The Exploits of Solar Pons

1

“A fine morning, Parker!”

My friend Solar Pons walked into our cosy sitting-room at 7B Praed Street early one day in April to find me already at breakfast. It was indeed a fine morning and the sun was so warm and shining so brightly that I had been lulled into thinking it summer, even to the extent of slightly raising our sitting-room windows to allow the air to penetrate. I gave him a piercing glance.

“You look as if you have been up all night, Pons.”

“I have indeed, Parker. A somewhat wearying affair down Greenwich way but I think I have brought it to a successful conclusion.”

“I am glad to hear you say so, Pons. I will just ring for Mrs Johnson and ask her to bring you some eggs and bacon.”

“Pray do not put yourself out, Parker. I have already seen our amiable landlady on my way in and she has my requirements in hand.”

I sank back into my chair again and reached for the silver-plated coffee-pot.

“You have had a disturbed night yourself, I see.”

“Eigh?”

I looked at Pons, somewhat startled.

“You were called out and returned only within the hour.”

I turned astonished eyes to the smiling face of my companion.

“How can you possibly know that, Pons, unless you saw me come in?”

My companion shook his head.

“It is not so very difficult to deduce, Parker. When I see a meticulous gentleman of sober habit sitting at breakfast unshaven, yet fully dressed but with his tie tied lining outwards and quite awry, the chain of events becomes obvious. Ergo, you were called in the middle of the night, rose hastily, dressed with extreme speed and went out. When you came back it was too late to go to bed. You have not yet shaved but sat down straight away to breakfast. Therefore, you have returned within the hour.”

“Accurate in every detail, Pons,” said I. “As always the matter is simple once you have pointed it out. I was called at three. It was old Mr Stedman. He had another heart attack. I dealt with him, called an ambulance from a public phone box, got him into hospital, saw the crisis past and have returned here within the past half-hour.”

Solar Pons chuckled, sinking down in the chair opposite me.

“Admirable, my dear fellow. I fancy we have both been assisting our fellow man, each in his own way, during the past night. Ah, here is Mrs Johnson!”

The bright, well-scrubbed features of our good-natured landlady were now visible in the open door. She was bearing a tray of covered dishes which gave off an agreeable aroma.

“There we are, gentlemen! You look as if you could both do with a good meal and a long sleep.”

“I am already enjoying a good meal, Mrs Johnson,” I replied. “I shall make up for the sleep tonight.”

Mrs Johnson smiled warmly, turning a twinkling eye on each of us in turn.

“If I did not point out these things, gentlemen, I don’t know what would happen to the both of you.”

“I dare say you are right, Mrs Johnson,” said Pons equably. “For you certainly look after us incomparably.”

After setting out Pons’ breakfast our amiable hostess had gone over toward the window to place the tray on a table there when she gave a sudden exclamation.

“Well I never!”

“What is it, Mrs Johnson?”

Pons was at her side in a moment.

“Down there, Mr Pons. I have never seen an old fellow behave in such an odd way.”

“Yes, he does look rather peculiar, Mrs Johnson,” said Pons casually, turning his eyes down toward the street.

“I presume you are referring to the retired Willesden plumber with the glass eye who now runs messages for the Metropole Hotel in the Strand.”

“Mr Pons!”

Mrs Johnson stared at my companion awestruck.

“How could you possibly know that, Pons?” I exclaimed. Solar Pons burst out in an explosion of laughter.

“I am just having my little joke, Parker. I am sure Mrs Johnson will forgive me. You are incorrect in saying I could not have known It. I could not have deduced it, certainly.”

I stared at Pons with mounting bewilderment.

“Then you know the man, Pons?”

“Of course, Parker! He is a retired plumber from Willesden who is now working as a porter at the Metropole. I recognised the uniform immediately. I did not know he had a glass eye but from the way he keeps bumping into people in the street and swivelling his head to the right I would certainly say that he either has lost the sight of that eye or has a glass one, which comes to the same thing.”

Mrs Johnson was all smiles now.

“Really, Mr Pons,” she said in mock-reproof.

“Even I must indulge my sense of humour at times, Mrs Johnson,” he said abstractedly. “Meakins is certainly behaving strangely. He is hatless, agitated and careless of where he is going. But he is almost certainly coming here.”

A few moments later there was a furious tattoo upon the front door-knocker, followed by several peals at the bell. Mrs Johnson was already on her way downstairs. A short while later she ushered in the old man who had been the subject of so much speculation from our window. He was indeed a pitiable sight, dishevelled and out of breath, his white hair fallen over his eyes, his dark blue uniform only half-buttoned. He peered about him uncertainly as he came into the room.

“I am sorry to intrude in such a manner, gentlemen. Mr Pons? Mr Solar Pons?”

“Come in and sit yourself down, Meakins,” said Pons with a kindly smile. “It is obviously something of importance which brings you in such haste from the Metropole this morning.”

“Ah, you know me, Mr Pons?”

“Indeed, you are a most distinctive figure. An old soldier, I see.”

Meakins, who was just sinking gingerly into one of our easy chairs looked at Pons with amazement.

“Why, yes, sir. Though how you could possibly…”

“Tut, man, it is elementary,” said my companion briskly. “Your bearing, the way you carry yourself in that uniform. Not to mention the wound ribbon which I perceive upon your breast there.”

Meakins gave a weak smile and assented gratefully as I pressed a cup of coffee upon him as we continued with our breakfast. Mrs Johnson quitted the room as soon as she saw we had everything we required and I now had time to study our strange visitor.

He had a gaunt, rugged face in which deep lines, either of suffering or caused by some disease, ran from his nose down to the corners of his mouth. As Pons had surmised, he had something wrong with his right eye for the eyelid was all puckered down over what I suspected to be an empty socket. He evidently was aware of my scrutiny for while he was regaining his breath he shifted uneasily in his chair and looked at me with the faded blue of his good left eye.

“Though I was well over-age for the Army, I lost my eye at Ypres, doctor,” he said quietly. “It is a poor substitute but I wear the ribbon just the same.”

“Quite right, I said stoutly. “It was bravely earned, Meakins.”

The old man smiled ironically and looked across at Solar Pons.

“I shouldn’t really be sitting here, gentlemen. The manager, Mr Hibbert, asked me to bring you to the Metropole at once, Mr Pons.”

Solar Pons glanced at him sharply with his deep-set eyes. “It is a grave matter, then.”

The old soldier nodded seriously, his one eye wide and staring.

“Nothing less than horrible, cold-blooded murder, Mr Pons!”

2

“Good gracious!” I said in the heavy silence which followed. My companion was already on his feet.

“Of course, I shall come at once. Though why Mr Hibbert did not telephone….”

The messenger shook his head.

“It was quite impossible, Mr Pons. Mr Hibbert himself is under arrest and forbidden all communication at the moment. But he managed to whisper to me and I came straight away.”

“Most singular,” Pons muttered to me and then turned back to Meakins.

“Very well. I think we had best take a cab to avoid wasting further time. Fortunately, Parker, we had almost finished breakfast. Can you spare an hour or two?”

“Indeed, Pons,” I mumbled, swallowing the last of my coffee. “It is my rest day today.”

“That is settled, then. I think we had best hear the remainder of the story as we o along.”

“If you would just give me a few minutes to wash and shave, Pons,” I protested.

My companion smiled thinly.

