Solar Pons Versus the Devil's Claw

Seventeen: NIGHTMARE

It was three A.M. when I sought my bed. It had been a night fraught with alarm and emotional crisis. The most difficult part had been our interview with Mrs Peters. She was a strong person but even her iron resolve had given way under the stress of her husband’s murder. There was a medicine cabinet in the bathroom and I had given her a strong mixture to calm her nerves. We had suggested that she remove herself to the Manor for the night but she would not hear of it.

As Pons had supposed she had slept in a ground floor bedroom so as not to disturb her husband. Her housekeeper had retired early, was a sound sleeper and had heard nothing. I had advised Mrs Peters not to view the body and she had taken that advice. The housekeeper, a motherly-looking woman in her early fifties, had strong nerves and was a great support to her mistress. We stayed more than an hour and when Sarita Peters was calmer I admired her courage and fortitude for she was still a splendid figure despite her grief. She did not know why the side door had been left unlocked and blamed herself bitterly for her husband’s death but we were unable to disabuse her on that point.

It turned out that the housekeeper thought that Mrs Peters had locked up, when Pons questioned her privately. Pons did not, of course, mention the earlier incident when I had seen a man moving away or the fact that the door had then been unlocked, for he had no further wish to burden her. She could throw no light on the reason for the murder and had no idea who the intruder might have been. She was amazed that her husband had the strength to stagger all the way to the Manor to give the alarm instead of rousing the household, and in truth, as a medical man, I was also astonished; it is incredible sometimes how people in extremis are able to do the most incredible things that one would imagine to be far beyond their strength.

Pons had been down to the side door where he made a careful examination; there were still damp traces of footprints on the wooden stair, but they told him nothing other than that the assassin had worn heavy shoes with broad cleats such as golfers wear though as thousands of people purchase such shoes the information was more or less worthless. When he had firmly bolted the door and made all secure we had finally left Mrs Peters and her housekeeper with suitable expressions of condolence. She had promised to come to the Manor the following morning to see Mulvane and to answer any questions that Inspector Stone might put to her, but she had our assurance that it would not be an ordeal.

When we at last returned to the Manor I was surprised to find that the time was still short of one a.m as we had seemed to have been away for far longer, such is the effect strong emotion and horrifying events have upon the human mind. A grim-faced Inspector Stone was there with an alert sergeant named Matthews, and two strong and determined constables. Peters’ body had already been removed by ambulance to a nearby town and the whole house was a hive of activity, with servants being questioned and depositions taken.

I seldom dream but during the dark hours that remained of the night I was oppressed with the fearful phantoms that may come when we are completely mentally exhausted and off our guard. It began with a vague floating feeling as though my bed was rocking in the swell of a sullen sea. Then, just as I was frightened that I was to be thrown into the water, it lifted into the air. There was misty cloud and through the swirling vapour I saw human figures, among them my own. We were back at the dinner table such a short while ago, before darkness and brutal murder had descended.

Pons was there and then the two of us walked into Vincent Tidmarsh’ study at the College. I was reading from the flyleaf of a thick leather-bound tome. The writer’s name was blurred but the lettering on the paper was black and clear. I read: Author of the Chains of Chastity.

“Oh, come Pons!” I protested. “Such a book…”

Solar Pons blew out an aromatic grey plume of smoke from his pipe.

“Not so, Parker. The springs of sex are mysterious, primitive and atavistic.”

“I did not know you knew so much about the human psyche,” said I.

He gave me a wry smile.

“Human nature is my business, Parker.”

Then the scene blurred again and we were in the Great Hall of Chalcroft Manor with Pons expounding on the case to a room packed with servants and the persona of the drama.

“I have called you here this afternoon to make a very important announcement, which concerns the future of everyone on this estate.”

Mulvane’s face was pale and drawn as he stared round at the assembled staff in the hall where the vast heaped fire of logs cast a warming glow and threw flickering shadows on the walls and furniture.

Mulvane held up his hand.

“For a particular reason I have asked Mr Pons to tell you about it. The discovery that Mr Pons has made is of such momentous import that I have taken the unprecedented step of bringing in everybody on the estate, so that each family employed by my late uncle is represented here this afternoon.”

I gazed in puzzlement at Pons, who stood a little apart from Mulvane, warming his slim fingers at the fire, his deep-set eyes stabbing over the massed ranks of the house servants and outdoor staff who stood or sat in an awkward semi-circle about the great paved floor. There was no sign of Inspector Stone or any other police official so I gathered that Pons had deliberately excluded them from the gathering, though I was just as curious as everyone else present regarding Pons’ pronouncement as he had not confided in me, either before or after lunch.

An odd silence had fallen and I then realised that a strange, bearded figure with a bandage about its head, was pushing slowly through the throng, murmurs of astonishment and even horror arising above the crackling of the fire to mark his passage.

Our client started forward, his sandy hair dishevelled, his eyes startled beneath the thick pebble glasses.

“Mr Peters! You should not be here after such an ordeal as you have suffered!”

The estate manager shook his head worriedly, his own eyes fixed on myself and Pons.

“I am quite recovered, Mr Mulvane. But when I heard from my wife that you had called this important meeting I could not keep away.”

He accepted the Whisky glass Tolpuddle handed him and said in a sonorous and far away voice, “What I have to say is for Dr Parker’s ears alone. My saviour…”

I rose and approached him, when the glass slipped from his hands and shattered on the stone floor.

“I know who is responsible, Dr Parker,” he said in a strangled voice. “His name is…”

There was mocking laughter as he fell into a black pit. I had just time to see Miss Masterson move from the other side of the fire and draw close to Mulvane, her face concerned and troubled, when the laughter went on in such a loud fashion that I thought my brain would split.

“What does this mean, Pons?” I said stupidly. “The Society of Bodgers?”

Pons’ laughter went on echoing round the vast subterranean vault.

“So you missed the name of the murderer. You would be eminently qualified for membership of that Society, Parker, given your past record…”

“Oh, come Pons!” I protested, when I became aware of Tolpuddle’s solicitous face hovering over me.

“I did knock, sir, but there was no reply. Then I heard you calling out and I took the liberty of coming in. I hope you will forgive my rudeness.”

I struggled up in the familiar bedroom of Chalcroft Manor, glad to be fully awake.

“Most certainly, Tolpuddle. There was no rudeness involved. I am glad to be awake, I can assure you, as I was having the most frightful dream.”

The gravity of the butler’s face deepened.

“Ah, you may well say so, sir. I think that nobody here slept well last night after such a dreadful occurrence. It has just turned nine o’clock, sir, and Mr Mulvane thought you might be glad of a cup of hot chocolate. I can assure you that neither he nor Mr Pons are up and that breakfast can be served at any time to suit.” “That is good to know,” I said, as he placed the tray at my bedside. “Please give Mr Mulvane my thanks and say that I will be down within the next half hour.”

“Very good, sir.”

Tolpuddle withdrew in as dignified a manner as he had come in and I drank the hot chocolate gratefully, my churning thoughts slowly settling as I returned to a semblance of normality. As it happened I was first in the dining room and sat down to await my companions, with slightly lightened spirits, despite the thick mist and heavy rime of frost on the window panes.