The Dossier of Solar Pons

1

It was a bitterly cold day in the memorable winter of 1921 when my friend, the eminent consulting detective Solar Pons, was involved in one of the most strange and bizarre adventures I have ever had occasion to chronicle. For some days it had threatened snow, and though the expected fall did not materialize, every morning found hoarfrost glittering on the pavements and railings of the houses round about.

But our apartments at 7B Praed Street were warm and comfortable and Mrs. Johnson, our amiable landlady, kept the fires heaped with coals so that I soon came to resent having to attend to the importunate demands of my patients. I had only just come in to lunch on the morning in question and Pons, who had been engaged in some abstruse chemical experiments, was in an unusually amiable mood.

I make the comment because he had recently been through a period in which his exceptional powers had lain dormant and it was my experience that such times hung heavily on his hands and brought a wearisomeness of spirit when such an active brain lay fallow. He put down the pipette with which he had been precipitating some yellow solution into the steaming beaker before him and laid aside his apron.

"Ah, Parker. I am glad to see you, my dear fellow. If you will just give me a minute or two to wash my hands, I will be with you shortly. I trust the confinement was not too difficult a one?"

"Moderately so, Pons," I replied. "Though there were one or two anxious moments."

Pons gave me an enigmatic smile as he passed from the room. I read the Times for a few minutes and then, seeing that it wanted but a short interval to one o'clock, rang the bell which indicated to Mrs. Johnson that we were ready to partake of lunch. The meal was already on the table and our good landlady had already descended to her own quarters before Pons reappeared. He sat down opposite me, rubbing his lean hands briskly together.

"How on earth did you know I had been to a confinement, Pons?" I said irritably.

My companion's eyes were dancing with suppressed mirth.

"Ah, my simple observation has finally sunk home, Parker," he replied in that superior manner he affected. "There was no great difficulty in the matter."

He turned to survey the windows overlooking the street as a particularly sharp gust of wind rattled the casement

"A few days ago you had occasion to let drop that you felt Mrs. Bracegirdle's confinement might be a difficult one. Here on the table earlier this morning I find a brief note from Mrs. Johnson conveying the information: Mrs. Bracegirdle. Urgent. Therefore, I infer that the happy event is due. When you come in looking irritated, your hair hanging over your eyes and your waistcoat buttoned crudely, at least two buttonholes out of alignment, it is no great matter to deduce that you had to off coat and buckle down and that the confinement had been a trying experience."

I looked guiltily at the waistcoat in question, tried to bring an affable smile to my ruffled features, and re-buttoned the offending garment.

"You are absolutely correct, Pons," I said, "and I will not give you an opening by commenting on the simplicity of the method by which you arrived at your conclusion. But it was a deucedly difficult birth, though mother and children are doing well"

Pons raised his eyebrows.

"I am glad to hear it, Parker. Twins, I assume."

"A boy and a girl," I said. "I am relieved to have that little matter disposed of, it having been rather hanging over me for the past few weeks."

"And Mrs. Bracegirdle too, I should imagine," Pons observed blandly.

And with that he set to and for the next few minutes we endeavored to do full justice to the excellent dish of roast beef and Yorkshire pudding Mrs. Johnson had provided. We had disposed of the dessert and were on the coffee and cheese before my companion broke silence again.

He then made some observations on a particularly gruesome trunk murder, which was occupying an inordinate amount of space in the more sensational papers, to which I gave some perfunctory answers. In truth I had not followed the case very closely, but judging by Pons's shrewd observations on the conduct of the police in the matter, he had come very close to the heart of it.

I was on my second cup of coffee and disposing of my final portion of cheese when Pons, who had risen from the table with his habitual nervous manner and had crossed to the windows commanding the street, gave a muffled ejaculation.

"What do you make of him, Parker?"

I replaced my cup in the saucer with some asperity and rose from the table, not without some difficulty, and made my way to his side.

"I only wish you would let me finish a meal in peace, Pons," I said.

Pons's eyes were dancing with mischievous humor.

"The exercise is an aid to digestion, Parker," He observed gravely. "Whereas the old gentleman who is dancing about so agitatedly on the pavement opposite will not be there for much longer and you will have missed a valuable opportunity forever."

"Opportunity for what?" I said, my ruffled spirits written only too plainly on my face.

"Why, for the deployment of those ratiocinative gifts which you have developed so rapidly of late, Parker. What do you make of him?"

I pushed past Pons somewhat unceremoniously and looked beyond the curtains to where an old gentleman in black was in fact behaving in the curious manner alluded to by my companion. Despite the cold wind which blew along Praed Street, making pieces of paper dance in the frosty gutters, he would first stand still, then move on a few yards as though undecided, but then return to the same spot as if in an agony of mind.

His rusty black suit had obviously seen better days and he clutched an antiquated umbrella in one hand and a small black briefcase in the other. With the wind whistling about the skirts of his coat he was oblivious of the curious glances of the passersby in that busy thoroughfare.

"A man of some seventy years," I said.

"Elementary," Pons commented.

"Retired, probably. Poor, perhaps. Most likely a businessman, judging by his case. Hatless, which may mean he is absent-minded. The Lost Property Office is not far from here. Perhaps he has found the umbrella and wishes to return it."

"And finding the office closed, vents his rage by waving it in the street," added Pons, dissolving into laughter. He caught sight of my rueful face and checked himself.

"I am sorry, my dear fellow, but the delightful absurdity of your diagnosis was too much for my sense of humor."

"Very well, Pons," I said, choking back my feelings. "Perhaps it was not one of my better efforts in the deductive field. But he is certainly past seventy years of age."

"That much is evident," said my companion. "Not a businessman. And certainly not retired. Unless my eyesight deceives me, he is wearing clerical garments."

I looked again, and grudgingly agreed.

"It may be so, Pons. But how do you know he is not retired?"

"The clergy do not normally retire all the while they are clear-minded and able-bodied," said Pons. "The specimen before us, who betrays such indecision in Praed Street, is strong, in good health and evidently in full possession of his faculties. He could not venture abroad hatless on such a bitterly cold day unless this were so."

"You may be right, Pons," I ventured.

My companion gave a tight smile and went on.

"He is certainly not seeking the Lost Property Office, Parker. It is my contention that he is debating whether to come here to consult me or not. The conclusion therefore is that something has occurred which has made him forsake his usual habits, even to quitting his house-without his hat in such inclement weather. Wherever it was, it was some distance away."

"How can you say that, Pons?"

I fear my short temper must have showed in my voice, for Pons gave me a regretful look; but the even tenor of his discourse did not change.

"Strange as it may seem, Parker, it has either been raining or the ecclesiastical gentleman has been swimming, for I can clearly see droplets of moisture shining on his umbrella from here. Therefore, he has come from outside London, where local conditions may be a little warmer, for it has certainly not rained in the capital this morning according to the radio."

"You may be right," I conceded.

"The gentleman concerned, possibly a rural dean, is due to attend the conference which begins at Church House, Westminster, tomorrow," Pons went on. "The case contains his overnight things and a paper he is to present on his own particular subject at the conference. The problem with which he is concerned is something to do with either of these matters. He has come up a day early to lay some facts before me, inasmuch as the conference does not begin until tomorrow afternoon."

I could contain myself no longer.

"Come, Pons! This is the wildest conjecture."

Pons laid a lean finger alongside his nose. He looked at me curiously.

"We shall see, Parker, we shall see. His uncertainty has been thrown to the winds. He is crossing the road and in a few minutes, I fancy, he will be here."

Pons was indeed right, for even as I moved to tidy our lunch table there came a ring at the front doorbell. Pons seated himself in his favorite armchair near the fire with a mocking smile on his face and awaited the measured tread of Mrs. Johnson on the stairs.

2

"Dr. Glyn Campbell, gentlemen," she announced with a conspiratorial air.

Close on her heels appeared the elderly gentleman we had already spent so much time in observing from the window. Closer to, he was, as Pons had said, of robust and sturdy appearance, though half frozen and very much out of sorts. His broad, red features were roughened with the cold and his faded blue eyes wept behind his gold pince-nez. His old-fashioned clothing had a slight greenish tinge, as though it was not only old but moldy, and the scanty white hairs on his head were disheveled and much whipped about by the wind.

He put down the ancient umbrella carefully, leaning it against a leg of the dining table, and looked hesitantly from Pons to myself as Mrs. Johnson quit the room. He clutched the bag to himself and placed it on his lap as my companion motioned him to a chair. I noticed that the umbrella was indeed, as Pons had said, flecked with moisture.

"Mr. Pons?"

Pons responded with a slight bow.

"Allow me to present my friend and colleague, Dr. Lyndon Parker. Dr. Campbell is the rector of Shap, in Surrey."

The faded blue eyes focused sharply.

"Ah, you know me, Mr. Pons."