“Of course, Parker. I think we can spare ten minutes for that useful purpose. The Metropole is a high-class establishment and we would not wish to cause a sensation on our entrance.”

The old man smiled, despite the worried look on his face. “Oh, I do not think you need worry about that, gentlemen, in view of what has happened during the night,” he said.

Pons resumed his place at the table to finish his interrupted meal while I hurriedly made my toilet. A little more presentable, I soon regained the sitting-room to find Mrs Johnson clearing the table and Pons ready for our unexpected outing.

As we jolted in the cab on our way to the Strand, Meakins slumped in the corner and Pons sitting silently opposite me, smoke curling from his pipe, the old man seemed a little calmer.

“It was a gentleman who came to the hotel last night, Mr Pons. A tall, strange gentleman, with a heavy beard, dark glasses and expensive-looking clothes. It is beautiful weather, as you can see, sir, but he was all muffled up in an overcoat and scarf.”

Solar Pons shot me a sardonic look.

“What do you make of that, Parker?”

I shook my head.

“You are not catching me out this time, Pons. Either he had just returned from the tropics or he wanted to avoid recognition.”

“Excellent, Parker!” said Pons, tightening his strong teeth on the stem of his pipe. “You are as sharp as a razor this morning.”

“I do not understand, doctor,” said the old messenger, bewilderment on his honest face.

“If he had returned from the tropics he most probably had thin blood and would have felt the weather here to be cold, however much it appears warm to us.”

“It is more likely to be the latter,” interjected Pons crisply. “In view of the outcome. Pray continue, Meakins.”

“Well, sir, he registered in the name of Mr Otto Voss of Hamburg. There were few people about when he came in some time after ten o’clock, and I was on duty in the lobby. We are rather short-staffed at the moment, so after he had registered, I carried his attaché-case up to his room, № 31. He had only the one valise, which was extremely heavy, and the small attaché-case.”

“Hmm. Did you notice anything else about him?”

“He kept his glasses on and his overcoat while I was in the room and he seemed anxious for me to be gone. He had not taken his eyes off the valise all the while I was with him and when I went to put it on the rack, he darted at it and took it from me as though he was afraid I was going to drop it.”

“Curious, Pons,” I said.

“Indeed, Parker,” returned my companion drily. “You have no doubt read something of significance into that factor.”

“Undoubtedly,” said I, entering into the spirit of his banter. “The ratiocinative process is a complex one but I think I may agree with you there.”

Pons said nothing but little flecks of humour were dancing in his eyes as we turned down Haymarket and then left into Trafalgar Square. The pompous bulk of the National Gallery had slid by before he again broke silence.

“There is more to come, surely, Meakins?”

“By all means. I am so knocked out by this business that I have difficulty in collecting my thoughts.”

We were now in the thick of the traffic joining the Strand from the forecourt of Charing Cross Station and our driver had some difficulty in turning across the flow into a narrow street running down toward the river. He stopped in front of the Metropole, a small hotel of the better sort, whose facade and appointments had an air of faded elegance. The driver cut off his engine and waited patiently until Pons’ interrogation of Meakins should be completed.

“Well, sir, Mr Voss tipped me half a crown and I left him. About an hour later he rang for room service. There was no-one else about so I went to the kitchen myself and took him up a ham sandwich and a cup of coffee. He thanked me and tipped me a pound, which I thought was extremely generous of the gentleman.”

“How did he seem?”

“Worried, Mr Pons. He kept glancing round the room as though frightened of something. He had the curtains tightly drawn and the window closed, though it was a beautiful warm evening.”

“How did you know that?”

“The gentleman’s coat had been thrown on the bed and had fallen to the floor, Mr Pons. I bent to pick it up and accidentally brushed against the curtains on that side of the bed.”

“I see. Continue.”

“He was wearing a thick tweed suit, Mr Pons, but still kept his glasses and the hat on.”

“That is extremely curious, Parker. It suggests he did not wish his identity known.”

“I follow you, Pons.”

“He said nothing to you, Meakins?”

“Nothing, Mr Pons, beyond his plain ‘yes’ and ‘no’ and `thank you’ when I left.”

“And his voice?”

“Very strong and powerful, Mr Pons. He spoke good English but with a heavy German accent.”

“You are familiar with the German accent, of course?” “Yes, Mr Pons. From the war. I was a guard at a prisoner-of-war camp for some time, after my wound.”

“I see. And this Mr Voss has died during the night from what you tell us.”

Meakins swallowed and nodded. He seemed having difficulty in articulating his words.

“Yes, Mr Pons. No-one saw him after I took him the sandwich. He was not seen this morning and after the maid had reported being unable to get into his room, the manager, Mr Hibbert took the pass-key and himself went to № 31.”

“By himself?”

“By himself, Mr Pons. He came back in about twenty minutes as white as a sheet. Mr Voss was lying on his bed, strangled, Mr Pons!”

We were both silent for a moment. Pons looked absently at the faded elegance of the Metropole facade a few paces away across the pavement.

“And now Mr Hibbert has been arrested, you say?”

“Yes, Mr Pons. You see, gentlemen, the room was locked, the key was on the table and there was no other but the pass-key at the desk. So Inspector Jamison has arrested the manager…”

“Really.”

To Meakins’ evident surprise Solar Pons gave a deep chuckle and got out of the cab with astonishing alacrity. I paid the driver and joined him at the hotel entrance.

“So friend Jamison has done it again, Pons.”

“It would appear so, Parker. In my experience hotel managers do not go about strangling their guests. What possible motive could the man have? “

“True, Pons,” I said.

We followed Meakins over toward the Metropole entrance, pushing through the swing doors into the gold and purple Interior. The old messenger led us away from the main vestibule and down a narrow corridor floored in faded red carpeting. He tapped discreetly on a door which bore the legend: MANAGER. PRIVATE in gold-painted letters. He held the door aside for us.

“Mr Pons and Dr Parker, Mr Hibbert.”

I followed Pons in and Meakins came behind us to stand in front of the door as though determined to do his duty to the last. There were three men in the room; a large man with glossy black hair, dressed in civilian clothes, who was slumped in a chair behind his desk; a uniformed constable who stood guard at one side of the room; and our old acquaintance Inspector Jamison of Scotland Yard. He bristled like a terrier as soon as we had entered.

“Ah, Mr Pons! You’ll not find much to engage your talents here, I’ll be bound.”

“We shall see, Jamison, we shall see,” said Solar Pons languidly, striding past the Scotland Yard man and extending his hand to the manager.

“Now, Mr Hibbert, friend Meakins yonder tells me you are in some sort of trouble.”

“It was good of you to come, Mr Pons,” groaned Hibbert, a worried expression on his face. “I am accused of murder by the Inspector here. The very idea is preposterous but I must admit that the circumstances are difficult, very difficult indeed.”

“You may well say so,” put in Jamison acidly. “An open and shut case, Mr Pons. The room was locked and Mr Hibbert was the only person who went there; the only person who had access. The only other key to the room was upon the table.”

“So I understand,” said Solar Pons. “Nevertheless I would prefer to hear Mr Hibbert’s story and then examine the circumstances for myself.”

“I would be so grateful, Mr Pons,” put in Hibbert. “If you have no objection, Inspector, I would like Meakins to order me some breakfast for I have had nothing since this terrible business began.”

“By all means,” said Inspector Jamison, his entire persona exuding smugness. “My constable will take the message for I have not finished interrogating Meakins yet.”

