pons and I and the keeper travelled in the back. After a short interval spent nosing through the mist along the broad asphalt walks between the animal cages, we drew up before the massive entrance of the Victorian Lion House. Lights shone from within the building and there came a low, keening roar that was unmistakable.

We waited while the keeper unlocked the big double doors and followed him into the cavernous interior. A strong odour of the big cats came out to us, bitter and pungent. Dim forms moved behind the bars of the cages set at the left-hand side of the long house and the few overhead lights switched on at this time of night cast deep pools of shadow.

There were stone steps to the right, with wooden benches set on the flat space at the top and a burly figure in dark uniform was waiting there. He rose as we entered and hurried down the steps toward us. He touched his cap to Superintendent Heathfield whom he had apparently met before.

"Mr Stebbins told me I was to look out for you, Superintendent. Any way in which I can help . .."

"Thank you," said Heathfield crisply. "We may need you shortly. For the moment we will just look about."

The burly man saluted again and went back to the bench with his colleague and their gloomy conversation came down to us from time to time as we walked on in front of the great beasts. Pons himself reminded me of nothing so much as the inmates of the cages as he prowled restlessly about, darting sharp glances here and there.

"Which is the cage from which Sheba escaped, Superintendent?"

"This one here, Mr Pons."

Heathfield had stopped before a large enclosure set about halfway down the spacious house, in which a magnificent tigress paced majestically up and down, every now and then giving vent to a low, rumbling growl. Solar Pons paused and gazed thoughtfully into the great beast's glowing yellow eyes.

"A magnificent sight, Heathfield. I know of nothing so impressive. Intelligence, strength and courage. A formidable combination."

"Indeed, Mr Pons. So you can imagine the degree of determination on Stebbins' part in acting as he did in preventing the beast from escaping."

"The point had not eluded me, Superintendent. I must examine the main door before I leave. In the meantime, with your permission, I will just have a look at this cage here."

To my alarm he eased his lithe, angular form over the low metal barrier to prevent the public from approaching too close to the cages and bent down in the narrow gangway inside. The tigress immediately stopped her pacing and then flung herself against the bars of the cage in an absolute paroxysm of fury. The sight was so stupendous in its savagery and the noise so deafening that even Pons was momentarily diverted from his purpose.

"What an incredible beast, Pons."

"Is she not, Parker."

'Take care, Pons."

"I shall certainly do that, Parker."

The animal was silent again now and resumed her tireless pacing, though every now and then she cast a sullen glare on my companion from her smouldering yellow eyes. The two keepers had come forward from the terrace at the back and now stood by silently, the burly man fingering a long metal pole.

"I do not think that will be necessary," said Solar Pons with a thin smile.

He bent forward to look at the cage, which had a sliding door, the bar of which was secured by a strong padlock.

"Has this been changed, do you know, Superintendent?"

Heathfield shook his head.

"Not to my knowledge, Mr Pons. It had been opened with a key, according to our experts and the retaining bar slid back."

"A risky business," said Solar Pons drily, turning his gaze up toward the ceiling.

"Hullo!"

There was a sharp urgency in his voice.

"What is it, Mr Pons?"

"Look there."

We all followed Solar Pons' pointing finger. At first I could not make it out and then saw a small piece of frayed twine which was fastened to the bars of the sliding door near the top.

"Just a piece of string, Pons."

"Is it not, Parker! But a simple ruse which ensured the survival of this Phantom you talk about. Unless I mistake my vocation he simply attached a cord and slid the door open from the safety of that door yonder."

He turned to the keepers.

"What is in there?"

"Feed-store and staff locker-room, sir."

"Hmm."

Solar Pons climbed back over the barrier and re-joined us, his eyes sharp and intent, oblivious of the caged forms of the lions and tigers which circled aimlessly in the background.

"The twine may have been broken by the tigress when she jumped to the ground. Perhaps by a hind leg. Or our man may simply have snapped it with a strong tug. How would he have got out?"

"There is another door to the outside beyond the locker-room, Mr Pons," said the burly keeper, looking at my companion curiously.

"What is your name?"

"Hodgson, sir."

"Very well, Hodgson, just lead on, will you?"

The thickset keeper walked briskly up to the far door and beckoned us through into a chill, high, bleak room which seemed cold despite the bales or straw in the corner. There was a heavy wooden block with a cleaver and saw; the remains of a carcase on it; and some metal bins for foodstuffs.

"This is where you prepare the food for the animals?" said Pons, glancing round him keenly.

"Exactly, sir."

The Lion House was well-heated and I suppose it was the contrast between it and this chill place which made me glad to quit it as Hodgson opened another door at the rear. This led to a small, cheerful room equipped with a gas fire; some tables and chairs; a stove; and a section in the corner where there were rows of green-painted lockers.

"This is our recreation room, sir. Cosy enough," said our informant with a sniff, looking about him. We all stood silent for a bit as Solar Pons paced round the room, his sharp glance appearing to miss nothing.

