Solar Pons Versus the Devil's Claw

Eleven: DINNER AT THE MANOR

I had just finished preparing for dinner when there came a tapping at the door. It was Pons, well-groomed and with the customary alert expression on his face, though I was struck immediately by the strange aspect of his eyes.

“I have been incredibly obtuse, Parker!” he said, after he had carefully closed the door behind him.

“In what way?” I asked, considerably surprised.

“The will, Parker. It may have been changed.”

I looked at him sharply.

“But Mulvane told us the estate goes to him. The press inferences…”

Solar Pons put up the forefinger of his right hand to the side of his nose as though to enjoin caution.

“The press supposition was just conjecture, Parker. Perhaps someone wanted people to think that. There is a cunning mind at work here. I must arrange to see the solicitors tomorrow morning.”

His eyes had a hypnotic quality now.

“Messrs Tanner and Tanner, I believe,” I said. “You were examining those papers in the desk earlier.”

“That is so. And I must find an ironmonger’s in the village.”

He glanced round quickly as there came a stealthy step in the corridor outside.

“We are just coming, Mr Mulvane!”

He turned back to me, whispering urgently. “Not a word of this at dinner, Parker. We must proceed very circumspectly now.”

“Ah, then you have discovered something during your examination of the servants this afternoon?”

He nodded sombrely.

“I have come to some conclusions, Parker. Not definitive, certainly, but there was a process of elimination at work. Though much is still obscure a certain line of action is indicated.”

And with that I had to be content as we hurried downstairs in the wake of Mulvane. The grey mutton-chop whiskers and florid features of Tolpuddle materialised on the landing of the great staircase as we arrived at the last flight.

“Mr and Mrs Peters have already arrived, sir,” he greeted his master. “They are waiting below.”

Mulvane led us quickly to a graceful room panelled in some glowing wood at the far end of which a great fire burned. Peters, the estate manager, smart in a dark suit was seated at ease in a wing chair in front of the fireplace, engaged in a low conversation with his wife who sat facing him across the blaze. Both rose at our entrance but Mulvane, after shaking their hands and again introducing Pons and myself, saw everyone seated comfortably in a semi-circle.

“A little sherry before dinner would not come amiss, I think.”

Tolpuddle had already appeared with a tray of glasses and while he busied himself among the company I found time to take close stock. The lady was even more beautiful than I had supposed; she wore a semi-formal evening gown of some blue material with a high collar and with her vivid Spanish looks seemed supremely at home as she leaned back in her chair, engaged in animated conversation with her husband, while her liquid eyes regarded Pons and myself with interest.

She was indeed a magnificent, not to say dazzling, sight in those ancient English surroundings and the elaborate coiffure of her jet-black hair was held in place by glittering silver and tortoiseshell slides and combs which gave her an even more extravagant aspect.

“Splendid, is she not, Pons,” I muttered to my companion as the drinks went round.

“You are becoming quite a ladies’ man, Parker,” he observed drily.

“No, no, Pons,” I protested. “I meant her headdress, though the lady herself has a striking beauty.”

I could not keep the irritation out of my voice and Pons shot me an amused glance.

“Brazilian, if I mistake not,” he said softly. “I have made a study of such matters though the Spanish term for such an elaborate coiffure escapes me for the moment.”

And he said no more upon the matter.

Peters also was a fluent and polished conversationalist and though I followed the thread of his remarks to Pons about Elizabethan architecture I watched Mulvane closely, noting his unease and the way he started at the slightest sound from the hall outside and kept his eye on the room door as Tolpuddle and the maid passed to and fro; for the latter had now joined us, her bright eyes fixed on Pons from time to time as though she feared he might forget his pledge of confidentiality to her that afternoon.

It seemed to me as a long twenty minutes passed and the silver tray went round again, that everyone in the room was at pains to find some topic of conversation that did not turn upon the mysterious death of old Simon Hardcastle. Not that I blamed them. Chalcroft Manor was a place of gloom and brooding terror at the moment; I had seen that during our investigations and the conversations with Inspector Stone for all that the presence of Pons and myself had helped to lighten the atmosphere.