“Oblige me by examining Mr Hibbert’s hands, if you would be so good, Parker,” said Solar Pons carelessly.

Jamison stared at Pons in amazement as I bent toward the manager.

“What am I looking for, Pons?”

“When a man is strangled, Parker, particularly if the victim is a strong, vigorous man in the prime of life, he will struggle violently. During that struggle, even if he be half-asleep as this man may have been, he might well bite his assailant on the hands and would most certainly scratch him in his attempts to dislodge the grip. In addition, there are almost always traces of flesh left beneath the murderer’s finger-nails.”

“I see, Pons.”

Mr Hibbert was smiling and relaxed now. He put out his well-manicured hands for me to examine readily. I turned them over and subjected them to an intense scrutiny, looking for the details Pons had suggested.

“There is nothing, Pons,’ I said eventually. “Mr Hibbert’s hands bear no traces of scratching, bruising or bites and there is certainly no extraneous tissue beneath the nails.”

“Thank you, Parker,” said Solar Pons crisply. “I should have been most surprised if there had been. The whole idea is preposterous. If I were you, Jamison, I would drop this business immediately. The hotel group might well sue you for defamation of character.”

The Inspector’s complexion went brick-red and he shifted uneasily, clasping his big hands in vexation.

“Ridiculous, Mr Pons!” he said hoarsely. “Mr Hibbert was the only person in the room; the only other key was upon the table and no-one else had visited Mr Voss this morning.”

“We shall not know what has happened until we have made a thorough examination of the room and the body, Jamison,” said Solar Pons, his voice bleak and his thin, wiry frame quivering with suppressed energy.

“I leave my suggestion with you for what it is worth, and I am sure you will see the sense of it. Now, Mr Hibbert, if you would be so good I should like to see the room in which Mr Voss met his lonely death. Come, Parker.”

He led the way from the office at a brisk pace, leaving the Inspector standing nonplussed. My companion chuckled quietly to himself as Hibbert guided us up a thickly carpeted staircase to the second floor of the hotel.

“I fancy that will give Jamison something to think about, Parker.”

I smiled.

“No doubt, Pons. The Inspector is given to rather fanciful theories I must confess.”

Solar Pons shot me a shrewd glance.

“Ah, then you have seen the significance of my observations, Parker.”

“I hope so, Pons,” I replied guardedly.

I was spared further questions by our guide stopping in front of a polished rosewood door halfway along the discreetly luxurious corridor of the hotel, which had evidently been built in the high-tide of Edwardian opulence. But now the whole place bore a hushed and sad air; it was not only a nostalgic atmosphere of faded splendour but the ugly fact of violent death behind the facade, which I have often observed when working with Pons on his more lethal cases.

Room 31, into which we were ushered by Hibbert had the same passé elegance we had both observed elsewhere in the hotel. But we had no time for such details for all eyes were drawn inexorably to the stiffened figure which lay on the bed before us. It was clad in dressing gown and pyjamas and the disarrangement of the clothing was, the manager assured us, the result of the police surgeon’s preliminary examination.

“If you would be so good, Parker,” said Solar Pons softly.

He went to stand quietly at the foot of the bed alongside the manager but I was conscious, as ever, that his keen eyes were stabbing into the farthest recesses of the room.

The dead man was a strong and well-built specimen of about thirty-five or forty years. He had a heavy black beard which bristled at the ceiling as his head was drawn back in his death-agony. The features were blue and cyanosed, the tongue protruding from the parted lips like some vile and bloated sac that was on the point of bursting.

There were the heavy and classic indentations of thumbs and fingers on the throat and windpipe that follow in every instance of manual strangulation and it did not take me long to form my opinion. The man’s black hair was tumbled and awry across his forehead and the dark glasses that he had evidently worn had fallen to the floor of the room in his struggles. Pons grunted when I reported my brief diagnosis.

“Curious, Parker,” he said broodingly, striding to the side of the bed and making his own inspection. He bent and examined the glasses.

“The police have been over the room, I take it?”

The manager nodded.

“Yes, Mr Pons. Two officers from the C.I.D. were here before Inspector Jamison. They were extremely careful and said they would leave everything in situ. The Inspector said a further examination would be made later and ordered me to seal the room. Then, some while afterwards, the Inspector told me that I would be arrested.”

Solar Pons gave a thin smile.

“I do not think we need take that seriously for the moment, Mr Hibbert.”

He turned back to me.

“Do you not find the circumstances curious, Parker?” I glanced at him in some surprise.

“It appears to be a simple case of manual strangulation, Pons.”

My companion shot me an impatient glance.

“No, Parker, I mean the matter of the glasses.”

I followed his glance to the floor.

“I do not follow, Pons.”

“No matter.”

Pons turned again to the manager.

“How was Voss dressed when he arrived here, Mr Hibbert?”

“As to that, I cannot say, Mr Pons, as I was not in the lobby. But I understand from Meakins that he wore dark clothes; an overcoat and trilby hat; that dark suit on the chair there; and the dark glasses.”

“I see.”

Solar Pons pulled thoughtfully at the lobe of his right ear.

“The curious factor is why he would feel it necessary to wear dark glasses when he was alone in the room or even while in bed.”

“Perhaps he had weak eyes, Pons,” I suggested.

“Perhaps, Parker, perhaps,” retorted Solar Pons absently.

He bent down and took out his magnifying lens from his inner pocket. He went carefully over the floor and the area round the bed while Hibbert and I stood in silence, watching my companion’s quick, alert movements. Once again I marvelled at his precise, economical actions in which there was such energy and purpose; there was a master at work here even though most of his motives and conclusions were hidden from my mind. Then he moved over to the door, examining the floor carefully and working his way back over toward the bed.

He got up with a grunt of satisfaction and dusted his trousers.

I glanced at him quickly.

“You have found something, Pons?”

He nodded.

“Whether it is of importance we shall see later. Hotel bedrooms are to a large extent public rooms, of course, and many people pass through them even in the course of a single week.”

He turned to Hibbert.

“I think we have seen everything relevant, Mr Hibbert. Come, Parker.”

The manager passed a hand through his disordered hair. “But what am I to do, Mr Pons?”

We waited in the corridor while he locked the door behind us. Solar Pons laughed shortly.

“Do, Mr Hibbert? Why, nothing. Leave things to me. I fancy it will not take long to convince friend Jamison of the ridiculousness of this charge he is attempting to bring.”

The manager still looked unconvinced as he glanced to me.

“I think you will find things as Pons says,” I told him. “It would not be the first time the Inspector has made a fool of himself.”

“Come, Parker,” said my companion, with a thin smile. “You are being rather hard on Jamison. He has his uses. And now, if you please, Mr Hibbert, I would like a word in private before we rejoin the Inspector.”

3

Inspector Jamison was in an unpleasant temper when I rejoined him and Pons in the manager’s office. Pons had gone in first and there had been a muffled conversation from behind the heavy door which continued for perhaps ten minutes. When I was eventually admitted to the room by Pons my friend was smiling with satisfaction and Jamison was standing by Hibbert’s desk frowning heavily. He had a red face and a chastened air as my companion turned to him.

“And now, Inspector, I would be obliged if you would let me have a glimpse of Voss’ effects. I presume your men have already removed them from the room for there was precious little there.”