He stopped before the lockers with a grunt and produced his powerful pocket magnifying lens.

"Which of these is Hardcastle's?"

"Number Four, sir," said Hodgson, with a puzzled look on his face.

"It is unlocked?"

"Certainly, sir. None of them lock."

"I just wondered," said Solar Pons blandly. "As I see this one in the corner has a length of wire twisted through the hasp."

"That's mine, sir," replied Hodgson, a flush appearing on his features. "I am in charge here you see, sir."

"And you prefer a little privacy. Of course, Hodgson. I am not implying any criticism. All the same I would like each of the lockers opened."

Hodgson glanced at Superintendent Heathfield for a moment and then went forward with ill grace, untwisting the strands of wire. In the meantime Pons had opened Hardcastle's locker and was busy with its contents.

"Where is the material you removed from here, Superintendent?"

"It has been sealed in Sir Clive's office, Mr Pons." Pons nodded.

"It is no matter, really. Paint, an axe, gloves and other items, I believe."

"Yes, Mr Pons. I have the list here."

Pons studied it in silence, then went swiftly round the other lockers, cursorily examining their contents.

"We tested for prints, Mr Pons," Heathfield volunteered.

"But found nothing useful," said Solar Pons with a thin smile. "Because everyone who works in or comes and goes from the Lion House has been along this aisle or put their hands against these lockers from time to time."

"Exactly, Mr Pons. The whole situation was too confused and we could read nothing from it."

"I am not surprised."

Hodgson had opened the door of his locker now and stood aside. As he did so a small piece of pasteboard fluttered to the ground.

"Allow me."

Solar Pons had stooped and picked it up before the other could move.

"What a charming young girl."

He held up the picture between thumb and forefinger, watching the slow flush which suffused the keeper's features.

"My young lady, sir."

Hogson took the picture from Pons and put it quickly in his pocket.

"My congratulations."

Pons glanced swiftly into the interior of the locker which contained nothing of any great interest so far as I could make out.

"Thank you, Hodgson. I do not think there is anything further for the moment."

And with that he led the way to the door which communicated with the open air.

6

"Well, Parker, what are your views on the affair?"

I braced myself in the interior of the cab, which had just lurched to a shuddering stop in a traffic jam and regarded Pons quizzically. It was a cold, misty morning, though the rain had stopped, and we were on our way to the Zoological Gardens for a conference with Sir Clive and Heathfield.

Pons had remained closed with Heathfield and the Zoo officials until a late hour the previous evening, collating testimony from the various zoo staff and I must confess I had dozed off in my corner of the office in which I had begged to be left. Pons had been in an extremely pensive mood on our way back to Praed Street and his uncommunicativeness had prevailed throughout breakfast this morning so that I was pleased to see his normal mood restored.

"I am all at sea, Pons."

"You do yourself an injustice, Parker. Pray apply your mind to it."

I settled myself more comfortably in my corner as our driver started off again at a more decorous rate and stared at Pons through the haze of pipe-smoke.

"There is a good deal here I do not understand." Solar Pons smiled quizzically.

"Ah, then we are at one, Parker. It is indeed a fascinating problem. Or rather problems. Though I am on the way to solving one the major eludes me."

I stared at my companion in astonishment.

"Indeed, Pons. It sounds remarkable."

"It is remarkable, Parker. And quite unique. And if I do not miss my guess we have not yet got properly into the case."

I fear my mouth must have dropped open but I did not have time for further talk as the cab was drawing up in front of a pleasant, red-brick house.

"Here we are, Parker. Sir Clive's private residence."

The handsome mansion which composed itself before us out of the mist had tall iron gates separating it from the Inner Circle and as we walked up the paved path between twin lawns, we could see that another path led away to a further iron gate at the rear which evidently communicated with the Zoo grounds.

"Grace and favour, Pons," I remarked.

Solar Pons smiled thinly.

"You have hit it exactly, Parker. Such sinecures are apt to lead to jealousy in the somewhat esoteric world of zoology as much as elsewhere."

We had stopped at the imposing porch, where Pons rang the bell, and I stared at him quizzically.

"You are not suggesting that a professional rival is attempting to discredit Sir Clive's direction of the Zoological Gardens?"

"Such things have happened before, Parker. Young Hardcastle may have got into deeper waters than he imagines. However, I should be able to set his mind at rest when we meet later this morning. He resumes his duties today, does he not?"

"Thanks to you, Pons. But will it not provide the real criminal—for these are criminal acts going on herewith a golden opportunity?"

"There is method in my madness, Parker."

And with that I had to be content. A parlour-maid speedily showed us to a light-panelled, pleasant room on the ground floor where Sir Clive and Heathfield were already ensconced. The Head Keeper, Stebbins, evidently ill at ease in such surroundings stood awkwardly on the rug in front of the fire and twisted his peaked cap in his hands.

