Solar Pons Versus the Devil's Claw

Thirteen: ATTEMPTED MURDER

“Now for old Hardcastle’s lawyer. It should be down the far street on the opposite side of the road if what the postmaster tells me is correct.”

We threaded our way through the thickening traffic and found ourselves in a narrow lane fronted on both sides by a mixture of private houses and commercial premises, mostly offices, interspersed with those of solicitors and doctors.

“Ah, here is the brass plate, Parker. I would prefer you not to come in, if you will forgive me. If you would just ensconce yourself in a comer of the tea-shop yonder I will join you directly.”

Although it was only an hour and a half since we had breakfasted, the sharp walk and the even sharper weather conditions found me receptive to the suggestion and from the bottle-glass windows of the quaint old establishment, which was already crowded with people taking their morning coffee, I awaited his return.

He came back a few minutes later, still carrying his parcel and with an expression on his face which told me that he was on the right track. As he joined me at the table he put the package carefully down between us and sank into the wooden Windsor chair with a grunt of satisfaction.

“Our man is out of the country. He has gone to Bermuda on urgent business for the firm and will be away at least six weeks, I am told.”

I raised my eyebrows slightly.

“It is important, Pons?”

“Extremely. From my point of view, that is.”

He would say nothing more and it was not until we had finished our coffee and were again outside in the street that he broke his silence, and that was in answer to my own question.

“It was what you hoped to hear?” I ventured, referring to our recent conversation. There was a gleam in his eye now.

“Possibly, Parker, possibly. But it does make my task a little easier. And tends to confirm my belief that Mulvane was speaking the truth when he told us that he was not interested in the terms of his uncle’s will.”

We were interrupted at that point by a frantically waving person who ejected himself from the post office doorway opposite. It was the postmaster, who darted into the road, dodging bicycles, pony-traps and the occasional motor vehicle with incredible agility.

“Mr Pons? Mr Solar Pons? And Dr Parker?” he asked breathlessly as soon as he had reached us.

“The same,” said Pons, looking at him curiously. “Might I ask how you come to know us?”

“Inspector Stone has just rung through with an urgent message. He repeated your descriptions, gentlemen, and of course I told him you had just been in.”

“Thank you. He is on the telephone now?”

“Yes, sir, if you’ll step across.”

“Please take care of this, Parker, if you please. I shall not be a moment.”

Pons thrust his small parcel into my hand and was gone in a second, rapidly disappearing into the throng of shoppers in the wake of the bobbing figure of the postmaster. I had not long to wait. Not more than three minutes had passed when Pons returned, his face grim. Quickly, he hailed a passing cab that was returning to the railway station forecourt.

“Jump in, Parker! There is not a moment to lose.”

When he had given the driver his instructions he sank back in a corner of the vehicle, the parcel on his lap, his face dark and sombre.

“What has happened, Pons?” I said in a voice low enough to prevent us from being overheard by the driver.

“Events are moving, Parker. Though this is something I did not foresee.”

His slim fingers were as agitated as those of the antennae of an insect, as he moved in the seat, his features furrowed with concentration.

“That was Stone, as you will have gathered from the postmaster. We are wanted back at the house. Peters has been attacked. His body had been found half-in, half-out of one of the ponds, the victim of a savage assault.”

“Good heavens, Pons!” I remarked. “Is he dead?”

“It was not clear from what Stone said,” Pons went on. “That is more in your province than mine. Stop here, driver!”

He rapped peremptorily on the window as the vehicle had now drawn alongside the wall of the great estate and he was already running for the gateway as I fumbled with my change to pay the driver. Pons was nowhere in sight as I passed through the brick archway into the grounds of old Hardcastle’s manor house but as I hurried to catch up I saw his dim figure hastening through the thin mist that was rising out here. He led the way swiftly to the stable block, where an anxious knot of people awaited us.

Mulvane’s face was a mixture of dismay and anger.

“This is a terrible business, Mr Pons.”

The trim form of Inspector Stone was beside him. He ushered us quickly to one of the outbuildings where there was a warmer atmosphere with massed bales of straw stretching almost to the ceiling. Thick blankets had been produced from somewhere and a blue-faced bearded figure lay swathed in them. A motherly-looking woman was bent over him, trying to spoon brandy into a corner of his mouth.

“Your department, I think, Parker,” Pons murmured quietly, stooping to thank the woman, who moved aside with an anxious look upon her face.