“They are in a cardboard box on the desk here,” said Jamison ungraciously. “You are welcome to look through them though I can’t see what help they will be. The man was Otto Voss all right. We have his passport there and a number of other documents. He lived in Hamburg.”

“I see he brought some newspapers with him.”

Pons’ sharp eyes had already fastened on two journals in the heavy Gothic-style type affected by German books and periodicals. He picked up a copy of the Hamburger Zeitung.

“Rather curious, is it not?”

Jamison looked discomfited.

“I do not understand you, Mr Pons.”

“Both newspapers are of the same date.”

“Presumably he bought them both the same day. Nothing unusual in that.”

There was a sarcastic edge to Jamison’s voice which Pons ignored.

“Yes, man, but these are over three weeks old. That is surely significant. I commend that fact to your attention.”

He went swiftly through the newspapers, to the Inspector’s evident bewilderment. I must confess that I was equally puzzled but I kept my own counsel and silently watched as Pons went on, turning the pages of the journals with fingers as nervous and tensile as the antennae of an insect. He had a satisfied expression on his face as he put them down.

He next turned to the passport, then held it out for me to look at. I could see that the photograph indeed depicted the dead man in the room above. There was no mistaking the heavy beard, and the features despite the subtle change which death always brings with it.

“There is no doubt this passport is genuine, Pons?”

My companion was already holding it up to the light. He shook his head.

“I have made some little study of the textures of paper and the like, Parker. This would have to be the finest forgery in the world and I do not think the criminal fraternity has yet reached that degree of excellence. I would stake my reputation that this is a genuine document, issued in Hamburg. It should be easy enough to check in any event. No doubt friend Jamison has already put matters in hand.”

“We are in touch with the Hamburg police,” Jamison said ponderously.

I had taken the passport from Pons and studied it carefully. “What does this long phrase mean, Pons? I cannot make it out.”

Solar Pons shrugged carelessly, his eyes gleaming.

“It is his profession, Parker. He was an export official.”

“I see.”

I stared at my companion for a few moments.

“Is it of significance, Pons?”

Solar Pons pulled gently with delicate fingers at the lobe of his ear.

“It may be, Parker, it may be. I commend it to you.”

Inspector Jamison had stood apart from us all this time, resentment burning in every facet of his stiff figure. His eyes had followed Pons’ moves with curiosity but it was evident that he had read nothing from my friend’s comments or actions during the past five minutes. The windows of the office were open and the noises of the muffled traffic from the Strand came to us, insubstantial and far off as a dream.

We were alone in the office with the Inspector for I understood that the manager was taking a belated breakfast in a corner of the main dining room though, idiotically to my way of thinking, under the close observation of Jamison’s ubiquitous constable.

Solar Pons put down the documents at last.

“And now, I think, I would like a word with the young lady at the reception desk and a glance at the hotel register.” “By all means, Mr Pons.”

Some of the redness had died away from the Scotland Yard man’s neck and he seemed in a more placatory mood as he led the way along the corridor and down into the hotel’s main reception area.

A tall, slim girl with fair hair was sitting at the desk and she readily handed over the register to Pons. He stood for a moment, running a thumb down the margin, a frown on his clear-minted, aquiline features.

“The study of hand-writing is a much neglected one, Parker,” he observed. “Oh, I give you that there have been a number of studies by people who purport to be able to read character from hand-writing, but there is a good deal more to it than that.”

“Indeed, Pons.”

My friend smiled rather cynically and looked from Inspector Jamison to the girl behind the desk.

“ Criminal tendencies are inclined to show up in hand-writing also. I must give the matter some attention in a monograph one of these days.”

“I look forward to reading it, Pons,” I observed.

My companion turned back to the book and examined it intently.

“Here we are. Voss registered correctly, in his own name and giving his correct residence, as you can see clearly.”

To my astonishment, after looking at Voss’ signature, he went back through the register, turning to the previous page. He had produced his powerful pocket lens and went carefully over the pages, lingering here and there, as though the signatures were some exotic botanical specimens. His eyes were gleaming as he put the lens back in its case and transferred it to his pocket.

“Interesting, Parker. As I said, I must give it some more considered study in printed form. Now, what is the young lady’s name, Jamison? “

“Miss Anna Smithson,” said the Inspector heavily.

“Now, Miss Smithson, would it be too much trouble for you to recall the events of last night?”

The young lady smiled, revealing perfect rows of teeth.

“I am afraid I cannot help you, Mr Pons. I go off at six o’clock each evening. You want Mr Lennard, who takes over the desk at night.”

“I see. Would he be in the hotel?”

“I have had him recalled for purposes of questioning, Mr Pons,” said Jamison stiffly. “I will have him fetched.”

He went over to the dining room entrance and signalled to his constable. A minute or two later the officer returned with a thin, sallow man with silver hair cut en brosse. He wore a faded blue suit and somehow looked all of a part with the Metropole. His gold pince-nez hung by a frayed velvet ribbon from his lapel and he peered anxiously about him as the Inspector introduced Pons and myself.

“This gentlemen is Mr Solar Pons,” Jamison began pompously. “He would like to ask you a few questions.”

“Certainly, Mr Pons,” said the silver-haired man, looking uncertainly about him and moving his hands together restlessly.

“I understand you came on duty last night at about six o’clock, Lennard.”

“That is correct, sir. It was just five minutes to. I always believe in being prompt and punctual.”

“An admirable trait,” said Solar Pons smoothly. “Which extends apparently to even being before your time. Something that must have stood you in good stead in your previous occupation.”

“Eigh?”

The night receptionist looked slightly discomfited and moved his feet uneasily on the carpeting. This, combined with the restless weaving motions of his hands suddenly made him look uncertain and unreliable.

“You have been a book-keeper unless I miss my guess,” said my companion decisively. “Your desk was in front of a window and you sat at right angles to it. I would further infer that you have been employed by the Metropole Hotel for only a short time; say a fortnight at the outside.”

“This is astonishing, Mr Pons!” burst out the man being interrogated, and though I was equally surprised I felt inwardly amused at the expression on the faces of Inspector Jamison and the young lady receptionist.

“Tut, man, it was obvious,” said Solar Pons crisply. “The weather has been extraordinarily warm this spring. You exhibit a tan on the right hand side of your face only, the left being quite white and pallid. Therefore, in your normal occupation you sat in front of a window and as is well-known glass has the property of intensifying sunlight. I know of no other circumstance which would lead to such a construction. Your occupation here as night receptionist would not give rise to such a complexion, for we are under artificial light, a condition which must obtain at all times.”

His eyes positively twinkled as he glanced at Jamison.

“Therefore, I postulate, Parker — though entirely at random — that Lennard here had been a book-keeper. He has a neat, bookish look; his right shoulder is slightly lower at the point where he leans forward to use his pen on the desk and his right sleeve there is well worn where he rests it on the wooden surface.”

“Remarkable, Pons,” I said warmly.

“It was self-evident, Parker.”

“But how can you be so positive that Mr Lennard has been here only a short time?”

“The degree of tan in the complexion, Parker. If he had been employed by the hotel for much longer than a fortnight the tan on the right-hand side of his face would have faded. Therefore, he has been here only a short while.”

Inspector Jamison cleared his throat with a harsh rasping noise.

“Very ingenious, Mr Pons,” he said heavily. “And if I may say so…”

He was interrupted abruptly by Lennard who seized my companion effusively by the hand and pumped it up and down.