Presently there was the slam of the great front door and, a short while after, a muffled conversation from the direction of the hall. Mulvane excused himself and hurried out. After another five minutes he returned with a tall, slim girl whose fair hair hung down almost to her shoulders; and a broad-chested, well- made young man with dark curly hair. Both their faces were fresh and glowing from the bitter cold without and their host led them to the fire while the rest of us rose.

“These are two of my colleagues from Chalcroft College,” Mulvane introduced them somewhat hesitantly, shooting a glance at Mr and Mrs Peters.

“They are, of course, known to our friends here. Mr Solar Pons and Dr Lyndon Parker have come to help me in the present troubles. Miss Sybil Masterson; Mr Vincent Tidmarsh who is in charge of the music department at the College.”

We shook hands and made places for the newcomers at the fire while Tolpuddle reappeared with the sherry. When we were again settled, Miss Masterson, who seemed self-assured and of an easy manner, smiled warmly at Mrs Peters.

“Good evening, Sarita. It is pleasant to see you and Andrew again.”

Mulvane, who seemed quite transformed now that the girl had arrived, beamed happily round him as though he had quite forgotten the dark mystery which had brought Pons and myself there.

“Yes, it must have been the occasion of the College Dance at the New Year, Mr Pons.”

“Indeed, Mr Mulvane,” murmured Solar Pons quietly, his pipe-smoking making tangled wreaths in the air as it ascended to the high, beamed ceiling, his keen eyes missing little of what went on round him.

“Please do not let our presence inhibit you. I take it you are all thrown much together in a small place like Chalcroft.”

Mulvane nodded, his pleasant face less troubled as his glance rested affectionately upon the girl before passing on.

“It is true Chalcroft is a small place, Mr Pons, and we are a small society; the vicar, the doctor, two or three solicitors and the local landowners, as you infer. But during term-time with hundreds of students in residence, we are a busy and thriving community.”

“No doubt,” Pons concurred. “Most of your students board at the College, I take it?”

“Good heavens, yes, Mr Pons!” interjected the music master. “We have a large boarding wing with spacious dormitories. Chalcroft could not cater for such an influx.”

“Quite so,” Pons assented. “So the students would be gone by the time the New Year Dance was held.”

“Of course, Mr Pons,” Mulvane put in politely. “The College broke for the Christmas holidays on December 15^th and the students will not return for another fortnight. Our New Year Dance is for College staff and local people only.”

I sat watching quietly, finishing off my second glass of sherry, content to let the conversation wash round me without taking part. I was well aware of the purport of my companion’s seemingly innocent questions. Probably before we even came here he had given his mind to the possibility that one of the students could have been responsible for this abominable business. Now he was merely verifying that they had been gone from the neighbourhood for some weeks when Hardcastle’s murder took place.

It would, I soon realised, have been an almost impossible task for Pons and police alike if they had to look for suspects amid the hundreds of students at the College. I wondered idly what Inspector Stone and his uniformed officers were doing. They had not been in evidence for some hours but I knew that Pons was well aware of what was in Stone’s mind and that they would keep closely in touch with one another.

In the meantime I studied our host’s fellow members of the teaching profession. Miss Masterson was indeed a striking young lady with steady grey eyes, fine teeth beneath the full, sensuous lips and an agreeable way of laughing which I found engaging. Like Mrs Peters she wore a long, semi-formal gown which suited her full-breasted figure and she presented a picture of animation as she sat between Mulvane and Peters, her hair flying as she directed her gaze first in one direction and then another as the conversation went round the wide semi-circle of chairs set about the fire. Tidmarsh was sitting almost opposite me and I noted that despite his athletic build the music master had a pallid face which was accentuated by the heavy black moustache he wore.

It was obvious before a quarter of an hour was out that Mulvane doted on the girl and that she was equally fond of him. It was also fairly self-evident that all the guests were putting themselves out to be agreeable; no doubt in deference to our host and in order to forget, if only for a few hours, the dark shadow that lay across not only Chalcroft Manor but the entire neighbourhood.