"As soon as our landlady had announced you," said Pons. "Your writings are not unknown to me."

"Poor things, poor things, Mr. Pons," said our visitor deprecatingly, but the expression on his face nevertheless indicated his pleasure. He put out his reddened hands toward our fire and rubbed them to restore the circulation.

"May I offer you refreshment, Dr. Campbell? Some coffee, perhaps? There is plenty in the pot. And I fancy you will find some brandy on the sideboard, Parker."

"It is too good of you, Mr. Pons," protested the rector as I moved to the sideboard to get the bottle and a fresh cup and saucer. When our visitor was comfortable with the coffee cup in his hand, I saw that Pons had been studying him carefully.

"You are in some trouble, Dr. Campbell, evidently, or you would not be here. You have come early for the conference, I take it?"

"Why, yes, Mr. Pons. I am to read a paper at the opening session at Church House, tomorrow."

Pons could not forbear shooting me a mocking glance as he eased his long form in his leather chair.

"The rain must have been unpleasant this morning and entirely unexpected in your part of Surrey, given the weather we have been having of late. Yet you came away so precipitately I daresay you mislaid your hat?"

Dr. Campbell put down the cup in his saucer with a faint clinking in the silence of the sitting room and stared at my companion with wide eyes.

"That is exactly so, Mr. Pons. I could not ignore the rain on my way to the station so I seized the umbrella, quite forgetting my hat in my agitation."

Pons nodded and tented his lean fingers in front of him in the attitude with which I had long become familiar.

"You are also rural dean, as your gaiters would indicate. I had occasion to consult Crockford's during a case recently and I came across your entry in so doing."

"Yes, Mr. Pons."

The old gentleman relaxed in his chair and favored both of us with benevolent glances.

"Exactly so, Mr. Pons. And it is partly in connection with my duties as rural dean that I find myself in my present predicament"

"Let us just hear your little problem, Dr. Campbell. I have no doubt that we shall be able to do something to resolve your difficulties and three heads are better than one."

"You do me honor, Pons," I protested, not without a touch of irony, and I was inwardly amused to see that the inflection of my voice was not lost on the good rector, whose mild eyes positively beamed with pleasure.

"Well, Mr. Pons," he began without further preamble. "I am, as you say, rector of Shap and rural dean of Stapleford. Though how you guessed I had come for the conference and had traveled a day early to consult you is quite beyond me.

Pons smiled thinly, avoiding my eye.

"An inspired guess, merely, Dr. Campbell I could see by your garb that you were a senior churchman. It did not therefore seem out of the way that you had come to London for the conference. There has been a deal about it in the newspapers lately. You carried a bag which indicated that you intended to stay in London overnight Assuming that you intended to call upon me, it therefore followed that you had come a day early, since the conference does not open until tomorrow. I hazarded a further guess, and knowing you to be perhaps a bishop or at least a rural dean, from your dress, I inferred that you would be presenting a paper to your colleagues, as you have just confirmed."

Dr. Campbell drained his coffee, which had been liberally laced with brandy, and gave a sigh of satisfaction.

"I see my faith in you has not been misplaced, Mr. Pons. I had some hesitation, I do not mind admitting, but only because I feared that a consultant of your eminence might laugh at me."

Pons shook his head.

"Grave happenings often turn upon comic events, Dr. Campbell. I shall not do that, never fear."

Thus reassured our visitor clasped his hands about his knees and immediately plunged into his story.

"I hardly know where to begin, Mr. Pons, though I will do my poor best. But the strange events which have been taking place these past months have me completely bewildered and worried. Even my secretary, young Isaac Dab- son, is as much in the dark as I. And when I found today that the paper I am to deliver at the conference tomorrow was not in my case, but some trashy children's comic instead, I thought I should burst with rage and indignation, which is most undignified for one of my cloth."

Our visitor looked so concerned and yet at the same time so comic that I was hard put to it to retain a straight face and Pons's eyes held a twinkle, though his grave expression did not alter. He did not, as I thought he might, immediately recall the rector to the main tenor of his story but instead asked him what to me sounded like an irrelevant question.

"You have a secretary, Dr. Campbell?"

The venerable churchman nodded gravely.

"You wonder at such a humble country parson as myself running to such a luxury, Mr. Pons?"

As my companion moved to protest, Dr. Campbell waved his apology away.

"It is no secret, Mr. Pons. I have private means. My parents left me well provided for, and my writings on specialized subjects bring me in a second sizable income so that I do not have to rely on my stipend. I am a lifelong bachelor, as no doubt you are already aware. I need a secretary, Mr. Pons, for otherwise the demands of authorship would take up an inordinate amount of my time, to the neglect of my parish duties."

"I am certain that is so," said Pons. "Mr. Dabson has been with you a long while?"

Dr. Campbell inclined his head.

"Almost a year now. He is excellent at his work though I fear he must doubt my sanity sometimes with the events of the past months. I also have a housekeeper who cooks for us, and that completes the ménage at the rectory."

"Just so, Dr. Campbell. Pray continue."

"Well, Mr. Pons," our visitor went on earnestly, "the events of which I am complaining started about six months

ago in the most commonplace way imaginable. I found, on awaking one morning, that my slippers had disappeared from the bedroom. This discommoded me somewhat and it was not until after breakfast that I discovered them. Dab- son had gone into the study to transcribe some of my notes of the day before and found them beneath the cover of his typewriter."

"You were present on that occasion?"

"Yes, indeed, Mr. Pons. I remember we made a joke about it, but young Dabson cast me a curious look. He had just bought the machine — I believe in being up to date in our methods, Mr. Pons — and he caught the buckle of one slipper in the ribbon carrier and was afraid he had damaged it."

'It follows, of course, Dr. Campbell, that you did not yourself consciously place the slippers there?"

Our visitor shook his head vehemently.

"Certainly not, Mr. Pons. And since Mrs. Jenkin and Dabson denied all knowledge of the matter, I was forced to pass it over in a somewhat joking manner. Truth to tell I thought little of it, curious as the circumstance was, and a few days later it had become quite lost to my mind in the absorption of everyday tasks."

"I take it anyone could have removed the slippers from your bedroom?"

"That would not be too difficult, Mr. Pons. And there are a number of parishioners in and out of the house all day in the normal course of events. But for what purpose?"

Solar Pons smiled thinly.

"That is presumably why you have consulted me, my dear sir. I am already intrigued and doubtless you have more to tell me."

Dr. Campbell nodded, his normally benevolent eyes carrying a grim expression.

"As I said, things began in that mild and innocuous manner. But a few days later other articles were missing until it seemed that hardly a week passed without some stupid and pointless abstraction of items I needed for the prosecution of my work. It has got to the stage of absolute persecution, Mr. Pons!"

Dr. Campbell glared belligerently for a moment or two and then relaxed, encouraged perhaps by Pons's alert and concerned expression.

"Pray be more specific, Dr. Campbell."

"Well, sir, not two days following the slipper episode, my notes for a speech before the Royal Society disappeared. I found them eventually in the hands of a statue in the garden. That was but the prelude to a series of farcical and meaningless episodes in which I began to assume the aspect of a laughingstock in the village."

Dr. Campbell sighed and his face bore such a harassed expression that the laughable aspects of his story were quite expunged from my mind.

"My hat disappeared, sir. It reappeared at the top of the church flagpole, in full view of all the village. I opened my briefcase in the pulpit to deliver my sermon and produced instead two kippers in greaseproof paper. They stank, sir, if not exactly to high heaven, at least to the church roof."

Pons stretched himself in his chair and permitted himself a thin smile.

"Dear me, Dr. Campbell, this is distressing indeed. Please continue."

Dr. Campbell wagged his head.

"Well, Mr. Pons, the unfortunate and ridiculous incidents which ensued would make a catalog that would take me all day to relate were I to recall them all. Needless to say no one owned up to the authorship of these strange happenings, and it began to get about the district that the rector was a little odd and absent-minded. That did not bother me at first but the affair has reached such absurd proportions that it has even got to the ears of my bishop. I fear that if the press were to get hold of it, my scholarly work would suffer."

Pons put the tips of his fingers together and leaned forward.

"Just so. I take it more serious things have happened in addition to these rather light-hearted episodes."

Dr. Campbell shot Pons a reproachful glance.

"Light-hearted is perhaps hardly the term I would have used, Mr. Pons," he said disapprovingly. "But I can see how it would look to an outsider."

"But you have not suffered anything other than annoyance and slight inconvenience," Pons persisted.

"That is true, Mr. Pons," returned our visitor. "Perfectly true. But it is a harassment, sir, a perfect harassment. And one which has reached such proportion as to impinge seriously upon both my professional life and my integrity."

My companion's eyes flashed.

"I did not say the affair was trivial, Rector; merely that the incidents you have described appeared so."

