Solar Pons Versus the Devil's Claw

Twenty-One: BAITING THE TRAP

The next morning Pons’ apparent lethargy had disappeared and he was suddenly galvanised with energy.

“You have thought of a plan, Pons?”

He nodded, his face animated and transformed.

“Yes indeed, Parker. But I would prefer not to divulge the details at this stage.”

“Very well. You know best.”

We had just left the breakfast table with Mulvane and Tolpuddle was out of hearing, supervising the maids clearing away.

“Let us just go into your study, Mr Mulvane.”

When the door was firmly closed behind the three of us, my friend made a curious request.

“Have you an old cash box, of about this size?”

He held up his hands to indicate something roughly six inches long. Mulvane looked a little startled, as well he might have done.

“I think so, Mr Pons. Do you need it right away?”

“If you please. The matter is not to be mentioned outside these walls. And an old letter or document of your uncle’s, with examples of his handwriting.”

“I can fill both those bills without any trouble, Mr Pons, if you will give me a few minutes.”

“By all means.”

Pons lay back in his chair and lit his pipe with evident satisfaction at the effects his strange requests had upon both our host and myself. In a few minutes, after searching in various drawers and cupboards, Mulvane produced the requisite articles. Pons picked up the battered old japanned box eagerly.

“Excellent! Just what I require. Now let us have a look at the document.”

He was absorbed for a few moments more and then asked, “Have you an old, long envelope in which I can enclose this material?”

“Not here, Mr Pons, but I think I can find what I want in my uncle’s office.”

Mulvane was away about ten minutes and during that time Pons sat in his chair, blowing out streams of fragrant blue smoke with an air of absolute contentment, oblivious of the mist at the windows and the ice on the panes. I forbore to question him on the matters he had set in motion as I knew he would have told me otherwise. Mulvane returned, making motions with his hands as though brushing away cobwebs.

“Is this what you want, Mr Pons? It must be twenty years old at least.”

Pons took the yellowing envelope with an air of satisfaction.

“Splendid! Just what is required.”

He went over to Mulvane’s desk where he seated himself with a sheet of paper on the blotter and made a number of inscriptions, all the while looking at old Simon Hardcastle’s letter, as though he were trying to copy the script.

“Yes, I think this will do.”

He painstakingly inscribed something on the envelope, put the letter inside and sealed the flap, before crumpling up the sheet of paper and throwing it casually into the fire, all the while being watched by our host with a puzzled look. Then my friend rose with an air of great decision.

“I shall only be an hour or so* gentlemen. I have no doubt you can find many pleasant things to do within the walls of the Manor during my absence, Parker.”

“Certainly. We could play a game of billiards, doctor. You have not yet seen our billiard room. You will not find a better.”

“One further request,” said Pons, as we were going out the door.

“Do you have a pair of powerful field glasses I could borrow?”

“By all means, Mr Pons,” said Mulvane. “You will find that brown leather case on top of the cupboard contains what you want.”

Mulvane then led me to a luxuriously appointed billiard room with leather banquettes set around the walls, but I must confess my mind was not on the game and though I did not play too badly I was nowhere up to my usual form. Mulvane won the first two games by narrow margins, but I pulled up and won the last two, which made us all square.

Pons was away much longer than expected and it was well after two o’clock before he returned, his outer clothing shining with droplets of water for the mist was thickening outside the windows. We had held up lunch for him and he sat down to eat with us, his face expressing complete satisfaction with whatever arrangements he had made on his mysterious errands. He rubbed his thin fingers together and held them out in the direction of the blazing fire with mischievous glints in his eyes.

“I have done just as you directed,” said Mulvane. “Miss Masterson and Tidmarsh were both at the College and readily accepted my invitation to an early dinner. I also rang Mrs Peters, thinking the occasion might mitigate her loneliness, as you also suggested, and she too has accepted. I am sending Sunshine and the dogcart for her at half-past six.”

“Sunshine?” I said, sniffing appreciatively at the big soup tureen Tolpuddle was just placing on the table.

“The pony, Parker,” said Pons gravely. “There will be a driver as well, of course, though I understand the little beast is extremely well trained.”

Even Tolpuddle’s grave demeanour lightened as the laughter ran round the table.

“Oh, yes, I remember,” I said. “He certainly knows how to find his way to the stables.”

“And the rest?” Pons asked.

“I telephoned my foreman at the cottages and asked him to circulate your message to the rest of the estate workers, though not letting him know that the message emanated from you. I have told the house servants, of course.”

“First-rate,” said Pons, taking in the aroma of the hot soup Tolpuddle was just ladling out. “Now, as nothing further can be done until this evening, I suggest we pass the intervening time the best way we can. We are certainly making an excellent start.”

And he dipped his spoon into the appetising soup before him.

The dull afternoon passed, for me at least, in a state of suppressed excitement. During that time I had telephoned my locum in London to see how the practice was proceeding and after receiving a satisfactory report from my colleague, I wrote two fairly important letters on medical matters, in my room before descending to the Great Hall where I perused The Lancet before the roaring fire. Pons was nowhere to be seen but at about six o’clock there was the sound of wheels in the drive and, in a few minutes more, Miss Masterson and Vincent Tidmarsh were announced, both with reddened cheeks from the bitter air outside.

Mulvane was already in the hall when I saw Pons descending the stairs. After greeting the two newcomers, whom Mulvane led rapidly to the fire, Pons drew me aside and lowered his voice.