As we came in a fourth man I had not seen rose from a large wing-chair set next the fire.

"It is outrageous!" he spluttered. "It is discrediting the Society!"

He paused as he became aware of our approach.

"This is hardly the time or the place for such a discussion, Jefferies," said Sir Clive blandly. "We will continue it some other time, if you please."

The tall man in the dark frock-coat and with the white mane of hair which made him look like a musician bowed stiffly.

"This is a colleague of mine on the Council of the Zoological Society," said the President with a thin-lipped smile.

"Gordon Jefferies. Mr Solar Pons. Dr Lyndon Parker." Jefferies bowed icily, raking us with insolent eyes. "Your servant, gentlemen. Good-day, Mortimer." He nodded brusquely and swept out followed by the ironic eyes of Sir Clive.

"A detestable man, Mr Pons," he muttered sotto voce. "But brilliant in his field. He has many enemies."

"Indeed," said Solar Pons, with a shrewd look at our host. "So I should imagine if he carries on in such a manner. What was the trouble?"

"My handling of the current crisis in the Society's affairs," said Sir Clive. "Though to tell the truth he is put out because he feels he has not been kept fully informed by the Council. But he has made large donations to funds and so feels he partly owns the Zoological Gardens."

He chuckled drily and seemed in jocular mood, despite the obvious altercation that had just taken place. le looked a dapper figure in his well-cut grey suit and saw that Pons was studying him carefully beneath his apparently casual manner.

Sir Clive waved us to chairs near the fire where a silver-plated coffee pot and cups were set out.

"But he is a brilliant person, nevertheless," he continued. "And has made some original contributions to biology. A specialist in the habits of the gorilla." "Indeed," said Solar Pons again. "I hope he finds their company a little more congenial. He certainly seemed to look with disfavour upon Parker and myself." Superintendent Heathfield smiled.

"You have not yet heard his fulminations upon the ineptitude of the official police, Mr Pons."

Solar Pons returned his smile.

"That would have been worth hearing, eh, Parker? come, Stebbins. Have a cup of coffee and sit down yonder. Sir Clive will not eat you."

"Thank you, Mr Pons. You are very kind."

The Head Keeper sat down gingerly on a straight backed chair opposite, though it was evident by the frosty expression on Sir Clive's face that he did not approve of this breach of social etiquette.

When we all had a cup in our hands, Sir Clive pulled round his armchair to favour the fire and said fussily. "We must plan our campaign, Mr Pons."

"By all means, Sir Clive. I have already travelled far in my conclusions."

Sir Clive raised his eyebrows and blew his cheeks in ad out once or twice.

"May we be favoured with them, Mr Pons?"

Solar Pons pulled reflectively at the lobe of his left ar.

"It is a little too early for the present. I would like to hear your own views on the person—or persons—who have been carrying out these outrages at the Zoo. Shorn of all emotional bias, of course."

Sir Clive looked sourly at my companion and then round at the faces of Superintendent Heathfield and Stebbins. He shuffled a bundle of papers he held in his hands.

"These are my conclusions, Mr Pons. The deposition of the staff members concerned in this weird business Plus my reasoned notes on the matter."

Solar Pons smiled bleakly.

"Save them for the Council and the Society's official journals, Sir Clive. It would take us all day to go through those. Pray be more selective."

Sir Clive's face turned purple and Heathfield had sudden choking attack which he cured by an instant draught of coffee. Sir Clive drew his lips into a thin line and glared at me instead.

"Very well, Mr Pons. A disgruntled former employee, of the Zoo, perhaps. We have had occasion to discharge three within the past two years."

Solar Pons looked interrogatively at the military figure of the Superintendent.

"It is a possibility, Sir Clive," he said reluctantly. "Let us hear what the Superintendent has to say."

Heathfield shook his head.

"We have already checked, Mr Pons. One man has gone abroad; the other two live far out of London." "They have been questioned?"

"Oh yes. There is no doubt that they are in the clear. Solar Pons' piercing eyes rested briefly on Stebbins "All the same I should like to have Mr Stebbins’s opinion."

The burly Head Keeper shook his head.

"This business has nothing to do with them, Mr Pons, that I'll swear. They haven't the character for a business like this. A nasty mind is behind this, Mr Pons."

"I am inclined to agree with you, Stebbins," said Sob Pons languidly. "What do you think of young Hardcastle, now?"

The Head Keeper shook his head again, more doggedly than before.

"I can't believe it, Mr Pons. The Zoo has never had a more loyal employee among the uniformed staff." "You make a distinction, then?"

Stebbins looked sharply at Pons.

"I speak as I find, sir. The uniformed staff come under my jurisdiction. I have no knowledge of the scientific, clerical and other personnel. Even if I had it would not be my place to criticise."

Sir Clive had little pink spots on his cheeks.

"Well said, Stebbins," said Solar Pons warmly. "I am sure I shall find your advice invaluable."