Dr. Campbell appeared mollified

"Well, that is certainly so, Mr. Pons, as far as it goes. But there were two more incidents of late which had somewhat more sinister connotations. And then my speech today. That is a serious inconvenience and means I must return to my parish."

"Could you not telephone your secretary?" I asked.

Dr. Campbell shook his head.

"He is away in the north for a few days, visiting his sister. And my housekeeper would not be able to do anything about it. Besides, the text of my address might well be hanging from the bell tower by this time."

He said this with a sibilant drawing-in of his breath and a tilt of his determined jaw that boded distinctly un-Christian thoughts, and a brief silence fell before he resumed.

"The latest incidents?" Pons prompted.

"I ask your pardon, Mr. Pons. These are deep waters for me and my mind has not its usual lucidity. The petty irritations I have spoken of have continued at the rate of about one or two a week for the past six months. Only this past fortnight the pattern has changed."

He sighed heavily.

"I mentioned earlier my duties as rural dean. One of them consists of delivering an annual address at the Church of St. Mary's at Stapleford. This is in connection with a Conference of Diocesan Candidates — I am sure I need not bother you with the details, gentlemen. There is bound to be a dreadful scandal over this."

He looked somberly at Pons.

"Among the congregation was an old friend, the rector of Channock in Yorkshire. He is inordinately fond of cats. Sheba, his favorite Persian invariably travels with him. I had brought my bag with me. I have it here."

Here our visitor's eyes flickered to his lap. "Truth to tell, it felt inordinately heavy. I put my hand in it to find the notes for my speech when I was surprised to encounter fur. Not to put too much strain on your patience, Mr. Pons, imagine my horror when I drew forth not my notes, but the corpse of Pattenden's favorite cat. Strangled, sir, with a length of wire. The conference broke up in uproar; I was almost assaulted by Pattenden; sadist and murderer were among the terms flung at me; and I made, in addition to Pattenden, a number of enemies for life!"

Dr. Campbell lapsed into silence again. I glanced at Pons and saw that his expression had changed. The alertness was still in his eyes, but there was something else there; compassion and understanding.

"A frightful experience, Dr. Campbell," he said gently. "I believe I recall a paragraph or two in the newspapers."

The rector nodded.

was fortunate that nothing more was made of it. I left the conference immediately, of course, and returned home, dreadfully upset. Naturally, I wrote to Pattenden immediately to protest my innocence, but have heard nothing since. I do not blame him. I should have acted similarly in his position."

Campbell drew his thickset shoulders up.

"I will draw briefly to a close, Mr. Pons. The latest disaster was averted, I am glad to say. A few days ago I found an intimate item of ladies' apparel in the pocket of my jacket in which my handkerchief usually reposes."

A shudder passed through our visitor's frame.

"You can imagine the effect of this, gentlemen, had I produced it at the Ladies' Guild meeting I was due to attend that afternoon I had already received a summons from my bishop for this coming week.

"Two days ago I received an extraordinary letter, which I have brought with me. This morning I found my galoshes filled with cold tea. On arrival in town I discover the loss of my address for tomorrow's assembly."

He paused, temporarily out of breath.

"You have indeed cause to be put out, Rector," said Pons soothingly. "Naturally, I shall take the case. We will return with you on the next train if Parker is agreeable. And we will examine this letter and hear of any further adventures en route."

3

Pons frowned at the light rain which was starring the windows of the railway coach.

"Before I examine the letter you have given me, Dr. Campbell, you mentioned earlier that one thing happened this morning which prompted you to rush out, quite forgetting your hat."

Dr. Campbell, ensconced on the seat opposite us, clicked his teeth in a highly audible manner. The three of us were quite alone in the compartment, so that we were able to continue the extraordinary dialogue which had begun in Praed Street

"You will yourself begin to think that my senses are affected, Mr. Pons. It was not just the cold tea and the galoshes this morning. No, you are right I had opened the hall cupboard to get out my umbrella when I found this notice pinned to the inside of the door."

He reached in his bag and came up with a large folded sheet of cartridge paper. As he held it up toward us I could see that it had written on it in large block capitals, with what appeared to be black crayon: CAMPBELL — YOU MUST OPEN THE SEALED SPIRE!!!

"What do you make of it, Mr. Pons?"

My friend sat in silence for a moment, his chin resting on his slim fingers as he stared at our client somberly.

"Intriguing, in the extreme. What is the sealed spire?"

Dr. Campbell looked irritated. He passed the paper to Pons who spread it out on the seat next to him and studied it intently. Then he compared it with the sheet of blue notepaper Dr. Campbell had already given him. He absorbed its contents without comment and passed it to me.

"Your parish would seem to harbor more than one eccentric, Rector," he said dryly.

Dr. Campbell chuckled throatily, his mild blue eyes dancing with mischief behind the gold frames of his spectacles.

"Capital, Mr. Pons. I see that I did correctly in consulting you. There is some ridiculous legend connected with the spire. My church is of the Norman period, as you probably know. The spire above the bell chamber has been sealed for a long time. There is, in fact, a large chamber above the bell frame but it was never used for anything more than storage. It was so difficult to get to that a previous incumbent had it boarded up. There is still access today, but the locked trapdoor has not been opened for years."

He paused and looked mournfully at the sodden landscape beyond the windows.

"When I first came to Shap twenty years ago, I went up there. There was nothing other than some old, broken furniture, bare boards and dust, Mr. Pons. I had the trapdoor relocked and so far as I know no one has been there since. But a ridiculous legend has grown up about what the local people call the sealed spire. An old lady in the village, Mrs. Grace Harbinger, is always writing me letters on the subject Her mind is a little affected, I think. The thing is a confounded nuisance, and a national newspaper got hold of the story some years ago.

"It has become rather like Joanna Southcott's Box, Mr. Pons. Open the sealed spire and all the problems of the world will vanish."

He chuckled again.

I had sat with the piece of blue notepaper in my hand, without reading the message on it, while this dialogue between Pons and the rector ensued.

"Why do you not simply open the spire and scotch the rumors?" I asked, conscious of Pons's approving glance. Our client bristled.

"For the very good reason, Dr. Parker, that I will not lend myself to superstition and nonsense. The sealed spire chamber, as they call it, is nothing less than a quite ordinary boxroom, filled with old furniture. I will have no truck with such idiocy. And I will not open that room either to please Mrs. Harbinger or the local press. And if you had read my articles on science and religion, Doctor, you would not ask me such a question."

"I am sure that Parker meant no harm, Dr. Campbell," Pons said mildly. "The question would appear to be a logical one on the face of it."

Dr. Campbell looked hurt and he clicked his teeth again. "I am sorry, gentlemen," he said contritely. "I should not have spoken so, but I have been sorely tried of late."

A brief silence ensued after this apology, and I occupied the awkward pause by perusing the note Pons had handed me. It was indeed a remarkable document. It was dated three days previously and headed, The House upon the Green. It was brief and to the point:

I read this extraordinary missive again. "What do you make of it, Parker?" asked Pons with a grim smile.

"She is obviously deranged," I said indignantly.

"Is she not? But there is more here, Parker, than meets the outward eye. She speaks of other letters, Rector."

Our client nodded uncomfortably.

"Oh, yes, Mr. Pons, as the good lady hints, this has been going on for years. I have drawers full of such letters at home. Dabson is quite resigned to them. Mrs. Harbinger lives not a hundred yards away, on the green facing the rectory, yet once and sometimes three times a week she essays the long walk to the village stores to post a letter which she could cross the green to deliver by hand."

Pons sat quietly, his fingers toying with the lobe of his left ear.

"Even so, Dr. Campbell, eccentric or not, she would appear to be a formidable opponent Her enmity would only add fuel to the present furor about you. It is an interesting point"

And he would say nothing further until the train had decanted us onto the platform at the small station of Shap. Our client's rectory was only a few hundred yards distant, set next to the ancient Norman church, in a delightful rural setting which time seemed to have passed by.

We walked through a path that skirted the churchyard to the hamlet of old timbered houses that seemed even quieter now that they were bound in the icy grip of winter. As Pons had surmised and Dr. Campbell had confirmed it had rained earlier in the day and moisture glinted on roofs and hedgerows, the dampness adding an extra chill to the air so that I was glad when we had arrived at our destination.

We preceded our client through an ancient lych-gate that faced the green, and he pointed out a low, timbered house on the far side from which smoke ascended in slow spirals against the lowering sky.

"That is Mrs. Harbinger's residence, gentlemen."

"I think I shall pay the lady a visit later in the day," said Pons, glancing at the bulk of the church behind us. "I have a fancy to hear firsthand her thoughts on the sealed spire."

"By all means," said the rector somewhat uncertainly. "But it is a pleasure I fear I must forgo. I have had enough of the lady's thoughts on the subject to last me a lifetime."