“We have done all we could, doctor,” Stone said brusquely. “He has only just been brought in here and we have applied such rough and ready remedies as suggested themselves.”

“You have done wisely,” I told the Inspector. “Has Mrs Peters been informed?”

“Not yet,” Stone replied. “We did not wish her to fear the worst until we had expert medical advice.”

“We certainly have that,” Pons put in. “What is your diagnosis, my dear fellow?”

I was already examining the gash on the back of Peters’ head and I had checked that warmth was returning to his limbs.

“Favourable,” I said. “He has certainly had a great shock and immersion in bitterly cold water on such a freezing day is sometimes sufficient to stop the heart entirely. I am certain he will recover with warmth and care. He must be moved indoors as soon as possible.”

“Excellent!” Stone exclaimed. “Then he may be able to tell us something of his attacker.”

“Perhaps,” said my companion softly.

“He was obviously attacked from behind, Pons,” I said. “So he would not have seen who was responsible.”

Solar Pons put a long, thin forefinger alongside his nose and surveyed the small cluster of anxious estate workers who crowded the stable doorway.

“Perhaps, Parker. But I think you are forgetting the frozen ground. It would be difficult to approach someone in the open without footsteps being audible on such a hard surface.”

I rose, noting the trembling motion of the estate manger’s eyelids, asking the woman to continue the stimulus of brandy, enjoining caution as to the amount.

“I think everything had already been done that can be here,” I said. “Mr Peters should be moved to the warmth and comfort of his own home as soon as he regains consciousness. And we should be careful not to alarm his wife unnecessarily. In the meantime ought not we to go over the scene of the crime, Pons?” “The attempted crime, Parker,” said Pons languidly, his keen eyes raking over the recumbent form of Peters, who now bore all the signs of returning animation.

A uniformed sergeant had appeared from somewhere and when Stone had given instructions for Peters to be conveyed to the house, the C.I.D. man led the way through the freezing air and across the misty grounds towards the steely sheen of ice glimmering beneath the feeble rays of the low sun.

We skirted the area of the large pond, one of several, each over a hundred yards across and intersected, I saw now, by small strips of solid ground.

“Gravel pits,” Stone ventured, answering my companion’s unspoken question. “Old Mr Hardcastle refused, for some reason, to have them connected up. The estate people thought it would have been more useful to have them all one large lake. Apparently the shallower ponds dry up in the summer season when it is exceptionally hot.”

“Note that interesting husbandly detail, Parker,” said Pons drily, his head thrust forward into the collar of his warm overcoat, his deep-set eyes stabbing here and there. I noticed he still carried the small parcel under his right arm and my curiosity as to its contents increased.

Stone opened his mouth as if to remonstrate but broke into a broad smile as Pons continued, “It is this attention to the minutiae of the case which marks the Inspector as an outstanding officer. You will go far in the force, Stone, mark my words.” “You are too kind, Mr Pons,” said the C.I.D. man, a warm flush on his cheeks.

We had now come to a large open space where a few curious country people had gathered, despite the bitter cold. They drew back respectfully as our small group came up and I saw where the ice had been broken near the bank of the pond. Close by much water had been deposited upon the surface of the frozen ground, obviously where Peters had been brought to shore. Lying near was a large hurdle, the means by which he had been rescued.

“Fortunately, Amos Brown here, was passing on his farm duties and saw Peters floating in the water,” Stone said. “Undoubtedly he would otherwise have died. With commendable speed Mr Brown supported the body with this hurdle and as Peters was too heavy to extricate unaided he then ran for help.”

“Excellent,” said Pons, glancing curiously at the elderly man with a white moustache who stood with his hands thrust deep into the pockets of his corduroy jacket. “I am sure Mr Brown deserves Mr Peters’ warmest thanks.”

I had circled round while this conversation was proceeding and now saw that Mulvane, who had remained behind to supervise Peters’ transfer to his own house was hurrying to rejoin us, his form a dark spot through the enshrouding mist which hung like some pallid pall across the estate. Pons was crouching on the bank now, his glass to his eye and working up and down like some sporting dog upon the scent.

He rose to his feet eventually and put the magnifying lens back in his pocket.

“You will notice there is no sign of the Devil’s Claw, Parker,” he said mockingly, his eyes fixed upon Inspector Stone, who stood watching the gradually approaching figure of Mulvane.

“The ground is too hard, Pons,” I said.

He nodded impatiently.