“Correct in every detail, Mr Pons! It is the most extraordinary thing I have ever heard. It is absolutely amazing. The firm failed just three weeks ago and I was lucky to find this berth at such short notice. Jobs are not easy to come by these days.”

“That is perfectly true,” said I. “Eh, Pons?”

“If you say so, Parker,” said Solar Pons languidly, his eyes fixed somewhere up in a corner of the ceiling. “You are more in touch with the market place than I, old fellow.”

His deep-set eyes were suddenly sharp and penetrating. “Now, Lennard, let us just reconstruct the events of last night. You came on duty just before six. I want you to be absolutely precise and detailed as to the circumstances relating to the late Mr Voss.”

Lennard moved his hands restlessly to and fro again. “Well, Mr Pons, as near as I can recollect it was just a fraction after 10.15 P.M. when he came into the lobby.”

I glanced at my companion.

“That tallies with what Meakins told us, Pons.”

Solar Pons smiled thinly.

“It had not escaped my observation, Parker. Pray continue, Lennard.”

“He was a tall, thick-bearded man with dark glasses. I was rather surprised when he kept the glasses on in the hotel and even more so to see that he was dressed in heavy clothes with a scarf on such an evening.”

“Quite so. What about his voice?”

“Very guttural and hoarse, Mr Pons, as though he had a bad cold. He had a strong foreign accent but he didn’t speak very much.”

Pons nodded, his penetrating eyes fixed intently on the receptionist’s face. The young lady had gone back to the desk at the insistent buzzing of the telephone and we now moved away down the foyer as a group of guests came in and demanded their keys.

“What happened next?”

“Nothing of any import, Mr Pons. The foreign gentleman registered as Mr Otto Voss of Hamburg, as you have already seen from the register. We are rather short-staffed as Meakins has probably told you and he himself carried the guest’s attaché-case up. The gentleman carried up his valise himself. It was extremely heavy, I noticed.”

“Indeed.”

Solar Pons stood pulling thoughtfully at the lobe of his left ear, his eyes now fixed somewhere in space.

“What other luggage had he?”

“Nothing but the small attaché-case, Mr Pons. The last I saw of him he was walking up the stairs with Meakins in front of him.”

“He did not use the lift?”

“I am afraid it was switched off at that time of the evening, Mr Pons.”

My companion nodded.

“Now, I want you to think very carefully, Lennard. Your answer may be of vital importance. I want to know if you were away from the desk here at any time during the night.”

A worried expression passed across the silver-haired man’s face.

“I took a break for coffee and sandwiches from about half-past eleven to half-past twelve, Mr Pons. It is not exactly against the rules but the management frown on it, though they know we will not be in the lobby all evening. We can easily hear if a guest rings down or the telephone goes, for we have a large repeater bell which is easily audible in the kitchen area.”

“I see. So you went to the kitchen for your meal and were away an hour?”

“That is so, Mr Pons.”

“So that anyone could have come and gone from the hotel without your seeing or hearing them?”

Lennard turned puzzled eyes on to Solar Pons before glancing at the immobile figure of Jamison.

“I suppose so, Mr Pons, though I cannot see what…”

“That will be all, Lennard,” said Pons crisply, a note of suppressed excitement in his voice. “You have given your account in an admirably detailed manner.”

He rubbed his thin hands together briskly.

“I think we have done all we can here for the moment, Parker. Tell me, Lennard, before we part, is Mr Esau Thornton of Banstead, Surrey, still in the hotel?”

“Yes, indeed, Mr Pons. A most delightful gentleman. He proposes to leave tomorrow afternoon for he asked me to make his bill up for midday tomorrow.”

“Excellent! Now, Parker, I think our next task is to pay a little visit to a good theatrical costumier’s. There are two leading London firms close by, if I remember correctly.”

We had turned away from the desk now, leaving Jamison with a baffled expression on his face. I hurried after Pons, having difficulty in keeping up.

“Theatrical costumiers, Pons? What on earth are you talking about?”

“Tut, Parker. The matter is elementary. Ah, here is a cab.”

Pons jumped in quickly, giving an address I didn’t catch, and I had just time to follow him before we glided away into the roaring chaos of the Strand. We paid off the cab near Bond Street and I kept hard at my companion’s heels as he turned into a narrow, fashionable street. He stopped in front of a window which had little in it except wigs and grease-paint and studied it for a minute or two with what I thought to be exaggerated care. His next remark startled me.

“I thought perhaps we might have been followed, Parker. It is as well to take every precaution.”

He drew me into the arched entrance of the establishment. “Now, my dear fellow, if you will stand guard for a few moments I shall not keep you long.”

He hurried into the shop and a short while afterward I saw him in earnest conversation with a tall, handsome young man with hair like patent leather. He re-joined me a few moments later, a wry expression on his face.

“It was unlikely that we should strike lucky first time off, Parker. Let us just see whether Glida and Company are our people. It is only a few steps farther down.”

The next establishment was incomparably more fashionable and the window was filled with fantastic-looking military uniforms of a century or more ago, slashed with scarlet and blue and gold, the gleaming epaulettes shining like stars in the highly polished teak and chromium settings. On the windows in gold curlicue script were the legends: Glida and Company. Theatrical Costumiers. By Appointment to Their Majesties.

As before I stayed outside. This time Pons interviewed a tall, powerfully-built man whose beard was heavily flecked with grey. He appeared to be the proprietor for he sent an assistant scuttling for a heavy ledger with an imperious wave of the hand. The conversation lasted some five or seven minutes and when Pons re-joined me there was a familiar glint dancing in his eyes.

“I see you are in luck, Pons,” I remarked.

“Your ratiocinative faculties are in full flow, Parker,” said Solar Pons drily, drawing me farther down the pavement.

“We have been extremely fortunate in this matter in that our quarry has not flown. The only remaining problem is how to spring the trap in the most effective manner.”

“I am afraid I do not follow, Pons.”

“That is because you have looked only, my dear fellow, without seeing what was so plainly before you. We are dealing with an extremely ruthless and bold criminal. We must get back to the hotel at once.”

And he said not a word further until we had arrived at our destination.

4

“I am immensely grateful to you, Mr Pons!”

“Tut, Mr Hibbert, I have done nothing for you as yet.”

Pons and I sat at lunch with the manager in the Metropole dining room. I was extremely hungry after our morning’s activities and did full justice to the excellent meal. The windows were open, golden bars of sunlight glanced in and the curtains billowed slightly with a cooling breeze. I smiled as I noticed Jamison’s gloomy countenance passing the dining room doors. The body of the late Mr Voss had been removed discreetly by a back entrance less than an hour ago. Hibbert had noticed Jamison too and his nose wrinkled in distaste.

“Nevertheless, Mr Pons, I think you have managed to put that ridiculous police inspector’s limited mind into another channel. The very idea of arresting me was fantastic. I do not know what I am to say to my board of directors.”

Pons smiled encouragingly and I broke into the conversation.

Jamison is not so bad when you get to know him, Mr Hibbert. He has his limitations, as you so justly point out…” The manager interrupted me in his turn.

“You have not been arrested by him, Dr Parker,” he said ruefully. “I think you might have a different standpoint in that case.”

Solar Pons chuckled.

“Touché, Mr Hibbert. I think he has you there, Parker.” Then he abruptly became serious.

“But we are not yet out of the wood. I must just make sure we do not move prematurely. Have you managed to contact those taxi-drivers?”