He looked at his watch.

"If you have no objection, Sir Clive, I would like to see the rest of the cages and houses where the other incidents took place. Then a little lunch would not come amiss."

"Certainly, Mr Pons. There is an excellent restaurant in the Zoo grounds. You would be welcome to partake of my hospitality here. Or the Fellows' Restaurant could be put at your disposal."

"It is too good of you, Sir Clive," said Solar Pons, rising to his feet. "But we have already caused considerable disruption in your routine. If Parker has no objection, I would prefer to lunch at the public restaurant at a time which suits. Will you join us, Superintendent?"

"Certainly, Mr Pons."

"That is settled, then. Shall we say half-past one? Come, Parker."

And Solar Pons led the way out of the room so swiftly that I was hard put to keep up with him.

7

"Ah, there you are, Hardcastle!"

The shadows had lifted from our client's face and now he hurried toward us down the length of the Lion House, a slim, fair-haired girl at his heels. It was late afternoon and after an excellent lunch Pons and I had spent an hour with Heathfield, touring the houses where the other incidents had taken place.

"Allow me to introduce my fiancée, Miss Alice Westover, Mr Pons."

"Delighted, Miss Westover."

Pons glanced at the girl and then his gaze rested briefly on the knots of thickly-clad people who had gathered in the warmth of the Lion House to see the animals.

"You have a fair crowd for such a day, I see."

"Average, Mr Pons. The big cats attract the public at almost any time of the year."

"So I should imagine."

Pons looked the girl in the eye.

"What do you think of all this, Miss Westover?"

The girl moved protectively toward the young keeper and linked her arm through his.

"He is certainly innocent, Mr Pons," she said stoutly. Solar Pons looked at her reflectively, noting the smart tailored suit and the chic hat with its gaily-coloured feathers.

"You are most loyal, Miss Westover. But in any event I do not think there is much doubt of your fiancé's innocence."

"I am glad to hear it from your own lips, Mr Pons," the girl said gravely.

We had moved unconsciously down the great hall, where the restless denizens continued their tireless pacing and Pons stared rather pointedly at the girl I thought. Though Hardcastle was oblivious of my companion's scrutiny, it was not lost upon his companion, who had little points of fire dancing on her cheeks.

"Have you heard anything, Mr Pons?"

"We progress, Hardcastle, we progress."

"I cannot rest, Mr Pons, until this stigma is removed from my good name."

"Have patience, Hardcastle. We shall soon be at the root of the matter."

Pons looked up sharply.

"Ah, there is Hodgson. I think he wants you, Hardcastle."

The girl bit her lip and flushed as Hardcastle hurried down the Lion House to where the burly figure of the senior Keeper stood. From what I could make out they seemed to be arguing about something.

"Your fiancé and Hodgson do not get on very well, I think," said Solar Pons shrewdly, his deep-set eyes studying the girl's face.

"I really do not know, Mr Pons."

"Do you not, Miss Westover?"

I moved away a little awkwardly and stood back a few Feet, almost out of earshot, until Pons motioned me across.

"There is nothing private about this, Parker. I wish you to hear."

"As you please, Pons. Though I must confess I am all it sea."

"Nevertheless, Parker, I would prefer you to stay. We may talk unobserved in this corner. Jealousy is a dreadful thing, Miss Westover. It may provoke all sorts of unexpected events. Including violence born of frustrated rage."

The girl's face turned white. She looked over Pons' shoulder toward the far end of the Lion House where the two keepers were still engrossed in conversation. She turned back to my companion.

"You know something, Mr Pons?"

"Let us say I suspect something, Miss Westover. Something involving you and Hardcastle and Hodgson. Am I right?"

The girl bit her lip again.

"There was no harm in it, Mr Pons," she said sullenly. "Though I do not know how you could have guessed."

"Intuition combined with sharp eyesight, Miss Westover. I have no doubt you saw no harm in it, but great harm has flowed from it."

The girl's eyes were open and tears glimmered on her lashes.

"I don't know what you are talking about, Mr Pons." Solar Pons shook his head.

"That is certainly true, my dear young lady. But I advise you to break off the association without delay as the man concerned will shortly be in considerable trouble."

He put his fingers to his lips.

"Your fiancé is coming back, Miss Westover. Absolute discretion?"

The girl nodded, her face still white.

"Absolute discretion, Mr Pons. And thank you." Solar Pons smiled thinly.

"Learn to profit by the experience, Miss Westover. I am an excellent judge of human nature and you will not do better than young Hardcastle."

And saluting the pair of them, for Hardcastle had now come up with us, he moved away toward the entrance of the Lion House. As soon as we were out of earshot I caught him by the arm.

"What on earth was all that about, Pons?"

"Just a little well-meant advice, Parker. I think the young lady will have profited by the lesson."

"I wish I knew what you were talking about, Pons," I grumbled.