Pons and I exchanged an ironic glance, and then we had turned to follow Dr. Campbell up a narrow paved path that arched between twin lawns to the facade of a gracious Georgian house adjoining the church on its far side.

We were met in the hallway by a pleasant, middle-aged woman with a worried face.

"Ah, Mrs. Jenkin," said our host. "This is a good friend of mine, Mr…"

"Rutherford, at your service," interrupted Pons smoothly, ignoring the rector's startled look. "This is my partner, Mr. Parker. We are antique dealers, come to appraise some of Dr. Campbell's rarer pieces."

The rector had recovered himself by now and his eyes were glinting behind his gold-rimmed glasses.

"Of course. I should have warned you of this visit, Mrs. Jenkin, but it had quite slipped my mind."

The housekeeper gave her employer a sharp look and then smiled at us.

"Will the gentlemen be staying to tea? I take it you'll want it at the usual time."

"Yes, Mrs. Jenkin, in about an hour. I have had to return unexpectedly but shall be returning to town on the early evening train."

"Very well, Rector."

Mrs. Jenkin disappeared about her duties as we followed Dr. Campbell down the hall and into his study, a big room lined with leather-bound books, in which a cheerful fire was burning.

"I thought it best not to advertise my presence here, Rector," said Pons, looking around the room keenly. "If we are to help you, that is."

"You know best, Mr. Pons," said Dr. Campbell diffidently. "Though I am sure you would be more comfortable here."

"Parker and I will be more free if we stay at the inn for one or two nights," said Pons.

He looked at the traveling bag which I had put down in a corner of the study.

"We have brought things for a short stay, and I do not anticipate this business will take more than a couple of days."

"I am very glad to hear you say so, Mr. Pons," said the rector, crossing to sit in an easy chair by the fire. "Please regard the rectory as your own. Dabson is away and Mrs. Jenkin is most accommodating and easygoing. If you need meals or anything during the day, you have only to ask her."

"That is very good of you," said Pons, inclining his head. "If you will excuse me."

He went round the study with quick, catlike movements, stabbing glances at the shelves, now and then taking down a book. He was particularly interested in the rector's big mahogany desk, which was set in a corner near the window overlooking the green. He walked around a smaller desk between the window and the fire, on which a hooded typewriter stood.

"This is where Mr. Dabson works?"

"Yes, Mr. Pons. I fear he is a somewhat chilly mortal and prefers to be nearer the fire. I find the spot near the window suits me better."

"Quite so."

Pons was over near the rector's desk again, scrutinizing the photographs and prints which hung on the wall I had removed my coat by this time and went to sit opposite the rector near the fire, observing Pons's movements and keeping my own counsel

"What do you make of this, Parker?"

I went quickly over to join him. Pons had indicated a photograph of a group of young men who sat in formal stiffness on chairs in long rows, against the ivy-covered background of some venerable pile. There were names printed on the photographic mount, identifying those in the group. The picture was so old that it was quite yellowed by time, but it was nevertheless remarkably clear. To my astonishment Pons got out his magnifying glass and was studying the faces carefully.

"With your permission, Rector."

So saying he removed the picture from the wall As he did so he gave a muffled exclamation. I went to his side, stooping to pick up the thick sheaf of typescript stapled together which had slipped from behind the picture. Pons took it from me, studying it, his brows set in firm, corrugated lines.

"Your missing address if I am not much mistaken, Dr. Campbell."

The rector crossed to us with swift strides. He took the material, his hands trembling with suppressed anger. He bit his lip and looked at Pons diffidently. My companion laid his hand upon his arm.

"Have no fear, Rector. Your wits are not in question so far as I am concerned. These are deep waters, Parker."

Dr. Campbell smiled hesitantly and then turned to the fireside, slipping the notes in his briefcase, which he proceeded to lock. I went back toward the fire with Pons as he placed the picture upward on the secretary's desk, near the fire.

"Now, Parker, give me your opinion."

I searched the rows of faces hesitantly. Pons's hand obscured the printed legend at the base of the frame.

"Why that is surely the rector," I said, indicating a young man of about thirty who sat in the front row of the group, eyes slightly closed against the sunlight. Dr. Campbell had joined us.

"Quite right, Dr. Parker," the rector said wryly. "Theological college. A long time ago now, I am afraid."

He turned the frame over, looking for the label on the back.

"Dear me," he said softly. "I see it was taken in 1880. How time flies!"

Pons gave me a quizzical look in which wry humor was mingled.

"Quite so, Dr. Campbell. I have a fancy for such historic photographs. With your permission I will borrow it for a while. I have the names underneath and intend to do a little research in Crockford's later."

The rector looked puzzled; indeed, his blank-faced incomprehension must have matched my own, though he said nothing but went to a small collection of books on his desk and came back with the requisite volume. He looked nostalgically at the picture again.

"Many of them are gone now, I'm afraid, Mr. Pons. At least two in the South African War. And another three in the Great War, you know. Dollond, Carstairs, and Digby. Though they were even then in their fifties, they volunteered to serve as chaplains. A terrible waste, gentlemen."

I joined in Pons's muttered agreement with the rector's sentiments and went back to the fire, considerably puzzled by Pons's interest in the photograph. He spent the next hour roaming restlessly about Dr. Campbell's study and then, at his own request, ascended to the first-floor bedrooms alone. By the time he rejoined us for tea, which we took in a cheerful side parlor with flowered wallpaper, he was in an inordinately expansive mood, rubbing his thin, sensitive hands together and humming tunelessly under his breath.

"We progress, Parker, we progress," he said. "And when we have seen Dr. Campbell off on his train, I have one or two little experiments to make."

"I must confess, Pons," I commenced with some irritation, when my companion stopped me by laying a warning finger alongside his nose. He waited until Mrs. Jenkin had brought fresh toast and withdrawn before he broke the silence again.

"I must impress you, Parker, that I am Rutherford during our short stay in Shap. It is of the utmost importance that you remember this if we are to do any good. If the person responsible for the mischief against the rector knows that we are here, he will go to ground and we shall lose a golden opportunity."

"I am sorry, Pons," I said contritely, aware of my faux pas too late and that Dr. Campbell's beaming eyes were turned upon me.

Pons's lips were set in a hard line as he regarded me severely.

"It must be Rutherford when we visit Mrs. Harbinger, Parker. I do beg of you to be on your guard, my dear fellow. And now, Dr. Campbell, allow me to pass you another slice of this delicious toast before I subject you to any more questions."

4

After tea Pons spent half an hour immersed in Crockford's, making notes from time to time and checking with Dr. Campbell on those former colleagues who were deceased or overseas. His lips were set in a firm line and his brow frowning so that I knew better than to interrupt him. I passed the time smoking by the fire, and our present circumstances were so cheerful compared with the coldness of the weather outside that it was a considerable effort to turn out again when we accompanied Dr. Campbell to the station to catch the 6:30 P.M. train. The bloom of the gas lamps gilded the sparse white locks of our client as he stood at the carriage window to bid us good-bye.

"Make yourselves at home, gentlemen," he said. "I shall be away three days and shall, I trust, have good news of you on my return."

"Two days should see this business through, Rector," said Pons with a thin smile.

We waited until the anxious face of our client was no more than a blur in the darkness, and Pons then led the way briskly up the platform and back toward the village. The rain had held off but the wind was cold and bleak in the extreme. I carried our traveling bag but I was puzzled to see that Pons still had a large holdall he had brought from the rectory.

I had assumed it was part of our client's luggage but Pons had retained it on the platform. He did not volunteer any information and it did not seem as though it contained anything of great importance. A walk of a few hundred yards only brought us to the Blue Boar, an imposing establishment with a white Georgian portico. There we secured two comfortable rooms in the names of Rutherford and Parker.

I had no sooner unpacked our scanty belongings before Pons was tapping on my door.

"Now, Parker," he said, his eyes dancing. "Best foot forward. First to Mrs. Harbinger's, then back to the rectory. And remember I am Rutherford all the while I am within the environs of Shap."

"I will try to remember, Pons," I said stiffly.

A few minutes later we were ringing the doorbell of The House upon the Green. Mrs. Harbinger was at home and a trim parlormaid showed us into an oak-paneled drawing room and went to announce us to her mistress.

Mrs. Harbinger turned out to be an imposing-looking woman of about seventy with snow-white hair and heavily rouged cheeks. The effect was bizarre against the whiteness of her complexion She wore a strange-looking gown, mauve in color, belted in at the waist like that of a medieval chatelaine. Around her neck was suspended a gold chain bearing a curiously shaped gold locket.

"Well, gentlemen," she snapped. "State your business. I am an extremely busy woman."

Pons wasted no time in coming to the point.