“By all means, Mr Pons. There are six of them, all regulars on the taxi-rank here and they will be at your disposal from three o’clock onwards.”

I turned a puzzled face to my companion.

“Taxi-drivers, Pons?”

“It is just a little matter, Parker, of crossing the t’s and dotting the i’s. As in most investigative work, you understand, Mr Hibbert.”

“You are certainly leaving nothing to chance, Mr Pons, though what you can read into this hopeless riddle is beyond me.”

“Hardly hopeless, Mr Hibbert,” said Pons smoothly. “Now, as we have finished our coffee and it wants but five minutes to three I think we might make a move.”

“I have asked them to come to my office one at a time, at three minute intervals, Mr Pons.”

“Excellent.”

I followed my companion and the manager into the latter’s office, so lately the scene of the little drama when Hibbert had fancied himself under close arrest. The atmosphere at the Metropole had so far changed since Pons’ arrival that the manager appeared to be in the ascendancy and Jamison himself on the defensive. The first of the drivers, a tall, thin, bearded man, was already waiting outside the door, nervously twisting his cap in his hands.

As soon as we were established in the office, the driver standing before the manager’s desk, Pons put the man at his ease.

“I am concerned only with the events of yesterday. If you can recall those fares you took up from the rank outside the hotel, I would be obliged. I am looking for a tall, burly man with fair hair who would have come from the hotel.”

The driver considered for only a moment and then shook his head.

“To the best of my recollection, sir, I never took up any fare of that description yesterday.”

I turned to Pons in astonishment but wisely held my tongue. Pons’ face expressed neither disappointment nor satisfaction.

“I am much obliged to you,” he said evenly. “Here is half a guinea for your time and trouble.”

We waited in silence until the next man was announced. The little scene, Pons’ questions and the drivers’ answers were continued until four interviews had been conducted in this manner with negative results.

The fifth man who presented himself was a little, sharp-faced person whose smart appearance and lively features bespoke intelligence and alertness. He listened in silence as my companion put to him the question he had posed to all the others.

“Yes, sir, I did,” he said without hesitation. “Tall, fair man, as you say. Late in the afternoon.”

Pons nodded, his eyes dancing with suppressed excitement. “Can you remember where you took him?”

The driver rubbed his chin with the forefinger of his right hand.

“An address in Mayfair, sir. Some sort of theatrical costumiers, if I remember rightly.”

“Can you recall the name?”

A puzzled expression passed across the taxi-driver’s face. “Some sort of foreign-sounding place. I’m not very good at such things.”

Pons had a thin smile on his lips now.

“Would it have been Glida and Company?”

A look of surprise and enlightenment succeeded the driver’s puzzlement.

“That’s it, sir. It comes back to me now.”

Solar Pons chuckled with satisfaction.

“Excellent. You have been most helpful. Here is a guinea for your trouble. You may tell your colleague waiting outside that he will not be needed now and give him this half-guinea with my compliments.”

The man took the money as though he could not believe his luck.

“Thank you, sir. Much obliged, I’m sure.”

We were silent until the door had closed behind him.

“How on earth, Pons…” I began when my friend interrupted me by putting a finger to his lips.

“All in good time, Parker. We have now to lay our man by the heels and must do it swiftly and with discretion if we are not to bring further scandal to the hotel.”

“I must confess, Mr Pons, I am completely at a loss,” interjected the unfortunate Mr Hibbert. “But if you will tell me how I may assist, every facility of the hotel is at your disposal.”

“You are displaying an admirable spirit, Mr Hibbert,” said my companion. “You have been greatly tried in the last few hours but unless I am much mistaken, your ordeal will be shortly over.”

He had produced his pipe from his pocket and for the next few minutes he sat puffing fragrant smoke-rings toward the ceiling, his eyes half-closed as he remained in silent thought. I knew better than to interrupt him at such moments. Truth to tell I had much to think of myself, though in my case, confusion remained uppermost. I had seldom encountered such a baffling set of circumstances as confronted Pons at this moment yet it was evident that everything which appeared murky and obscure to me was crystal-clear to him.

At length he opened his eyes and addressed me in the following terms.

“We must proceed carefully, Parker. You have not your revolver with you, I take it?”

I shook my head.

“Good heavens, Pons, is the situation as dangerous as that? You did not ask me to bring it and therefore, I naturally…” Pons silenced me by putting his hand on my arm.

“It is not your fault, Parker, but nevertheless we should not go into this blindfold. Our man is cunning, ruthless, highly dangerous and most probably armed. Despite superior numbers, we would be wise to meet him on equal terms. Unless I miss my guess he will fight desperately when cornered.”

His eyes had passed across the office as he was speaking and had lighted on an umbrella stand in the corner.

“Ah! Just the thing. That stout walking stick yonder is yours, Mr Hibbert?”

“Indeed, Mr Pons. Do you wish to borrow it?”

“If you would be so good.”

“By all means, sir.”

Hibbert got up and courteously fetched the stick and handed it to my companion. He hefted it in his hand silently for a moment.

“Admirable, Mr Hibbert. I fancy it will do nicely. Properly handled it would subdue the most aggressive opponent. If you would do the honours, Parker.”

I took the stick from him and weighed it in my right hand. It was indeed a formidable weapon. We were standing so when there came a peremptory rapping at the door and the sour features of Inspector Jamison were thrust into the room.

5

“Ah, I am glad you are here, Jamison,” said Pons smoothly. “You are just in time for the dénouement of this little affair.”

Jamison’s expression became even more acid if that were possible. He coughed awkwardly.

“I have taken your advice, Mr Pons,” he began.

He looked placatingly toward me.

“I telephoned my superiors at Scotland Yard. When I explained the situation they took the same view as you. The case against Mr Hibbert is dropped.”

“There never was a case against him,” Pons returned crisply. “Nevertheless, I am glad to hear you say so.”

Jamison scratched his head and looked blankly from Pons to me.

“That’s all very well, Mr Pons, but where are we to begin? Blessed if I can see how anyone could get in there to murder Mr Voss and escape while leaving the key on the table.”

“That is because you are not using your eyes, Jamison. The matter is simple enough, though it presents ingenious facets. With your help I expect to have the murderer behind bars before the evening is out.”

Jamison opened his mouth once or twice but was unable to articulate the words. He looked like an expiring fish and I must confess I was forced to look away into another corner of the room or my amusement would have shown upon my face. Not that I was any more enlightened than the good Inspector but I had learned to conceal my feelings a little more successfully than the Scotland Yard man.

Pons tore a leaf from his pocket-book, scribbled something on it and handed it to Jamison.

“I want a watch kept on the guest in this room, day and night if necessary. You’ll need plain-clothes men, of course, and officers as unobtrusive as possible. If he leaves the hotel he is to be followed and a report made to me, through you. If he attempts to leave with his luggage he must be stopped, by force if necessary. But your men must be told, in the strongest possible terms, that he may be armed and desperate and will in all probability resist.”

Inspector Jamison looked grave, but nodded his head in his best official manner.

“Very well, Mr Pons. I’ll see to it personally. I have a couple of men in mind, both ex-boxers and handy in a rough-house.” Solar Pons smiled thinly at Jamison.

“Excellent.”

He turned back to me. “I think that is all we need do for the moment. If I read this man’s character aright he will not move until this evening, providing that he has managed the currency situation successfully.”