Though these people were part of a tightly-knit community Pons was by no means excluded from the conversation and I could see by the ripples of laughter that greeted some of his more spirited sallies that he was more than holding his own. But I confess as I stared into the fire and accepted a third glass of sherry that my attention was wandering and eventually I became aware that Pons had asked me a question.

“Is it not so, Parker?”

I dragged my attention abruptly to the circle of absorbed faces about me.

“I am afraid that I was not listening, Pons.”

My companion gave me a severe look in which, however, there was no asperity.

“I was merely observing, my dear fellow, that there was not so much difference between town and country as the more casual observer might suppose. That sinister events can erupt in the deceptively smiling atmosphere of the rural scene as in the most squalid kennels of the East End of London.”

“Quite, Pons,” I responded, realising that my companion had deliberately shifted the balance of the conversation.

“You have certainly had experience of both, Mr Pons,” Peters said, exchanging a glance with his wife.

His bearded face had a ruddy glow in the firelight which reminded me of an old carved statue of Mars I had once seen in a museum somewhere. Mulvane and the girl looked sympathetically at each other and the music teacher stared impassively at the floor.

“Take this business of your uncle, Mr Mulvane,” said Pons tersely, his words emphasised by the deep and ominous silence that had fallen upon the assembly.

“It is bizarre, Mr Pons! It is horrible!” Sybil Masterson burst out, giving a fiercely protective look at Mulvane, and I saw her clasp his hand impulsively as it lay on the arm of his wing chair. “And the most dreadful things are being said about Hugh.”

Pons sat placidly, apparently watching the smoke from his pipe ascending, yet in reality observing everyone in the room with the most minute attention.

“They are quite untrue,” he said.

“Of course they are untrue, Mr Pons!” the girl replied with rising colour.

“That is self-evident,” Pons replied and there came a murmur of assent and clearing of throats from the semi-circle of chairs. Pons turned his eyes up toward the deep shadows of the beamed ceiling.

“It is horrible, Miss Masterson. It is bizarre, as you say. It is in fact like something from a Gothic novel in its trappings. Too bizarre, too horrible to be true, perhaps.”

“You are on to something, Mr Pons?” said Peters, his voice cracking in his excitement.

Pons ignored the remark, his eyes continuing to circle the company.

“A very clever brain is at work here. And yet the solution will turn out to be so simple that the police will wonder why it did not occur to them immediately.”

There was another long pause during which the two couples in the room exchanged puzzled glances while the music master stared at Pons as though thunder-struck. I turned my own gaze back to Pons, realising he had some deep purpose behind his apparently random musings.

“May we have the benefit of your further thoughts upon the matter, Mr Pons?” Tidmarsh said at last.

“Not at this stage, Mr Tidmarsh,” Pons answered politely. “But I will communicate my findings to the official force in due course.”

“That means you have come to some definite opinion,” said Sybil Masterson nervously.

Pons raised his eyebrows, ejecting another elegant arabesque of fragrant smoke from his pipe.

“Perhaps, Miss Masterson. But it would be unwise to theorise at his stage without further proof.”

There was a general stirring about the room but whatever other questions the various guests might have asked were cut short by the arrival of Tolpuddle at the door to announce that dinner was served, in the grave, ringing tones he reserved for his more formal announcements.

“That has given them food for thought, Pons,” I murmured, as we fell in at the rear of the procession as it proceeded across the hall toward the dining room with Mulvane and the girl at the head.

“Has it not, Parker,” my friend retorted. “You are constantly improving in your employment of puns.”

He glanced at the dial of the massive grandfather clock in the far corner.

“We must not be too late this evening. I shall be up betimes tomorrow for there is much to do. What say you to a brisk walk into Chalcroft no later than nine o’clock if it would not incommode you too much?”

“I would not miss it for anything, Pons.”

The tall, spare form of my companion stopped abruptly, a faint smile spreading across his features. I saw the figure of the maid Angela standing motionless in the shadows. Then she moved forward in the direction of the dining room.

Pons laughed shortly.

“That young woman has reminded me that the needs of the inner man must be met. Shall we join the ladies?”