"Patience, Parker, patience. All will be explained in due course. But I must confess that one thing still puzzles me. I now have two distinct strands but no possible motive for the second."

Solar Pons paused and looked at my thunderstruck face before bursting into laughter.

"Really, Parker, your features present an indescribable picture! But it is almost dusk. I suggest we use the passes with which Sir Clive has furnished us and remain in the grounds until after dark. Let us just give it an hour. Perhaps we can spend the time in one of the heated tropical houses because the night promises to be cold."

We were outside now and the air was indeed biting. "But what on earth are we going to do, Pons?"

My companion stared at me, his lean, feral features alight with excitement.

"I have the feeling that something that should have happened has not yet happened. Call it a sixth sense if you will. But I am rarely wrong. A number of incidents have occurred, some trivial, some serious. In my opinion they are but stage-dressing for something else."

My puzzlement must have been evident on my features for Pons slowed his walk and looked at me with wry affection.

"My dear Parker, I do not know what will happen or where danger will strike. The Zoo grounds are large and extensive, the houses and animal enclosures numerous and complicated. But I should feel more at ease if you would stay with me for an hour or two."

"Certainly, Pons," said I. "But if we are going to hang about in the cold I suggest we first repair to the restaurant or the Fellows' dining room. There is an excellent bar there and I have a first-rate prescription for keeping out the cold."

Solar Pons chuckled.

"There are unsuspected depths to you, Parker. Sometimes it is difficult to remember you are a physician."

And with which sardonic comment he set off at a brisk pace across the grounds.

8

Mist swirled silently in the darkness and far off a faint gas-lamp sent out a drowning beam of light toward us. The coughing roar of a lion echoed, melancholy and remote across the park and left a sombre reflection in my heart. I shifted my feet and stamped them cautiously, conscious of Pons' disapproving face beside me in the gloom. We stood in the deep porch of one of the mammal houses and rested briefly. We had been walking about the Zoological Gardens for an hour but it seemed as though we had covered miles. I was about to venture an observation when Pons' hand was upon my arm and I heard the hissed intake of his breath.

A moment later I caught the sound which his sharp ears had already heard; the agitated beat of a man's feet running through the white blanket. It was far off and for a moment I could not place the direction. Then we both caught the urgent note of the voice. There was fear and panic in it as it called, Murder! Police!"

Pons gave a muffled exclamation.

"We are too late, Parker! I blame myself for this. As quick as you can."

He was already disappearing into the fog and I had difficulty in keeping his tall, lean figure in sight. He moved fast, despite the whiteness which hemmed us in and his sharp eyes unerringly guided us round obstructions and kept us in the right direction.

Within two minutes we could hear the muffled sound of more footsteps in response to urgent calls and figures were about us. A police constable lurched into me, his bulls-eye lantern making a pale glow, and recoiled with an apology.

"Dr Parker isn't it? Up near the next entrance, sir."

When Pons and I arrived, there was a small knot of people, and the purposeful figure of Superintendent Heathfield detached itself from the melee.

"Good to see you both, Mr Pons. It is fatal this time, I am afraid. In the gorilla enclosure."

Solar Pons nodded, his face impassive and dream-like in the light of the lanterns.

"That has solved one mystery, Superintendent."

The words were spoken almost to himself and I saw the police officer look at him with a start. With the frightened attendant who had given the alarm leading the way, we were soon at the scene of the tragedy. It had taken place in a large wood and cement building which housed the greater primates. The main door had been broken, the glass panel shattered.

The leading attendants and the uniformed police officers were pressing inside when Pons stopped them with a sudden exclamation.

"Hullo! This is curious indeed, Parker. The glass has been broken from inside."

Heathfield and I exchanged puzzled glances. Pons had stooped to examine the shattered fragments of glass which lay on the cement walk outside the entrance.

"That is so, Mr Pons. Why on earth would anyone want to break out?"

Solar Pons smiled an enigmatic smile.

"Think about it, my dear fellow. It leads to one inescapable conclusion."

"Perhaps, Pons," I said shortly. "But can we not leave this until later? It is cold out here and if murder has been done inside ..."

"You are quite right, Parker. Lead on, Superintendent."

I hurried in the wake of my companions and in a few moments more we came upon one of the most bizarre and horrific scenes I had ever encountered either during my years with Pons or within my medical experience.

The house was divided into two parts with a broad cement aisle separating the heated enclosures either side. Chimpanzees, gibbons and large apes sat sullenly in their respective cages, blinking in the dim electric light, as though they had been awakened from sleep. There was a welcome warmth in here and I guessed that the stout metal walls at the rear of the cages, each complete with sliding door, gave on to roomy enclosures in the open air which the animals occupied in summer.

The attendant who had raised the alarm was standing by a large, thickly barred enclosure at the far end of the house; a dim form loomed gigantically within and made shuffling noises in the deep straw and other litter which covered the floor. A constable near me shone his electric lantern within the bars and disclosed the dark-clad human figure which lay at a grotesque angle. Motionless and rigid it was a foot or two from the indistinct shape.