My expression must have been blank indeed for Pons’ face assumed a wry aspect.

“Come, Parker, this is not so very difficult. Just give it your undivided attention and I am sure all will be light where darkness reigned before.”

“I have heard you say so on many occasions, Pons,” I said ruefully. “But I have never yet met the man who could match your deductive faculties.”

Jamison was about to quit the room but hesitated with his hand on the knob of the door.

“Where will you be, Mr Pons?”

My companion glanced over at the clock in the corner.

“I think it is just about the hour of tea, Parker. A pleasant occasion, especially in such a delightfully old-fashioned hotel. I think I may safely say, Jamison, that Parker and myself will be agreeably occupied in the tea-room for the next hour or so.”

My companion was remarkably quiet and absorbed during the meal and I forbore to disturb him. There was tension beneath the surface, nevertheless, and more than once I noticed his clear-minted, aquiline face turn expectantly toward the door to the main vestibule as it opened to admit some new guest or staff member. But the time passed without incident and he made only one comment.

“I think we may safely leave routine matters to friend Jamison, Parker. Defective as he is in all the higher processes of ratiocination, if he is set a definite task and has a given objective to work toward there is no more dogged and better a man in his limited sphere.”

As soon as we quitted the dining room Pons sought out Jamison and the two were closeted for the better part of an hour. When my companion rejoined me he took me to a small room behind the reception desk, which had been set aside for our purposes.

“I am afraid this will be rather boring, my dear fellow, but it is essential to keep alert at all times this evening.”

“I am entirely at your service, Pons,” I said.

I had brought in the manager’s heavy stick with me and I set it down beside my chair as I perused the evening paper that Hibbert had had sent in. The hours seemed to pass with leaden slowness.

It was past nine in the evening and we had partaken of a light snack of sandwiches and coffee before anything further happened. The door opened and Jamison poked his head somewhat furtively into the room.

“Hamilton has just telephoned down, Mr Pons. Your man is on the move. He has a large suitcase and a valise with him.”

Solar Pons rubbed his thin fingers together with satisfaction. He sprang to his feet like a tense spring that had just been released.

“Excellent! Just hold yourself in readiness, Parker.”

“I wish I knew what this was all about, Pons,” I grumbled.

“All in good time, my dear fellow,” said my companion crisply, turning to Jamison who was lingering in the doorway. The Scotland Yard man still had a worried expression on his face.

“I hope you know what you are doing, Mr Pons. I am sticking my neck out in this matter and Mr Hibbert has already threatened to sue the police.”

“Never mind that now, Jamison,” said Pons in that omnipotent manner which I confess I sometimes find maddening. “We have more important things afoot. I will take full responsibility for whatever happens.”

“Just so long as that is understood, Mr Pons,” said Jamison stiffly, little patches of red standing out on his sallow cheeks.

“I must confess I have some sympathy with the Inspector, Pons,” I said somewhat tartly as soon as he had withdrawn. “Do you not, Parker,” said Pons, his eyes twinkling.

“Now, we must quickly move into position. It will take our man some five minutes to reach the desk if he is using the lift; about ten minutes if he walks down. We must find a divan or chairs as near to the reception desk as possible and pretend to be hotel guests perusing the newspapers.”

“Who is this man, Pons?” I asked, as we quickly quitted the room and took our seats on a long low divan to one side of and some yards from the reception desk.

“I believe I mentioned him earlier today, Parker. I was then told that he would not be quitting the hotel until tomorrow afternoon. From that I concluded he would make his move this evening, when the hotel was quiet. It seems that I have not been wrong.”

Pons turned to me as the whine of the lift sounded in the quiet, almost hushed atmosphere of the hotel lounge.

“Do try and look a little more like a relaxed hotel guest, my dear fellow. Your knuckles are gleaming white on the handle of that stick.”

I relinquished it with a mutter of apology and fixed my gaze on the wrought iron doors of the lift entrance as the cage neared the ground floor. My features were sheltered by the magazine I was reading and I had a clear view over the top of the pages as I was almost directly facing the lift.

Leonard was on duty at the desk and was desultorily turning over some letters destined for the pigeon-holes behind him. There was no sign of Jamison and his men but I had no doubt they were lurking near. The clock in the lobby indicated 9.15 P.M. precisely as the lift-cage clicked to a halt on the ground floor and a well-built, blond-haired man with a hard face walked toward us carrying a heavy case in his right hand and a valise in his left.

6

The events of the next few minutes remain a blur in my memory. Certainly, no more dramatic incident stands out in my mind; there have been more bizarre cases, of course, and many in which the surroundings were outré in the extreme. But none more violent or shocking played out against such a mundane background as the Metropole Hotel.

The fair-haired guest, whose eyes were shooting sharp glances to either side came straight on without hesitating, though the strain on his right arm must have been considerable, as it was obvious the case he was carrying was extremely weighty. Leonard came forward as he approached and gave him a cheerful smile.

“I would like my account, please,” the tall man said, putting his key down on the desk. “The name is Thornton, Room 84.” The worried look was back on Lennard’s face again now. “The young lady has gone off duty sir. I understood her to say you were leaving tomorrow afternoon.”

“I have changed my mind,” the other rapped impatiently. “That was my intention originally but I have been called away on urgent business.”

Lennard shrugged apologetically.

“I don’t know whether she has left the bill, sir.. ” he began.

He was interrupted dramatically by his interrogator, who slammed the flat of his hand down on the reception counter with a loud bang and retorted explosively, “Well look, man, for goodness’ sake, instead of standing there gawping. Unless you wish me to fetch the manager?”

Lennard cowered back behind the desk at the menace in the other’s eyes.

“Certainly, sir. Straight away.”

His voice was agitated, his manner flustered, as he went through into the small office behind the counter. I kept my face down to my magazine but Pons had looked up as though in casual curiosity at the angry scene. Thornton evidently felt this himself, for he bit his underlip with annoyance and controlled the nervous drumming of his fingers on the countertop. I thought he was about to make some observation to my companion but he evidently thought better of it, and instead turned on his heel to glance at the clock set above the lift entrance at the other side of the hall.

We waited in a tense silence like that for perhaps two minutes; I concentrated on the article in my magazine but the type swam before my eyes and conveyed nothing to me. I could feel the rough surface of the manager’s stick reassuringly solid against the fingers of my left hand. Then we heard the hurried tread of the receptionist’s feet coming back. He was flushed and nervous still but he carried a slip of paper in his hand.

“Here it is, sir,” he said quickly. “I am sorry to have kept you waiting. Miss Smithson had made up the account and left it on the desk.”

Thornton grunted and glanced at the document, reaching inside his coat for his wallet. It was then that Pons acted.

With a subtle gesture to me he rose quickly, put down his newspaper with a stifled yawn, and turned as though to quit the vestibule. As he passed behind Thornton and while the other’s back was turned, he apparently stumbled across the case. It was cleverly done and though I knew Pons’ clumsiness was only simulated I was completely deceived. Pons landed asprawl behind the thickset man.

“Dear me,” he said apologetically. “I am so sorry.”

The blond man gave a snarl and reached for his pocket. For once I was equal to the occasion. I had risen after Pons and was standing only a few feet away. I seized my stick and rushed forward, cannoning into Thornton. Taken off balance, he half-turned and fell heavily over Pons’ semi-recumbent form. I had one glimpse of Lennard’s face, frozen in horror and then Thornton had hit the floor.