"My name is Rutherford. This is my partner, Mr. Parker. We are Rutherford and Parker, one of the most respected firms of antique dealers and appraisers in the West End of London." '

Mrs. Harbinger sucked in her breath and her eyes had become shrewd. She looked around at the valuable antiques that adorned her drawing room as though she were afraid we would abstract them.

"What is that to me?"

Pons smiled winningly.

"Not a great deal, evidently, madam. But we are staying with the rector of Shap across the green yonder. He is an old friend and we are making an inventory of some of his pieces. I was interested in gaining access to the sealed spire since I had heard something of the legends about it. Dr. Campbell does not seem too keen on the subject, but I understood you were something of an authority on the matter."

An amazing change had come over Mrs. Harbinger; she took a step forward and raised one clawlike hand in the air.

"Sit down, gentlemen, sit down. Anyone who can assist that obdurate man in opening the spire and, by so doing, benefiting England has my full support."

Pons lowered himself into the rocking chair indicated by our hostess.

"Some sherry, gentlemen?"

Pons graciously assented and while Mrs. Harbinger was busy with a decanter and glasses, deliberately lowered one of his eyelids at me in a most provocative manner. When we were sipping delicately at the sherry and making appropriately appreciative comments on its mellow flavor, Mrs. Harbinger had been studying us intently.

"What do you hope to find in the spire, gentlemen? Antiques? I fear you will be disappointed."

"Oh, so you know what it contains?"

Our strange hostess nodded.

"Documents, gentlemen. Not objets d'art. But documents of such richness and distinction that the whole world will recognize the importance of the sealed spire."

The long form of Pons stirred uneasily in the rocker.

"I do not quite follow you, madam."

Mrs. Harbinger gave my companion a weary look, followed by an audible clicking of the tongue.

"The Great Scroll of Thoth, the Golden Book of Horns, the Twelve Pentameters of Ishtar are only a few of the priceless treasures concealed within the chamber of the sealed spire, Mr. Rutherford."

"Indeed!" said Pons, raising his eyebrows.

Mrs. Harbinger clicked her tongue again.

"I can see you are an unbeliever, sir."

"Not at all," interjected Pons hastily. "It is just that it is rather difficult to see how such gems of wisdom could have become concealed in such a manner."

The impatient look had not left Mrs. Harbinger's face.

"It is too long a story to go into now. You must just take it from me that my researches have yielded up incontrovertible proof. If you can assist me to gain access to the spire, I will be incalculably in your debt."

Pons held up a hand deprecatingly.

"I cannot promise anything, Mrs. Harbinger. But I can assure you that my partner, Mr. Parker, and I will use our best offices to those ends."

A gleam of malicious triumph had appeared in the mauve-gowned woman's eyes.

"Very well, Mr. Rutherford. You will not find me ungrateful When can you let me know?"

"Within the next few days, Mrs. Harbinger."

Our hostess stood up, a calculating look on her face. It was plain the interview was at an end. I hastily drained my sherry and a few moments later, after more protestations on Pons's part in his assumed role of Rutherford, we found ourselves outside again and striding back across the green to the rectory. Pons chuckled as soon as we were out of earshot.

"What do you make of her, Parker?"

"Mad," I said vehemently. "Like this whole business."

Pons's brows were knitted.

"Ah, then you can see no pattern emerging?"

I shook my head.

"None of it makes sense to me, Pons, if you want my candid opinion."

"Nevertheless, there is a strand of sanity here, amid the apparently inconsequential trappings of this affair," he said mysteriously.

He chuckled again.

"Even allowing for the current interest in Egyptology, I fear Mrs. Harbinger will be disappointed by the contents of the sealed spire if our client's remarks are to be believed. Cobwebs and old furniture, was it not, according to Dr. Campbell?"

We had gained the rectory porch by this time and Mrs.

Jenkin admitted us with a smile. She ensconced us in the rector's study and, with the warming announcement that supper would be served at half-past nine, withdrew to leave us to our own devices.

Once again Pons sat at the rector's desk, busy with his notations and the photograph of Dr. Campbell's theological class of long ago. I had resumed my seat at the fireside, and we sat so in heavy silence for some time. Finally I could keep quiet no longer.

"What do you find so absorbing in that picture, Pons?" I said irritably.

Solar Pons stirred at the desk. He held up the photograph.

"It contains the clue to the whole problem, Parker."

"You must be joking, Pons!"

My companion shook his head.

"Just come here a moment."

I crossed to his side, looking at the yellowed faces of those young men of the South African War and the Great War in silence.

"Well, Pons?"

"Allowing for the fallen, those deceased and those removed to other countries, there are seven who might be suitable for my purposes. But only one within striking distance."

He tapped the glass covering the photograph.

The Reverend George Seville Stoner, rector of Chislington, some twenty miles from here."

I stared at the picture of the hook-nosed, lantern-jawed young man with piercing eyes in silence.

"None of this makes sense to me, Pons."

"Nevertheless, Parker, I commend the Reverend Mr. Stoner to your attention," said my friend enigmatically.

5

We were standing so when the front door slammed. Immediately, Pons motioned me to silence. We were once again sitting on either side of the fireplace, the picture back in its place on the wall, when the study door opened and the startled form of a young man stood framed in the opening.

"I beg your pardon, gentlemen, I had no idea…"

"Come in, Mr. Dabson," said Pons, rising. "I am afraid Dr. Campbell did not see fit to tell you of our visit. You have returned unexpectedly, I see."

The secretary flushed.

"Isaac Dabson, at your service, gentlemen. Any friends of Dr. Campbell's…"

Pons rose from the fireside and I followed suit as he Introduced us to Dabson in our assumed identities.

"You must forgive us for usurping your quarters," said Pons, waving the secretary to a chair. "We can easily withdraw if you so desire."

"I would not hear of it," Dabson protested. "I found the north rather dull and came back a few days early."

"You had rather a dusty journey, I see," said Pons pleasantly, stepping forward to brush some cobwebs from the collar of the secretary's jacket. Once again the black- haired man flushed.

"I have just been across to the church to consult some documents in the vestry," he said hurriedly.

"Quite so," said Pons. "We hope to have that pleasure tomorrow. We are antique dealers and appraisers from London, you see. The Reverend Dr. Campbell is a personal friend of long standing and asked us to put a value on some of his older pieces."

The secretary relaxed in his chair.

"Indeed, Mr. Rutherford. Well, I am sure that if you are friends of Dr. Campbell's, everything is in order. When do you expect him back?"

"He intends to break off from the conference and return tomorrow night," said Pons smoothly. "It is this business of the sealed spire. Mrs. Harbinger's persistence has rather worn him down, I fear. He told me this evening that he will open the sealed spire once and for all to scotch these rumors she is spreading about the village.". The secretary's pale face bore a strange, almost furtive expression. For a brief space, this hook-nosed young man with the wild eyes reminded me of something, though I could not quite place it in the stress of the moment. I gazed at Pons open-mouthed, I fear. But the secretary had recovered himself by now.

"Ah, well, perhaps it might be for the best," he said affably. "Dr. Campbell has, I know, antagonized some of the local people over his attitude toward the spire. And I must confess, gentlemen, that he has been acting most peculiarly of late."

Pons nodded.

"We are staying at the Blue Boar, Mr. Dabson. The rector will be telephoning me there tomorrow. I will get Mr. Parker to let you know whether Dr. Campbell is returning or not."

Dabson gave Pons a slight bow; there was an ironic expression in his eyes.

"That is indeed good of you, gentlemen. And now, if you will forgive me, I will seek my quarters. It has been a long and tiring journey."

Pons smiled pleasantly.

"By all means, Mr. Dabson. Good night."

He stood immobile until the door had closed softly behind the retreating form of the secretary. Then he crossed to the fire and dropped back into his chair.

"A cool customer, our Mr. Dabson," he observed. "Now, what do you make of all this, Parker? You have all the threads in your hands."

"Well, Mr. Rutherford, it seems fairly obvious that the rector is being persecuted," I said. "And it seems equally obvious that the vindictiveness of Mrs. Harbinger is behind it"

Pons stared at me thoughtfully, his fingers tented before him.

"You improve, Parker. A distinct improvement."

"I thought you would see the logic of my argument, Pons."

Solar Pons shook his head impatiently.

"I meant that you had managed to remember my nom de plume," he said severely. "As for the rest of your thesis, you are sadly off the track. Do you not see the significance of the photograph? And the fairly obvious motive behind these apparently insane happenings?"

I shook my head.

"Mark my words, Pons. This Mrs. Harbinger is obviously unhinged."

"A fair assessment, Parker. But she is being used by the cunning instrument behind all this. There is the touch of a master-hand somewhere here. Someone who is actuating the puppets from afar."

"At any rate, there is little more we can do tonight," I said. "Supper will be ready shortly. Have you see the Times?"

I passed Pons that authoritative journal, and he had no sooner settled with it in his chair than he levered himself upright with a muffled ejaculation, his eyes sparkling.