“Whatever happens this evening or whatever I say, please, on no account, my dear fellow, express surprise. I will explain all a little later. Also, be prepared for a little expedition this evening. We may need your revolver, so bring it along. I have already filled a Whisky flask, courtesy of our host. Now all I need is to bait the trap. Before the night is over I hope to unravel some major skeins in this tangle at least. I have formulated my theories and tonight will prove or disprove them.”

“I trust it will be the former, Pons,” I said gravely.

“Let us hope so. Now, let us join the others.”

Tolpuddle was already serving hot punch from a silver bowl and a sombre group was slowly transformed into a more cheerful assembly, though when Mrs Peters arrived a few minutes later, a hush fell upon her entrance. Although still a beautiful woman her recent ordeal had marked her indelibly, and there were deep shadows beneath her eyes. Pons studied her closely and when Mulvane ventured some remark expressing deep regret, she drew herself up and said in a firm voice, “I appreciate the kindness of you all, but I beg you to make this occasion as normal and as cheerful as possible. What is past is past and nothing can change it. I have no wish to be the skeleton at the feast.”

“You will never be that, Sarita,” said Miss Masterson impulsively, moving to her side and the two women, both beautiful in their own fashion, briefly brushed cheeks.

When we eventually went into dinner the conversation was more animated and without reserve, and now and again small bursts of discreet laughter passed round the table, even Sarita Peters joining in from time to time.

As far as I was concerned the evening seemed to pass in a dream-like fashion. The conversation went mostly over my head and I responded mechanically, whenever anyone asked me a direct question on a specific point of interest. The terrible events at Chalcroft Manor seemed to be temporarily forgotten for my mind was taken up with Pons’ mysterious activities today and even the excellent food seemed dry and tasteless in my mouth. Pons seemed to sense this for he gave me a sympathetic glance from time to time and skilfully turned the conversation away from my end of the table though the assembled company were completely unaware of this.

The meal ended in just over an hour and when we were all gathered round the fire in the Great Hall for a nightcap, the conversation took a different turn. In a sudden silence Pons said quietly, “I know you will all be interested to hear that Mr Mulvane has been disturbed at not being able to discover old Mr Hardcastle’s will. He is the rightful heir to the estate, of course, as his uncle had often told him, but the relevant document cannot be found. Today I cabled his solicitor, Mr Tanner, in Bermuda and I got a reply to say that he had no knowledge of the will and nothing had been filed in his office. No such will has been deposited at Somerset House, for I have checked.”

A ripple of interest had run round the circle of faces in the dancing firelight at Pons’ words. Miss Masterson was the first to break the deep hush which had fallen. She leaned forward in her chair next to Mulvane, her eyes eagerly searching my companion’s face.

“Just what exactly does this mean, Mr Pons?”

“An evident impasse, my dear young lady. But for one thing. Mr Mulvane and I have discovered a letter in a recess in Mr Hardcastle’s desk in the study today. It was a somewhat bizarre document, but I gather from our gracious host that it was all a part of his uncle’s peculiar character.”

I noticed that Tolpuddle was standing in the shadows by the door, his body straining forward to catch the import of Pons’ words. Nobody spoke and then my friend went on.

“This letter indicated that the will was in a deed box at the top of the ruined tower on the estate. I believe it is known as The Folly, according to an old map.”

“A sort of treasure hunt,” Mulvane put in.

Pons nodded.

“I went up there this afternoon but I could not find anything specific. All those ancient blocks of stone are bonded and in remarkable condition for such an early structure. But it is good to get some better news and a glimmer of light in this terrible affair. With Mr Mulvane’s permission I am going to get up a mason from the village tomorrow morning and have some of these stones removed. If we are successful and we find the box then Mr Mulvane will have a clear title to his inheritance.”

There was a sudden murmur from the guests as he finished speaking and as I glanced up I saw that Tolpuddle had left his position in the shadows and was gliding silently through the door. Half an hour later the guests had departed with many thanks and interested questions that Mulvane had some difficulty in answering.

When he returned to the hall Pons put his finger to his lips to enjoin silence and sprang to his feet, his lithe figure vibrating with energy.

“We will give it half an hour,” he said softly.

“What does this mean, Mr Pons?”

“Ah, so you are still in the dark, Mr Mulvane. I have baited the trap, as I have indicated to my friend Parker here. Now we must see what comes to the net.”

“Whom do you suspect, Pons?” I could not resist asking.

“Everyone, Parker. The estate workers. Someone with a grudge in the village. We must not forget those poisonous rumours which were spread about you, Mr Mulvane.”

“But not our guests, surely? Or my own household staff?”

“We have a good selection, Mr Mulvane. Please carry out your normal routine before retiring. I would appreciate a key to the front door, as Parker and I may be in for a long vigil.”

“Good heavens, sir! You do not propose going out on such a night?”

“It is absolutely vital, Mr Mulvane, if we are to clear this up.”

He turned swiftly to me.

“Now, Parker, your revolver if you please. And wrap up warmly. I have the Whisky flask in my overcoat pocket. I see a thick scarf on the stand yonder, Mr Mulvane. I wonder if I might borrow it.”

“By all means, Mr Pons. And I will make sure the front door is left unbolted, though locked. I will fetch a spare key from my study if you will give me a moment.”

When I returned dressed for outdoors, with the butt of the revolver comfortingly against my hand, I found Pons already muffled and armed with a thick walking stick.

Two minutes more and we had said goodbye to our host, who locked the door behind us, and were striding out through the encroaching mist with the warmly lit windows of the manor sliding backward behind us until they were lost in the eerie whiteness as we pressed on to our lonely vigil.