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 which 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 which was attached to the wall near the cage.

"Boris. Male Gorilla. Hmm. What do you make of it, Superintendent?"

"1 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 slid to.

"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 constable we pulled the body out and the attendant shut the door.

I bent and turned over the figure in the frock-coat. I could not resist a gasp of surprise. We all stood staring down at the dead face of Gordon Jefferies, while a sudden clamour of animal noise, savage and muted, swept across the park from outside. Solar Pons looked at Superintendent Heathfield sombrely.

"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."

"Eigh?"

Sir Clive's eyes were round and he looked at my companion suspiciously. We were sitting in Sir Clive's office and round 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 plain-clothes men of the C.I.D. 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 nearer coming 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 theorise; 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 mischief?"

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 finger-nails. 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." "We shall see," said Solar Pons coldly.

"But what possible motive could he have, Pons?" I asked.

"Jealousy," said Solar Pons across the rising murmur of voices within the room. "Plain, ordinary jealousy. I am sorry to say it, Hardcastle, but Hodgson was jealous of your success with Miss Westover."

"Mr Pons!"

There was dismay on the young man's face.

"My attention was directed to it quite accidentally. When I asked Hodgson to open his locker he had a photograph there which fell to the ground. I saw the young lady's face quite clearly when I picked it up. When you introduced me to your fiancée later I saw quite plainly it was she. A few veiled questions and her obvious confusion soon made me see how the land lay. Hodgson hoped to secure your dismissal and secure the young lady's affections for himself, unless I am very much mistaken."

Hardcastle swore and plunged toward Hodgson but he plain-clothes officers were too quick for him and interposed themselves. Handcuffs flashed and the burly keeper was securely pinioned.

"There will be time enough for recriminations later," aid Solar Pons mildly. "Am I not right, Hodgson?" "Yes, sir," said the big keeper sullenly. "I broke into the cages, let the animals loose and did that damage. I put the things in Hardcastle's locker and hoped to lose rim his job. It was my feelings for the young lady that made me do it. I'm sorry now. We'd been out a few times and then she threw me over for Hardcastle. I hoped to get her back. And I'd been out with her a few times since. My pay was better than his, you see, and had good prospects. But I know nothing about the murder of Mr Jefferies."

"That remains to be seen," said Superintendent Heathfield calmly.

He turned to my companion.

"I am in your debt, Mr Pons."

'Think nothing of it, Superintendent," said Solar Pons, strange look in his eyes. "My reward lies in clearing Hardcastle here from all stigma."

"Take him away. We will finish questioning him at the Yard."

Heathfield bustled forward and the groups seated round the desk broke up. Sir Clive came forward and pumped Pons by the hand.

"A remarkable performance, my dear sir. I am most grateful."

"It was nothing, Sir Clive."

Pons hastily excused himself and we strode back down the staircase and into the fog.

"There are one or two points I don't quite understand, Pons."

To my astonishment Solar Pons put his hand over my mouth and drew me into the deep shadow of one of the mammal houses.

"Not a word, Parker. And pray do not be idiotic. This case is far from over. We must secure our man while he is still off balance. Follow me and be careful in this fog."

And before I had time to convey my astonishment and chagrin my companion was dragging me through the white blanket until my sense of direction was entirely lost.

10

Presently the dark, skeletal bars of an iron gate loomed up in the mist. It was unlocked and Pons pushed it back to enable us to slip through, carefully closing it behind us. He led me unerringly down a flagged path toward the massive structure of a large mansion from which shaded lights glowed.

"What on earth, Pons?" I began. "This is Sir Clive's residence .. ."

"I am well aware of that, Parker," Solar Pons whispered. "Now, if I am not much mistaken, the study should be here."

He cast about him, looking intently at marks on the grass verge. Apparently satisfied, he tiptoed across the lawn toward French windows which, to judge from the darkness within, denoted an unoccupied room. I had no choice but to accompany him but I was filled with horror when Pons produced a metal instrument from his pocket and calmly inserted it into the lock.

"You are surely not going to break in, Pons?"

"It is quite illegal, Parker, but the short answer is yes," Pons replied imperturbably. "This is one advantage we have over Scotland Yard, Parker. They do not normally break into citizens' private houses. With the result that some damnable villains are allowed to go free."

"But what do you expect to find, Pons?"

"Nothing, Parker, unless I can deal with this lock. Let us hope there are no bolts or I shall have to risk smashing a pane."

There was a sudden click as he spoke and he gave a soft exclamation of satisfaction. One wing of the door was open and he beckoned me to follow as he eased himself slowly through into the darkness. I followed and shut the door quietly behind me, being brought up against thick velvet curtains. Pons cautiously slid them back a few inches and I could see by the soft glow of a dying log fire that we were within a comfortably furnished study.