"There, Parker, there is your motive writ plain."

I stared at the Home News page in bewilderment, running my eye across the single-column headings. They seemed incredibly dull: RESULTS OF BOLTON BY-ELECTION; WAR PENSIONS REVIEW; NEW BISHOP OF DURHAM. Then I found what had so obviously excited Pons.

I read the article with blank incomprehension. Then I put the paper aside.

"I do not see how this can possibly assist us, Pons."

"Do you not, Parker? Well, my dear fellow, leave it for the moment We must not overtax your brain too much this evening."

And with this faintly insulting remark he puffed away at his pipe until Mrs. Jenkin tapped at the door to say that supper was ready and waiting.

6

Pons was out and about a good deal the following day, and I spent most of the time in the lounge of the Blue Boar, for the weather was again inclement and an icy rain was spitting spitefully at the windows of the hostelry. We had an early dinner at six o'clock and just after seven, Pons tapped at the door of my room.

"If you would just step over, Parker, I would like to rehearse you for our little charade this evening."

I followed him back to his own room with rising curiosity.

"Now if you would just pay attention, Parker," said Pons when he had locked the door behind us, "this is the modus operandi At precisely eight o'clock I would like you to present yourself to Mr. Isaac Dabson at the rectory and give him the following message. Tell him that the rector has telephoned through and is on his way home. He will go directly to the church and open the sealed spire. I think we have already established that this is his intention."

"Will Dabson not think this a curious arrangement, Pons?" I protested.

My companion shook his head.

"I think not, Parker. We have both discussed this matter with the rector. Mrs. Harbinger has been on about the spire for years. Dabson has been with the rector for a year and is au fait with the situation. I fancy that your message will have the desired effect."

"What effect, Pons?" I asked.

Solar Pons smiled enigmatically.

"All in good time, I fancy, Parker. Much depends on this scene setting, so I rely on you, my dear fellow. You must also introduce into the conversation as naturally as possible that Dr. Campbell desires Mrs. Harbinger to be told of his intentions."

I nodded.

"I see, Pons. You intend Mrs. Harbinger to be present. But I fail to see how the opening of the spire will assist us in our purposes."

"All will be made clear, Parker," Pons interrupted curtly. "Now, I have just a few more preparations to make."

He put his finger alongside his lips as though to enjoin caution and took up the bag he had brought from the rectory and placed it down near the wardrobe in the corner. Then he opened one of the doors and went behind it so that he could use the mirror. I sat in a chair by the bed and smoked, passing the time as best I could.

I could see only Pons's legs, but I judged there was a good deal of activity going on before the mirror and from time to time a lean hand came but from behind the wardrobe door and rummaged in the bag.

As used as I was to Pons's strange variety of disguises, I could not resist a start of surprise when a dry cough interrupted me. Looking up, I beheld Dr. Campbell in front of me. The stoop; the redness of the face; the white, wispy hair; the gold-rimmed spectacles; even the somewhat quirky walk; all were uncannily duplicated. I stood up and stepped toward him.

"Pons!" I cried. "You have excelled yourself."

My companion smiled and straightened his body. Now that I was up close I could see that it was indeed he, but the impersonation was remarkable. I saw now what he had brought in the bag from the rectory. An ancient umbrella and some of the fusty, antique clothes of our eccentric client completed the picture of an elderly cleric.

"I see you approve of my little charade, Parker."

"I think I have made that clear, Pons," I said, "but I am not quite certain in my mind as to its exact purpose."

"Ah, Parker, small villages like Shap have many eyes and ears," replied my friend, his pupils sparkling behind the spectacles. "At an appropriate time this evening I shall make my way down the back stairs of this hotel, carrying this empty case. When you have delivered your message to Dabson, you must cut through the churchyard and meet me in the church porch. I have already obtained the necessary keys from the rector, though he does not know my intention of entering the sealed chamber."

"What do you expect to find, Pons?"

"Certainly not the Great Scroll of Thoth!" rejoined my friend, his eyes glinting with humor. "But I fancy this evening will see some surprises. We will first break open the trapdoor to gain entry. This will give us time to inspect the room. Then, when Dabson has been given sufficient leeway to collect Mrs. Harbinger, I intend to quietly disappear from the church. You will remain in the spire and I will then make a far more public entrance into the churchyard. I fancy that will precipitate the necessary reaction."

"Ah, you are acting as a decoy, Pons?"

"Something of the sort, Parker. But surely you must have guessed what little game is being played by now."

I shook my head.

"I am completely in the dark, Pons"

Solar Pons stared at me in silence for a moment.

"Yet you have all the components of this little puzzle in your hands. No matter. Things will resolve themselves before the evening is out, I fancy."

7

The rain had stopped but there was a slight mist rising from the damp earth as I walked past the churchyard and paused at the drive leading to the rectory. Gas lamps bloomed at the edge of the green and a comforting glow came from the houses around The village of Shap, which had seen so many strange and scandalous events exploding about the head of its rector, was apparently innocuous and quiet.

But I wondered just what thoughts and schemes were maturing beneath the bland facades of the trim houses and particularly behind the cozy red curtains of Mrs. Harbinger's dwelling.

Mrs. Jenkin opened the door at my ring, a smile of welcome on her face.

"Mr. Dabson is in the study, Mr. Parker. Do you wish me to announce you?"

I shook my head.

"I can find my way, thank you."

Young Mr. Isaac Dabson was sitting at the rector's desk when I entered the room at his command to come in. He rose with a frank smile of welcome on his face and shook hands affably.

"I am sorry if I appeared a little irritable last night, Mr. Parker, but I had a long and tiring journey."

"I quite understand," I said. "I regret having to disturb you. I have a message from my colleague. Dr. Campbell telephoned him at the hotel a short while ago. He asked me to tell you that the rector is returning to the village tonight, when he will go to the church to open the sealed spire."

The secretary's eyes were alive with interest.

"Had he any instructions for me, Mr. Parker?"

I shook my head.

"Only that he desired you to let Mrs. Harbinger know of his intentions."

Dabson nodded, his face heavy with thought.

"Do you know when he expects to arrive in Shap?"

"Sometime after nine o'clock," I said casually. "There will be plenty of time to let Mrs. Harbinger know."

The secretary drew himself up.

"Certainly, Mr. Parker. Thank you for your courtesy over the message. And now, if you will forgive me, I have much to do this evening."

We shook hands again and I bowed and withdrew. Mrs. Jenkin was coming across the hall to let me out as I closed the door. I hesitated and then decided not to tell her any- tiling; if Dabson wished to take her into his confidence, he could. But Pons, though he had not mentioned the housekeeper specifically, would not wish to involve her, I felt sure.

So I merely wished her good evening and a few minutes later, having crept cautiously around the rear of the churchyard, where I joined the path leading from the direction of the railway station, I found myself in the gloom of the church porch. I had only a few minutes to wait before I heard the faint gritting of a shoe on the wet flagstones and Pons was at my side. I could see by the faint light of a streetlamp which penetrated the churchyard at this point that he still wore the clothes and makeup of Dr. Campbell. He put his hand on my arm and drew me deeper into the porch toward the massive oak door.

"Excellent, Parker. I take it the first part of our little scheme has been put in motion?"

"All went well, Pons," I whispered. "Dabson seemed inordinately interested."

Pons chuckled dryly. He was already inserting a key into the lock and gently exerting pressure. A few moments later we were within the musty interior of the church. Pons left the door unlocked and, waiting for our eyes to adjust to the gloom, led the way down the aisle, away from the altar, to the rear of the church. "We have no time to lose, Parker," he said crisply. "Whatever is in the spire must be dealt with before I make my public entrance."

He waved away my hurried questions and, using a small pocket flashlight whose beam he kept low to the ground, drew back the curtains leading to the vestry.

"I have been studying the plans of the church and, if I am not mistaken, Parker, the tower entrance should be somewhere here."

As he spoke a faint beam centered on a low, Gothic archway barred by a varnished oak door. This had the key in the lock, and swiftly we ascended a narrow, winding, wooden staircase and were soon on the platform directly beneath the peal of bells. Pons ignored them and went on up a rough wooden stair that came out onto a small landing. I was close at his heels and waited while he took out his magnifying glass and examined some faint marks in the dust on the floor.

He chuckled to himself and centered the beam of his flashlight onto a wooden trapdoor in the ceiling. I then saw that the padlock which secured the hasp of the trap had a key in its lock.

"Just as I thought," said Pons calmly.

He tested it carefully.

"The lock is well-oiled too. I fancy the sealed spire is not so little-trodden or such sacred ground as Mrs. Harbinger fancies."

He threw open the trap, fumbling inside on the floor. He found a heavy metal switch and yellow light flooded onto the narrow stair.

"Every modern convenience, Parker," said Pons, ascending into the chamber above.

