Solar Pons Versus the Devil's Claw

Nineteen: THE RUINED TOWER

It was early afternoon and Mulvane had still not returned. I was rather concerned about our host as there was a thick pall of fog hanging over the grounds outside the house. But Tolpuddle had come in to tell us that Mulvane had just telephoned to say that he was delayed on business and was lunching with friends in Chalcroft. He would see us later in the afternoon. Tolpuddle was hovering deferentially in the background after imparting this information when Pons made what I thought was rather a strange request.

“Have you such a thing as a map of the estate?”

“Yes, sir, we have a large-scale one which is kept in the study. Shall I bring it to you?”

“No, no. We will come with you if you will point it out.” “Very good, Mr Pons.”

We followed the butler across the Great Hall, where maids scurried by. I caught sight of Angela near the study entrance and she gave us a timid smile as we passed. All about us were the sounds of a great house resuming its normal routine. It was somehow reassuring to realise that despite the terrible happenings if the past days Chalcroft Manor would continue to function, almost as a living entity, with hundreds of years of history behind it.

Once in the study Pons closed the door firmly behind us, while the butler crossed to a large bookcase in the far comer. He mounted a leather-topped library ladder and took from the top shelf a long leather case. He brought it down, carefully dusting it with his handkerchief.

“This is it, gentlemen. As I said it is very large-scale and will cover the entire top of the desk yonder if we clear it.”

“Very good, Tolpuddle. I would appreciate it if you said nothing about the map or our interest in it to anyone in the household.”

“Certainly, Mr Pons. You may rely on my discretion.”

After Pons and I had carefully cleared the desk top Tolpuddle eased out the huge map, which was linen-backed and etched in different colours; when spread out on the desk and secured at the comers with brass paperweights it made a vivid splash of brilliance in the sombre atmosphere of the study.

“Would that be all, sir?”

“I would appreciate it if you would stay a little longer, to point out matters of interest. I take it you have been in service here a good many years?”

“More than thirty, sir,” the butler replied gravely.

“Ah! Then you are just the man.”

The next few minutes were spent poring over the huge map. As Mulvane had indicated the estate was vast with thousands of acres of arable land and at least seven farms, together with a great many workers’ cottages. It was almost like a small empire and Pons became more and more absorbed as the minutes ticked by.

Suddenly, he stabbed out his finger.

“What is this ruined tower here, beyond the ponds?”

“That is early fifteenth century, gentlemen. Ruined, as you suggest, but the stone staircase is intact and there is a wonderful view of the estate from the top on a clear day.”

Pons stroked his chin.

“Interesting. Is it not, Parker?”

I nodded.

“If one likes ruins, Pons.”

He chuckled.

“Even they may have their uses.”

He turned to the attentive butler.

“Many thanks, Tolpuddle. I think I have mastered the topography now.”

“Very good, sit. Please ring if you need anything.”

He made a silent exit like the well-trained servitor he was. Pons looked at his watch.

“We have more than an hour of daylight, Parker. What say you to a short expedition to this ruined tower. It has given me an idea. Are you game?”

“If it is any help to you, of course, Pons.”

The cold seemed, if anything, more biting than ever as we set out, well muffled against the elements. Pons had made a rough sketch map from the one in Mulvane’s study, which was now back in its position on top of the bookcase. He consulted his copy from time to time as the landscape was often obscured by the thickening mist. Presently he gave a grunt and diverged from the path that led toward the stables-.

“I think, if we take a wide swing to the right, in order to skirt the ponds, we should be in range of our destination in fifteen minutes or so.”

“I do not really know why we are going there.”

He put his right forefinger alongside his nose in a familiar gesture.

“All in good time, Parker. It may be the means for us to bait a trap if the circumstances are favourable.”

And he said nothing further, as we ploughed on, the breath smoking from our mouths and the frost crackling among the grass stems beneath our stout boots. In a few minutes more we saw a dull, metallic sheen, like a broad mirror, emerging from the mist.

“We must go carefully here, as it is difficult to see, under these conditions, where terra firma ends and the lakes begin,” said my companion.