"What are we going to do, Pons?"

"Just wait patiently, Parker. Our man will not be long. We may catch him off guard. Unless I miss my guess he has not yet finished disposing of the evidence. I have no doubt he has already used these windows tonight."

"I am completely lost, Pons. I thought that Hodgson .. ."

"Hush, Parker."

Solar Pons' strong grip made me wince as he caught my arm. I then heard the crisp sound of footsteps along the flagged walk of the garden outside. A minute or so passed and the crash of the front door was followed by muffled voices. Pons put his finger to his lips and pulled the curtains back across the alcove in which we were standing.

We had not long to wait. Hardly had we concealed ourselves before there was the grate of a key in the lock of the study door and the room was flooded with light, the golden glow which penetrated the curtains enabling me to see that Pons had his eye fastened to a faint crack through which he surveyed the room. I passed the time with what patience I could muster though I must confess that the police and the laws of private property were much in my mind.

I joined Pons at his urgent motioning and saw what id attracted his attention. Putting my eye to the gap the curtains, which Pons held closed with his right hand, I could see the portly form of Sir Clive. He was down on his knees by a large desk, examining the floor. When he got up and crossed over to a small safe set into the fireplace wall. He took from it a bundle of documents and placed them on the desk. Then he went back to the middle of the room in a listening attitude.

He turned to the fireplace and picked up a poker. He fed the dying fire and I heard a muffled exclamation. He went over to a scuttle at the side of the hearth apparently to find it empty.

"We are in luck, Parker," Pons breathed in my ear. Sir Clive hesitated a moment longer, glanced at the documents on the desk and then picked up the scuttle. He passed out of my line of vision and I heard the sound of the catch as the door was opened. The key sounded again as he locked it from the other side and his footsteps died away.

"Excellent, Parker," Solar Pons chuckled. "There will never be a better opportunity."

He ran across the room without any attempt at concealment and I followed with considerable misgiving. Pons was already down on his hands and knees, examining the floor with his lens.

"He will need a cloth too," he murmured.

"What exactly is happening, Pons?"

"Sir Clive is about to burn these letters. We must just glance at them, for the motive is not yet clear to me." He picked them up, his face turning grave as he leafed through them. He replaced them on the desk.

"Poor devil."

He stood in thought for a moment.

"Blackmail is one of the vilest of crimes, Parker, and am not so sure the punishment was not justified in this case. But murder is frowned on by the authorities and we must not be deflected from our purpose."

And he stood calmly by the mantelpiece, lighting h pipe and staring down at the almost extinguished fit until footsteps again sounded on the parquet of the ha outside. We were still standing like that when Sir Clive entered, locked the door behind him and advanced toward the fireplace, bearing fresh billets of wood in h scuttle. There was a tremendous clatter as he dropped it, the iron bucket overturning and scattering the woo about the polished floor. He stood before us with deathly face, guilt staring from every lineament of h features.

"Mr Pons!" he cried in a croaking voice, all the a arrogance gone from his tones. "What does this mean?'

"It means, Sir Clive, that all is known," said Sol; Pons equably, lighting his pipe and puffing blue columns of smoke toward the carved ceiling, the firelight glowing on his lean, ascetic features.

If the President's face had been haggard before, the change in it was so dramatic that I feared he might have a stroke. He made a choking noise and I hurried forward to assist him to a chair by the fire. I loosened h collar and handed him a glass of brandy which Pons poured from a decanter on the desk.

"I am sorry to subject you to this, Sir Clive," said Pons, when the recumbent man's face had assumed more healthful colour.

"But there was no other way."

Sir Clive turned burning eyes to my companion. "How did you know, Mr Pons?"

"There were two distinct patterns to the strange even at the Zoological Gardens. One set was distinctly trivial while the others were serious. One featured senseless damage; the opening of small cages containing harmless animals; the daubing of walls with paint. The others were grave, the letting-out of lethal animals such as Polar bears and tigers. The press immediately seized upon these events and shouted that a Phantom was at work. The idea was nonsense, of course, but as soon as I was called in by Hardcastle my original impressions formed by the newspaper reports were reinforced."

Solar Pons paused and blew a cloud of aromatic blue smoke toward the ceiling as he gazed sternly downward at the deflated figure of Sir Clive.

"In all the trivial cases, where the person responsible could have simply opened catches or bolts, the doors of the cages had been smashed. Yet in the cases of the larger animals where there were heavy doors and stout padlocks, the intruder had not smashed them, but instead had used a key, which argued inside knowledge."

"It is interesting, Pons, but I do not quite see .. ." I began.

Solar Pons transfixed me with a look.