"Be careful, Pons," I said, pressing up the ladder behind him.

As I groped my way into the small, boarded room beneath the church spire, Pons's tall figure was standing immobile in the center of the chamber. Even in his persona as Dr. Campbell, I had never seen my old friend look so somber and so grim. I followed his gaze round the walls and could not suppress an exclamation of horror.

The sealed spire was indeed bare of such treasures as Mrs. Harbinger had indicated. Dust there was, on the floor and on the sheeted masses of old furniture which stood here and there against the walls. But it was not these simple domestic details which engrossed my attention. Round the walls, pinned and pasted to the paneling, there were lettering, sheets of paper, photographs and drawings. They all had two things in common: each item concerned the rector of Shap; and each without exception was obscene and pornographic

"Great Heavens, Pons!" I exclaimed. "The man must be mad."

Pons shook his head, his face like iron.

"Scandalous, Parker. I quite agree."

I went over to look at a photograph which certainly featured Dr. Campbell and two naked women.

"What are we to do, Pons?"

"What else, Parker? We must burn this sick rubbish, except for a few items which I shall select to keep as evidence. I fancy we shall be receiving visitors within the hour so we have not too much time."

There was an urgency in his voice which I had seldom heard. He was already at work tearing down the material from the walls and from off the furniture. I went to assist him, hardly believing the evidence of my eyes.

"But did you suspect Dr. Campbell when he came to us, Pons?"

Solar Pons clicked his tongue with annoyance and shook his head.

"My dear Parker, you surely do not think Dr. Campbell is responsible for this blasphemous display of perverted taste? Learn to use your faculties. This is entirely in keeping with what we have already learned. The piece de resistance, as it were, of a very clever person's hatred."

I stood bewildered.

"But these photographs, Pons?"

"The merest fakes, Parker. Even you must surely see that studio portraits of Dr. Campbell have been superimposed onto these pornographic statues."

"I am glad to hear it, but if Dr. Campbell is not responsible; what is behind all this?"

"There is no time now, Parker. Tear down the rest of those sheets."

Quickly, Pons selected certain material and thrust it into the traveling bag he still carried. Then he dragged out a metal tray from the side of the room on which reposed an old oil stove. Within a few minutes we had burned the offending documents and other photographs piecemeal and, apart from the smoke hanging in the air, the chamber again appeared normal.

Pons rose to his feet and pushed the tray back into the side of the room again. He glanced at his watch.

"We have some twenty minutes, Parker. When I have descended to the church, I want you to switch off the light and remain here in the dark for a few minutes. I am going now, to walk to the station."

"To the station, Pons?"

Solar Pons nodded.

"At precisely nine o'clock I shall make a public appearance as Dr. Campbell I shall cross the churchyard with a flashlight, making as much noise as I can, I shall then ascend to this chamber, when you will switch on the light. We will then await events and, if I am not very much mistaken, we shall swiftly receive some visitors."

I had hardly grasped this and, quite bewildered, completed tidying the room, before Pons had clattered off down the staircase. I waited until I heard him gain the floor of the church and then switched off the light, settling down in the darkness to await his return.

8

The tower shuddered and shook as the carillon in the bell chamber below boomed out the hour of nine. Almost as the last quivering stroke died away into silence, there came the thunderous crash of the main church door below and then the footsteps of Pons in the persona of Dr. Campbell, hurrying down the aisle. Three minutes later I had switched on the light, and Solar Pons was smiling at me over the edge of the trapdoor.

"Quickly, Parker. We have little time to lose."

No sooner had he gained the floor of the sealed spire chamber than he was stripping himself of his disguise. I was kept busy putting his discarded clothing into the traveling bag. It was precisely three minutes more before once again the familiar figure of Solar Pons stood before me. He put his hand to his lips to enjoin silence.

But I had already caught the noise; many footsteps across the flagged paving of the churchyard; the murmur of voices; and the rumble as the front door of the church went back again. Pons stood rubbing his thin fingers, a little smile of triumph on his face.

"A few moments more, Parker," he whispered, "and we shall see what we shall see."

The confused babble of voices grew stronger and there was a trembling vibration on the wooden staircase. At Pons's gesture I stood well back while my friend concealed

himself behind a dusty chest of drawers which stood at one side of the room. In a few seconds the black-haired figure of Isaac Dabson appeared in the opening. He was pushed into the room by the sheer pressure of people behind him. I caught a glimpse of the triumphant and bizarre figure of Mrs. Harbinger; there were two men with cameras and behind them, insistently pushing their way into the sealed spire, still more strangers, presumably people from the village.

By now Isaac Dabson had caught sight of me and his jaw dropped. He looked wildly around the dusty walls, his eyes open in surprise.

"Where is the rector?" he cried. "What does this mean?"

"It means that your little game is up!" said Solar Pons sternly, stepping out from the shadow and confronting the group. "The rector is in London at the conference. My name is Solar Pons. It is perhaps not unknown to you."

Dabson's face was a mixture of chagrin and fear. He drew apart from the people who were still pushing their way up from the staircase.

"Solar Pons!"

Dabson's face was a white mask, but Mrs. Harbinger had elbowed her way to the front and stood glaring at Pons. She sniffed the air and then looked suspiciously at the heap of ashes on the metal tray in the corner.

"The Great Scroll of Thoth! You have not burned the treasures of the ages?"

"No, madam," said Pons imperturbably. have merely disposed of some malicious rubbish set to ensnare an innocent man. Ah, gentlemen, I see we have some cameras present. I do not know what Mr. Dabson has told you but I fear you may be disappointed."

A thickset man wearing a black homburg and carrying a heavy plate camera could not restrain his indignation.

"Hooper of the Shap and Stapleford Chronicle" he said, casting a sullen glance at the secretary.

"Where is this sensation you promised us, Mr. Dabson?"

"I fear there is no sensation in the sealed spire," said Pons mildly. "Other than that likely to be engendered when Mr. Dabson and I have had a little discussion in private."

"I have nothing to say to you," said Dabson, pulling himself together.

Pons shrugged.

"Dear me, Mr. Dabson, I trust I can get you to reconsider. Otherwise, I shall have to set matters in motion with the official police, and you will find them less easy to deal with, I can assure you."

Dabson licked his lips and cast a frightened look back over his shoulder to where the disgruntled journalists and photographers were elbowing their way back down the staircase again.

"I do not understand what you mean, Mr. Pons."

Solar Pons eyed the secretary thoughtfully.

"I think you do, Mr. Dabson. Especially as you are related to the Reverend George Neville Stoner, the rector of Chislington, if I am not mistaken. There is a strong family resemblance in the features."

Daheon had stumbled back, ashen-faced. He tried to speak but was unable to do so. Pons turned to me with a bleak smile.

"Come, Parker, I think the rectory study will be the best place for our talk. As for you, Mrs. Harbinger, I trust that tonight's little adventure will prompt you not to put too much trust in such half-witted legends as those of the sealed spire."

Mrs. Harbinger glared at us and then marched imperiously down the staircase. Dabson followed, a broken figure.

Pons chuckled.

"A weak tool, Parker, in the grip of a stronger intellect If you will bring the bag and switch off the light as we leave, I will guide us down with my flashlight."

9

We were driving northward from Shap. Pons sat in his corner, his hands thrust deep into his ulster pockets, his brow knotted while clouds of sulfurous fumes from the bowl of his pipe ascended to the roof of the taxi. To my repeated questions he had merely murmured, "All in good time, Parker, all in good time," and lapsed into silence.

We had been traveling for some half an hour when the vehicle passed through the streets of a sleeping village and in through tall iron gates to deposit us at the steps of a white Victorian building.

Pons got down and ordered the driver to wait. I followed him up the steps to where a single lantern burned above the porch. A worried-looking housekeeper answered Pons's peremptory ring.

"Solar Pons to see the Reverend George Stoner," he announced.

The elderly woman looked at us doubtfully. She wore a thick, quilted dressing gown and had evidently been on the point of retiring.

"It is almost eleven o'clock, gentlemen. The rector is in bed and cannot be disturbed."

Pons took a piece of pasteboard from his pocket and scribbled something on it. He handed it to the housekeeper.

"Kindly give him this. I fancy he will see us."

The woman glanced at Pons's card in surprise, asked us to wait in the hall, and slammed the door behind us. She put on the light in a study to the right, which was furnished with almost sumptuous taste. We waited while the woman's footsteps ascended the stairs.

"Ah, Parker," said Solar Pons coolly, running his eye over the rector's crowded shelves. "Some ethical writings of Erasmus; the Gnostic Mass; Marcus Aurelius; Walter Pater. A catholic and devious mind, as I surmised."

I could not resist an acclamation.

"What exactly are we doing here, Pons?"

"Just a little more patience. I fancy that is our man now."