“Exactly. But that did not prevent such indentations on a previous occasion when murder had been done and the freezing weather conditions were exactly the same.”

“The Ram Dass Society, Pons…” I began.”

He gave me an amused look.

“Your sense of fantasy is growing apace, Parker,” he said.

Before I had time to reply he had moved away, working across the broken ground, back from the edge of the pond. He turned as I came up.

“The would-be murderer approached from that thicket yonder,” he observed. “There is just enough cover behind the evergreens. It seems I must revise my earlier theory, formed before I had been over the ground. So far as I can make out Peters must have been standing at the edge of the pond, perhaps ascertaining the condition of the ice. He would have to have been stationary for such an attack. As you can see from the position of the thicket the attacker, who may have been there for some time, could have rushed up behind Peters to strike him and push him in before his victim was aware of his presence.”

He pulled gently at the lobe of his left ear.

“Yes, Parker, I think that scenario fits the available facts.”

“It looks as though the case may take some time to unravel, Pons,” I said. “If you wish I can phone my locum and make arrangements for him to take over for the coming week. Fortunately, my list is rather light at the moment.”

Pons looked at me sharply.

“I would greatly appreciate that, my dear fellow,” he said softly. “Your presence is invaluable, as you must know, though I am afraid that when I become so absorbed, the fact may not always be evident to you.”

I mumbled my thanks, making a mental note to telephone as soon as we had returned to the house.

“You think the attack would have been unpremeditated, Pons?” I ventured.

He shook his head.

“Hardly, Parker. Peters was followed, without doubt. Let us just say opportunistic. Hard as the ground is I have some small indications of our man’s movements. If I am not mistaken he moved off after the attack, going in the direction of the old cemetery.”

“That is interesting, Pons.”

“Is it not, Parker.”

“Then why do we not proceed there immediately?”

My companion smiled, exchanging a shrewd glance with

Inspector Stone, who was standing a few yards away from us.

“Because there are many extremely faint impressions about here, mostly of hobnail boots in the frozen grass, undoubtedly made by the estate people when Peters was rescued from the pond. Despite the hardness of the terrain I was able to make that out. But some farm employees came from and returned in the direction of the cemetery, while others no doubt accompanied the unfortunate Peters across the area of the ponds, toward the stables direct. I have already seen what there is to be sent here, so I do not think your question would be profitable, though I appreciate your intentions, my dear fellow.”

I glanced at my watch.

“I think I ought to get across to Yeoman’s to see how my patient is doing.”

“By all means. Ah, here is Mr Mulvane.”

Our client was looking pale and grim-faced as he approached, his heavy boots making crackling noises among the roots of the frost-bonded grass.

“How is Mr Peters?” I asked. “I think I ought to call in at his house.”

Mulvane shook his head.

“There is really no need, Dr Parker. I have just been there and Mrs Peters told me there is no further cause for alarm. She has given him a sleeping draught and he is warm and comfortable in bed. The cut on his head is the most serious consequence but she has treated it with antiseptic and bandaged him in a most expert manner. I was allowed to look at him from the door of his room. Mrs Peters gave me the impression that she is quite skilled in medical matters.”

“That is all right, then,” I said with relief. “But if you telephone Mrs Peters later in the day would you please tell her that I will call round later in the early evening.”

“Certainly, Dr Parker. I am afraid this terrible business has my nerves on edge.”

Pons moved over and took our client by the arm.

“It is always darkest before daybreak, Mr Mulvane,” he said comfortingly. “I have no doubt all will be well in due time.”

Mulvane’s face brightened.

“You have found a way through this black business, Mr Pons?”

My colleague gave him a reassuring smile.

“I would prefer to say nothing at this moment but there are certain promising aspects that present themselves.”

He turned on his heel.

“And now, friend Parker, it is surely time to make out way to the house for the excellent lunch that I am sure has been prepared for us.”

As we traversed the spits of land that connected the series of frozen ponds and regained the stable area, something caught my eye as we began to move back up the misty lane in the direction of the great house. I had brought up the rear and suddenly glimpsed a shadowy figure crossing the stable yard. It was that of a tall man carrying a large suitcase. It was difficult to make out detail in the misty light but I could have sworn he wore a turban. In a state of high excitement I turned to my companion but bit back the words that sprung to my lips. The man would have been too far away to catch in any case by the time I rejoined Pons, who had now drawn some way ahead. I resolved to keep my own counsel for the time being.