"It was elementary, my dear Parker. Two different people were the authors of the events. Hodgson, motivated by revenge, was determined to throw suspicion on his rival, young Hardcastle, for the affections of Miss Westover. That is understandable, if contemptible. But Hodgson, though unbalanced by jealousy was conditioned by training and respect for his calling. He would not endanger human life in his scheme to discredit his rival. And though he committed damage it was extremely trivial. Sir Clive had access to all the keys or could have had them copied, so he avoided the noise which would have been made late at night by smashing the heavy locks. It was as simple as that. That was one of the striking differences and I at once concluded there were two strands to the affair. The mystery and the ensuing publicity were a godsend to Sir Clive. He had long been blackmailed by Jefferies, as is made clear by the correspondence I have read, and had been bled white. The so-called Phantom's activities provided him with an excellent opportunity, so a few weeks ago he began his own series of atrocities, which were of a far more serious kind; ranging from the freeing of dangerous spiders to the tigress and Polar bear. They had to be dangerous creatures to make the death of Jefferies more plausible."

Sir Clive passed a handkerchief across his streaming face with shaking fingers.

"You are right, Mr Pons," he said. "I must have been mad but you cannot judge me unless you know the full circumstances."

"I am not presuming to judge you, Sir Clive," said Solar Pons, rubbing his chin. "That is not my function and I leave it to those better qualified."

"Jefferies has had thousands from me," said Sir Clive wearily. "We had been rivals for years. And the damnable thing is that he used much of the money to build new facilities at the Zoo and so gain fresh kudos for his own name."

He turned burning eyes on my companion.

"How on earth did you know, Mr Pons?"

Solar Pons shook his head.

"It was mere suspicion at first, but it strengthened as my investigations continued. As I have said the pattern was so different in the two sets of incidents. I have already explained how I came to suspect Hodgson and Miss Westover confirmed the matter. But I very soon realised that the person who had been loosing the larger mammals had access to a large portion of the Zoo. Furthermore, no-one suspicious had been seen either in or just outside the grounds. Therefore the miscreant had to be someone who could move about the Zoo, particularly at night, without attracting suspicion. A member of the staff or a high-ranking official. When I saw that your house adjoined the grounds and that a gate gave access to the Zoo premises my suspicions crystallised."

"So that was why you said something further might happen, Pons!" I exclaimed.

Solar Pons nodded.

"But even I did not realise what a tragic turn events would take. I had to make sure. Hodgson was nothing.

I could have exposed him at any time. What I wanted to learn was why the more serious incidents were taking place. Well, we have found out."

He looked at the smouldering remnants of the fire in the grate, his deep-set eyes seeming to gaze far beyond them.

"The pattern was repeated in the near-tragic incident of the Polar bear. I retrieved from its claws a length of grey thread."

He produced the small transparent paper envelope from his pocket as he spoke.

"I immediately identified it as coming from a suit of good material. When I saw that Sir Clive wore a grey suit today and that a button was missing from the three on his right sleeve, I knew that he had had a narrow escape when releasing the beast from the enclosure. And I also knew that I had my man though I did not then know he was a potential murderer. The keepers wore coarse blue uniforms and the threads did not match."

He picked up the limp arm of the recumbent President and help up his sleeve for me to see. There was a button missing and I noticed immediately that the thread was a perfect match to that on the Director's coat. Sir Clive was breathing stertorously and he struggled into a more erect position.

"I submit that Jefferies called here tonight, probably for another payment or perhaps to hand over some letters," Pons went on. "You had already prepared the ground and you struck him on the neck with that heavy iron poker in the fireplace, when his back was turned. It was a foggy evening when you were unlikely to be seen and it was this which prompted you to make the appointment. When you had killed your tormentor you dragged him out through the French windows, with the study in darkness, of course, and down the path into the Zoo grounds. The public had long gone and there would be very few staff about on such a night. You counted on that."

"You are a devil, Mr Pons," said Sir Clive softly, his eyes never leaving Pons' face.

"Hardly, Sir Clive. Merely a person devoted to justice. I could not fail to see the heel-marks of your victim in the grass of the lawn. Though no doubt they will be gone by morning if there is rain. And in any case who would be able to see them in the current foggy weather."

"But how would Sir Clive get the body to the gorilla-house, Pons?" I asked.

Solar Pons shrugged his lean shoulders.

"That was the easiest part, Parker. Probably one of the keepers' wheel-barrows. It would have taken only a moment to have tipped Jefferies in. I noticed two barrows in the gorilla-house. Apart from that the gorilla is a vegetarian. And Jefferies was an expert on them. Sir Clive used a key again on this occasion as he needed to be quick—and quiet. And then smashed the glass on his way out to attract attention to the murder, doing it from the wrong side in the stress of the moment."

"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 sombrely.

"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 realise . . ."

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 grey 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.

End of The Further Adventures of Solar Pons

Table of Contents

The Further Adventures of Solar Pons

Contents

The Adventure of the Shaft of Death

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

The Adventure of the Frightened Governess

1

2

3

4

5

6

The Adventure of the Defeated Doctor

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

Murder at the Zoo

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

End of The Further Adventures of Solar Pons