There was indeed a nervous tattoo on the staircase, and the study door burst open to admit a tall, lean, ascetic- looking man with a shock of white hair, a hook nose, and a lantern jaw. He wore a mouse-colored dressing gown and he stood breathing heavily, looking first at me and then at my companion.

"Which of you gentlemen is Mr. Solar Pons?"

Pons bowed stiffly.

"I answer to that cognomen, Rector."

The Reverend Mr. Stoner stepped forward, his face haughty and disdainful.

"Then perhaps, sir, you would be good enough to explain the impertinence written on this card?"

"Certainly," said Pons coolly. "It means, surely, that your persecution of your old colleague, Dr. Campbell, rector of Stapleford and sometime fellow student, must cease."

There was a long moment of silence while the rector stared at Pons with burning eyes.

"I take it you realize what you are saying?" he replied with deadly calm. "You would need proof for such a wild assertion."

"We have proof, Rector," said Pons quietly, taking a sheet of paper from his pocket. "Your wretched nephew, Isaac Dabson, has given me a full confession. A weak tool for such malicious work. If you do not do as I say, this document will be placed in the hands of the police."

The Reverend Mr. Stoner gave a strangled cry and stared at Pons with eyes which seemed to have become sunken and cavernous.

"Withdraw from the bishopric of Durham, Mr. Stoner!" said Pons in ringing tones.

He replaced the paper in his pocket.

"If you do not, then I will not hesitate to expose you as a malicious rogue! Come, Parker."

He strode from the room, leaving the shrunken figure of the rector alone in the study. I hurried at his heels and in a few moments more we were in the taxi driving back toward Shap and our comfortable rooms at the inn. Pons burst into laughter and hunted in his pocket for his pipe.

"Well, Parker, what do you make of such a pretty rascal?"

"I must confess, Pons, that I have not made a good deal of the whole muddled business," I said. "And I am afraid that it does not do too much credit to the cloth."

Pons stabbed the air with the stem of his pipe.

"Ah, Parker, there is a good deal of enmity and professional jealousy in the closed world of scholarship. I knew from the moment Dr. Campbell approached us that there was more to this affair than merely stupid practical jokes. Why should anyone want to play such idiotic and cruel tricks on a country rector? But he is a brilliant scholar and author, Parker. And in the world of scholarship there are often unsuspected depths beneath the placid surface ripples. Even before I came to Shap, I was convinced that I was looking for something in Dr. Campbell's past which was impinging upon the present."

"You astonish me, Pons."

"It would not be the first time, Parker," said Solar Pons, mischievous lights dancing in his eyes. "When I found that these manifestations had begun only six months ago and that Dabson had become the rector's secretary a year ago, I found my suspicions crystallizing. He would need some months to prepare the ground for these cruel and elaborate hoaxes, of course."

"But the motive, Pons!"

"That was crystal-clear also, and it took only a short while at the rectory for it to become obvious to me."

"Mrs. Harbinger…"

An expression of annoyance crossed Pons's face

"You disappoint me, Parker, you really do. Mrs. Harbinger was a red herring of only the crudest kind but admirable for Dabson's purposes. His entire purpose in Shap was to discredit Dr. Campbell, and this he proceeded to do by every means at his disposal. The rector sees no harm in anyone, but it was obvious from the scope and method of the annoyances perpetrated on our client that the agent behind them had to be someone close to him. Dabson was the only person who fitted that bill, and Mrs. Harbinger's vendetta against the rector and her reiterated parrot cries for the opening of the sealed spire put a ready tool to his hand."

Pons broke off for a moment and paused to relight his pipe, which had gone out unnoticed during his conversation with me.

"You may remember I was inordinately interested in the photograph of the rector and the members of his theological class. I had a shrewd suspicion from the outset that scholarship and professional rivalry were at the basis of the feud and I found a rapid means of ascertaining and establishing certain basic facts about Dr. Campbell, his fellow students and friends. We eliminated, as you recall, many people in the group through the action of war, age, and death. Of the handful remaining only one was suitable for my purposes."

"The Reverend Mr. Stoner," I interjected.

"Precisely. He had an unmistakable face — lean, with a hook nose and lantern jaw. When I saw those same traits prominently displayed in the physiognomy of Dabson, the admirable secretary, the coincidence was too great to be chance. I concluded, therefore, that Dabson was a relative of Stoner, who lived only twenty miles away. I established from Crockford's that he was a brilliant speaker, theologian, and author. There is nothing like a fellow student to harbor jealousy, rancor, and envy. When the two men follow the same profession, church or no, they are rivals for life, Parker. And Stoner was close at hand to direct the vendetta."

"You leave me sadly disillusioned, Pons."

Solar Pons shook his head, making sure with a sidelong glance that his pipe was drawing properly.

"You make the same basic mistake as the layman, Parker. Politics and religion are two of the greatest causes of strife and dissension on this planet. Eliminate them both and one would go a long way toward lasting peace."

"Come, Pons," I protested. "You go too far."

"Perhaps," my companion admitted. "But in the case of the Reverend Mr. Stoner, his hatred for the good Dr. Campbell had assumed paranoiac proportions. And in the person of his nephew he found a weak but willing tool Young Dabson was heavily in debt to bookmakers. In return for financial assistance from his uncle, he agreed to the plan to discredit his employer. I have this from his own lips."

He tapped the pocket of his ulster, in which reposed Dabson's signed confession.

"So that as soon as I clapped eyes on Dabson I was suspicious. In the first instance, he had told the rector he would be absent in the north. But here he was back again, unannounced. No doubt, to my mind, to prepare fresh mischief. When I saw traces of cobwebs on his coat, I deduced he had been at work in the church, a fact he himself immediately confirmed. He had, of course, been there to prepare the sick material displayed in the sealed spire. And it was his whole purpose, using Mrs. Harbinger's malice also to bring the rector to the point of going there."

"I must confess I am still not clear about this business, Pons."

"It was the piece de resistance, Parker, and would undoubtedly have succeeded had not Dr. Campbell asked for my assistance. It would have been the final scandal which would have broken Dr. Campbell and allowed his rival ascendancy. Why do you think Dabson went out of his way to call in the press and half the village in addition to Mrs. Harbinger? No, Parker, Dr. Campbell would have been a ruined man as many another discredited cleric before him."

"But the motive, Pons!"

The patient look was back on my companion's face.

"It was before you all the time, Parker. It has been in the newspapers the last few weeks, and I particularly drew your attention to the Times, where the matter was firmly under your gaze in heavy black type. But you insisted on reading out some asinine conclusions about a trunk murder."

I fear I stared at Pons for a long moment as though thunderstruck. A faintly mocking look had settled on Pons's lean features.

"The bishopric of Durham, Parker. That was the key to the whole thing. The article, if you had taken the trouble to read it, referred to the selection of the new bishop, one of the key posts in the Church of England. There were only two candidates, both men of high repute; both authors and brilliant scholars."

"Dr. Campbell and the Reverend Mr. Stoner, Pons!"

"Exactly, Parker. And a man of doubtful sanity like Dr. Campbell, who was involved in sexual and other scandals over a period of months in his own village, would hardly be preferred over someone of the Reverend Mr. Stoner's character."

I sat back in the cab.

"What a damnable villain, Pons. And I have been extremely obtuse."

"On the contrary, Parker, you have been invaluable, as always. And with your assistance we have persuaded Dr. Stoner to withdraw, and Dr. Campbell's preferment is assured."

"What will you tell him, Pons?"

"Merely that young Dabson was called away due to the illness of a relative. He will not return. And I have no doubt that within a day or two we will see that the Reverend Mr. Stoner's candidature has been withdrawn."

10

And so It proved. Pons and I were at breakfast a month later when he slit open a large buff envelope which had come in the morning's mail. A check fluttered to the carpet, and I picked it up and handed it to him. He smoothed it and raised his eyebrows.

"From Dr. Campbell. He has been extraordinarily generous, Parker."

"I take it he is to be the new bishop of Durham, Pons?"

"Ah, you have seen this morning's Times."

I nodded, studying Pons's face as he rummaged about within the envelope.

"I fancy Dr. Campbell's advancement will be rapid from now on, Parker. He is seventy, which is a mere stripling as senior churchmen go. I would expect to see him translated to York within five years. Do you realize that by the time he is seventy-eight, our client might well be the new archbishop of Canterbury?"

"You are joking, Pons!"

Solar Pons put down his teacup and looked at me severely.

"I was never more serious, Parker. But in the meantime a more pleasant duty. Here is an invitation for us both to attend the investiture of the new bishop of Durham at the end of March. I trust you will be free, my dear fellow."

Pons paused and then chuckled.

"I fancy Dr. Campbell will be none too sorry to arrive at Durham. I fear he will have found great difficulty in persuading Mrs. Harbinger that I have not burned the Great Scroll of Thoth."