We kept well back and took a wide swing away from the withered sedges which marked the fringes of these great pools where a grim drama had been played out only a relatively short time ago. My breath was coming faster and my heart hammering in my throat as we started going uphill. Pons, whose keen eyes had been stabbing to and fro as he surveyed the drifting mist, said suddenly, “If my calculations have not led us astray, we should be almost there. Ah, there it is!”

Soon, I saw what his exceptional eye sight had already picked up. A great tower, made of stone blocks, clothed in mosses and thick ivy that slowly composed itself before us. It was a drunken sort of folly because it seemed to lean awry and a once solid oak door, which had rotted on its hinges hung askew in the black oblong of the doorway. I marvelled as we drew nearer, at its great height, and its castellated battlements which surmounted the whole bizarre edifice.

“A Gothic folly, Pons,” I breathed.

“Is it not, Parker. You are out of period but it would not disgrace the Castle of Otranto. Though it is all of a piece with the weird happenings in which we have involved ourselves.”

He led the way at a swift pace toward the tumbledown ruin and peering inside the entrance we could make out a series of massive stone steps that led upwards in a spiral and which were illuminated by slits in the walls which allowed a little light to penetrate.

“As I expected, Parker, there is no handrail so we must be careful both going up and in particular coming down. I should not wish to be the cause of an unfortunate accident to such a valued colleague.”

“But if you should fall, Pons, you would have expert medical attention on the spot!” I could not resist saying mischievously.

He looked at me with a broad smile.

“Touché, Parker! You are developing a very pretty wit.”

As I laboured upwards behind my friend, in what seemed an endless series of twists and turns to the top of the tower, I could not resist saying, despite my shortness of breath, “Just why have we come here, Pons? You said something about baiting a trap.” “Indeed, I did. But you must just be patient a little longer until we reach the summit, as I will then be able to see if the setting is sufficiently suitable for my purposes.”

And with that I had to be content and I must confess I was a little blown until we had reached what I gathered must be the top, judging by the lightening of the sky and another ruined door that lay forlorn upon a broad stone platform that obviously led toward the open sir.

As we stepped out on to the litter-strewn pavement enclosed by the square castellations of the battlements, we were presented with a scene of desolation that was all of a piece with the sombre atmosphere of Chalcroft Manor and the horrifying circumstances surrounding it. But Pons seemed oblivious of all this and looked round appreciatively, as he bit with strong teeth on the stem of his empty pipe.

“Impressive, is it not, Parker?”

“If you like this sort of thing,” I said grudgingly.

He shot me one of his amused looks.

“But surely it will give you broad scope for one of your excellent fictional exercises delineating our little adventure.” “Excellent, yes, Pons, but as to fiction I must return a decided negative!”

He chuckled.

“As you will, Parker. But you must admit this wild, not to say savage scene, will give ample scope for your picturesque pen.

He was certainly right there for I had seldom seen such a sombre landscape that presented itself. For we were above the ground mist and could see way beyond the extensive areas of the lakes which gave back a dull sheen reflected from the leaden sky. In fact, as the mist eddied and swirled at the base of the tower, giving occasional glimpses of the ground, I realised that we were at a giddy height and instinctively reached out for the reassuring solidity of the parapet.

But Pons was already pacing eagerly about the large area enclosed by the battlements. There was a massive square of stone blocks in the centre of the paving and by the jagged and weathered stump of splintered wood set in the middle, I conjectured that it had once been the base of a flagstaff. I noticed that some of the blocks were loose and Pons was working away at one with his pen-knife, to loosen it further.

He gave a sudden grunt and lowered the heavy stone to the paving. A sizeable gap was disclosed and I was astonished to see Pons scrabbling among the scattered stone fragments on the floor of the tower. Eventually he found what he was looking for; a much thinner piece of stone which more or less fitted the hole he had made. He slid it into position until it was almost flush with its fellows. He turned his lean, feral face toward me.

“I think there is room enough. Now, if only we can find something like a small tin box at the Manor, we are almost ready for the next stage of the drama. But I need to set the scene and that may take some doing. One might even have to sleep on it.” He turned away abruptly and I followed him protestingly down the spiral stairway, all my unanswered questions hanging in the misty air.