Solar Pons Versus the Devil's Claw

Eight: CHALCROFT MANOR

As we approached, I made out the massive architectural detail if the oak-beamed edifice that reared to the freezing sky, and then became aware of a closed motor vehicle that was bumping down the gloomy, rhododendron-flanked drive in front of us. The machine turned in a gravel concourse in front of the house to face us and drew up before the huge timbered porch Pons’ client had mentioned in his narrative.

I had been prepared for something out of the ordinary but nothing on this scale and I just had time to notice the drive passing on its way toward another group of buildings in the far distance, which I took to be the stables, when a stocky, fresh-faced man in a discreet check suit jumped down from the driving seat of the Morris Cowley.

Mulvane’s face was gloomy as he reined the chestnut in in front of the great, sombre facade of the house and descended to the ground. Pons was already out of the trap and I followed with my own hand luggage.

The strongly-built man came toward us, a welcoming smile on his square-jawed face.

“Ah, Mr Mulvane. You were quite elusive yesterday and so I thought to find you this morning.”

“I have not fled, Inspector Stone,” said Mulvane evenly.

The Inspector paused and bit his lip.

“It has hardly come to that, Mr Mulvane,” he said gently. “I meant only that there were urgent matters to be discussed and time is of the essence in this business.”

“Well spoken, Inspector,” put in Pons approvingly.

His deep-set eyes had been watching the two men attentively during the short conversation. Mulvane had recovered himself now, though dull red spots burned on his cheeks.

“I forget myself. Inspector Stone of the Buckinghamshire C.I.D. This is Mr Solar Pons and Dr Lyndon Parker.”

There was slight surprise on the police officer’s face now as he came forward to shake hands and he looked with obvious interest at my companion.

“Honoured, gentlemen.”

He inclined his head toward Pons as they shook hands.

“Your fame precedes you, sir.”

“You are too kind,” said Pons briskly. “I take it you have discovered something of importance from the post-mortem.”

There was approval on the Inspector’s face but he said nothing as there came the rattling if a bolt in the frosty silence. The four of us were walking toward the front door now, Mulvane having tied the chestnut to one of the porch uprights. The door was already open and a tall, grave-looking man in dark, formal clothes and with grey mutton-chop whiskers on his florid cheeks, came down the steps.

“You might get someone up from the stables to see to Sunshine,” Mulvane said carelessly. “It is too cold for him to be left outside without his rug.”

“Certainly, Mr Mulvane,” said the butler smoothly. “I will take him down myself it you will give me leave of absence for a few minutes.”

“By all means,” said Mulvane, leading the way through the big front door. Inside, the gloomy hall was enlivened by a roaring fire in a great stone fireplace and I could see worn oaken steps leading up to what looked like a minstrel gallery in the shadows.

“Come in, gentlemen, come in.”

We all hurried instinctively over toward the blaze and dropped into big velvet wing chairs which were grouped in a semi-circle on the polished stone flags before the fireplace. I had no time to absorb my surroundings and had only just removed my overcoat and scarf and stretched out gratefully to the warmth before the Inspector opened the conversation.

He looked toward the shadows, peering backward over his shoulder before he spoke in low tones.

“Is it perfectly all right to talk here, gentlemen?”

Mulvane nodded.

“The domestic staff are in the rear quarters preparing lunch.” He looked up with a sudden glint of amusement on his features.

“Or should be,” he said. “But it is forty feet to the doorway yonder and one would have to have the ears of a bat to pick up your confidence at that range.”

The Inspector sank down in his own high-backed chair midway between Pons and myself. Now he turned toward my companion.

“That was a remarkable question just now, Mr Pons.” “Indeed. About the post-mortem? How so?”

The Inspector rubbed his fingers together and held them out toward the ruddy glare from the fire.

“How could you have possibly known that, Mr Pons?”

“Then I was right?”

The Inspector nodded, his brown eyes fixed inquiringly in Pons.

“Tut, Inspector, it was not so very difficult. I have heard a detailed resume of the case from Mr Mulvane here. Unless something totally unexpected had happened, the post-mortem findings were the only area in which one could expect further developments at this stage.”

The Inspector smiled crookedly.

“An inspired guess then, Mr Pons.”

He drew his chair closer to Mulvane with a harsh rasping noise on the flags that sent strange echoes stirring in the vast, panelled hall. He reached in the pocket of his thick suit and took out a long buff envelope.

“This makes the case more baffling then ever, Mr Mulvane. It was obvious to everyone that foul play was involved in Mr Hardcastle’s death. But it was not until our police surgeon had re-examined the body in a far more thorough and detailed manner that the truth came out.”

He broke off and looked searchingly at Pons.

“We had thought originally that Mr Hardcastle had collapsed of a heart attack. We found instead that an incredibly thin instrument had been inserted into the heart. The entry wound was a tiny puncture under the armpit.”

He looked at me grimly.

“What do you make of that, doctor?”

“Extraordinary,” I said.

“You may well say so, sir.”

He leaned forward in his chair.

“You are not averse to us working closely together on this case, Mr Pons? It would be a great honour.”

“I should be delighted,” said Pons warmly. “I appreciate your welcoming me onto your own ground in this manner.”

Inspector Stone nodded again.

“We shall need more than two heads on this one, Mr Pons.” He looked round the hall once more and lowered his voice.

“I haven’t told you all of the surgeon’s findings, gentlemen. There was no puncturing of the dead man’s clothing to make the entry wound. I am sure the significance of that will not have escaped you, Mr Pons.”

Solar Pons smiled slowly.

“The inference being that Hardcastle was dressed in his outdoor clothes after he was murdered.”

Stone frowned gloomily.

“The wound was an upward one, entering, as I have said, beneath the armpit. This means that when he died Hardcastle was naked in the open air of a bitter January night!”