He rolled over, Pons’ hand clamped to his wrist.

“Quickly, Parker!” my friend snapped in unruffled tones.

I brought the heavy stick over hard, felt it crack against bone. Thornton’s face turned grey and his arm hung limply. A heavy blued-steel automatic pistol bounced across the floor.

The lobby suddenly seemed full of men. Jamison had darted from somewhere behind the reception desk and threw himself without hesitation, terrier-like and determined, on to the suddenly raving figure of Thornton. Two plains-clothes men joined in and there was a wild melee of flying arms and legs, round which I hovered anxiously, glimpsing Pons rising and falling amid the confusion like some craft tossed in a stormy sea.

More police officers arrived and I could see Hibbert, pale and distracted in the background. Pons rose to his feet, a wry smile on his face, and dusted himself down.

“Well, Parker,” he drawled. “It seems as though our little surmise has borne fruit.”

“Indeed, Pons,” I said, glimpsing Jamison’s dogged face and the gleam of triumph in his eyes as handcuffs closed on the blond man’s wrists.

“But I hope we have the right man.”

“So do I, Dr Parker,” Jamison snapped, straightening up, his breathing fast and shallow.

“Tut, Inspector,” said Solar Pons calmly. “There is no doubt about it. The gentleman yonder, whatever his real name, is our man right enough. No self-respecting guest carries an automatic, far less being prepared to use it in a crowded hotel lobby.”

He looked wryly at the anxious faces clustered round the harassed manager, as guests and staff were drawn to the boiling confusion about the blond man, now recumbent and glaring-eyed upon the floor.

“Just fetch a knife, Jamison, if you would be so good, and we will cut open that case,” Pons commanded.

The Inspector hesitated but sent a constable to the kitchen. The pinioned man redoubled his efforts to escape as Pons approached the heavy valise which had been knocked over in the desperate struggle. It had three locks and, as Pons had expected, was secured. He cut a six-inch gash in the expensive leather with the razor-sharp kitchen-knife and soon eased up a triangular flap. From the gap poured several bundles of five-pound Bank of England notes.

Jamison looked stupefied. The blond man’s face was set like granite as the police officers hauled him to his feet. His glittering eyes never left my companion’s face.

“What are the charges, Mr Pons?” said Inspector Jamison awkwardly.

Pons smiled faintly.

“Murder and bank robbery will do to be going on with.” “Bank robbery, Mr Pons!”

My companion chuckled.

“Of course, Jamison. This case contains the equivalent of more than one hundred thousand pounds sterling, the property of the Hamburg branch of the German State Bank. If you had paid a little attention to an elementary study of languages the whole picture would soon have become clear to you.”

I shook my head.

“The whole thing is far from clear to me, Pons. What you are saying is that Thornton is the man who murdered Voss?”

Solar Pons turned his deep-set eyes on me thoughtfully.

“What I am saying is that Thornton is Voss in a sense,” he said. “It may seem rather complicated but it will soon be made clear.”

Inspector Jamison’s face was a study in bafflement.

“You mean to say he murdered himself, Mr Pons?” he said heavily, with a leaden attempt at irony.

“In a way, yes,” Solar Pons replied shortly. “But I suggest this is neither the time nor the place for such explanations. I fancy you will get nothing out of Mr Thornton tonight and I am not yet in a position to hazard a guess at his true identity. I suggest that you formally charge him and then return here to Mr Hibbert’s office.”

“You have a full explanation then, Mr Pons?”

“I trust so, Jamison,” said Pons, straight-faced. “In the meantime, Parker, I suggest we adjourn to the bar. I am sure Mr Hibbert will join us in celebrating his clearance of all suspicion, however far-fetched and idiotic such a supposition might seem to a rational mind.”

And he led the way forward as the officers hurried the blond-haired man away.

7

Solar Pons lit his pipe and blew out a cloud of aromatic smoke toward the ceiling. Jamison had returned from charging his prisoner within the hour and now, flushed and breathless, sank into a chair at the other side of the table in the manager’s office. A tray of drinks was before us and Hibbert himself, who was the only other person in the room apart from Pons, myself and the Inspector, was dispensing the refreshment.

“I don’t know how you did it, Mr Pons,” he said for the third time, “but it was quite brilliant.”

“I am sure you are right, Mr Hibbert,” said Jamison heavily, “and if it helps at all, I apologise on behalf of the police for the suspicion which fell upon you. But you must see how it looked to me.”

“I think we can forget all that, Inspector,” I put in hastily, diverting the manager’s attention as the redness had mounted to his cheeks again at the Scotland Yard man’s words.

“What I would like to know — and I am sure we are all agreed on this — is what this business is all about, for I have not the faintest idea myself.”

Solar Pons half-dosed his eyes, shovelling out blue smoke over his shoulder, taking the proffered glass the manager held out to him.

“There were a number of factors which stood out in a marked manner right from the beginning, Parker. They led to certain inescapable conclusions.”

“And what might those be, Pons?”

“Obvious ones, Parker. The most striking stemming from the entrance of the mysterious hotel guest, with his heavy valise and bizarre appearance.”

I turned puzzled eyes on my companion.

“You mean Voss, Pons. I fail to see…”

“That was because you were not looking, my dear fellow. Everything pointed toward only one set of conclusions. The man wished to draw attention to himself. Or rather, he wished to draw attention to his disguise. The heavy clothing in this warm weather; the guttural accent; the beard; the dark glasses. The man who registered as Otto Voss of Hamburg wished to create an identity.”

Solar Pons paused and opened his penetrating eyes.

“The identity of the man he intended to kill.”

Inspector Jamison gave a muffled exclamation.

“Am I to understand, Mr Pons…” he began ponderously.

“By all means,” my companion interrupted crisply. “I do not yet know his real name but the Otto Voss who registered here was the man we have just arrested in the persona of Esau Thornton. As you will have observed, Parker, they are both of the same general build and height.”

“That is so, Pons. Then the man murdered in Room 31?” “Was the real Voss, of course.”

The manager had consternation on his face and opened his mouth to ask a question when Pons forestalled him.

“What is the motive for all this, you ask? Money of course. Greed. Sheer cupidity. Allied with treachery which one commonly finds among thieves of the more daring sort.”

“You mentioned robbery, Mr Pons,” said Jamison diffidently, his eyes never leaving Solar Pons’ face.

My companion put down his pipe on the edge of a crystal tray on the table and nodded.

“And I commended to you, did I not, the study of languages. The most obvious clues were staring you in the face, in those copies of the Hamburger Zeitung which Thornton evidently overlooked in his baggage when he strangled Voss. Careless, but understandable under the circumstances. My knowledge of German is limited, certainly, but I read enough to realise that the principal items of interest in both issues were reports of a bank robbery in that city in which two daring robbers had escaped with almost £200,000.”

“I see, Pons! And you thought Voss and Thornton were the men?”

Solar Pons inclined his head toward me.

“Obviously, Parker. I had already formed a tentative theory and I now had a possible motive, immeasurably strengthened by the weight of the valise the disguised Voss carried and by the fact that he would not entrust it to anyone else at the hotel. It was obvious too that the papers had been retained by the thieves, who wished to find out how much the police had discovered about the robbery.”

“I confess I am still all at sea,” said Hibbert, somewhat irritably. “I wish you would explain the matter slowly, stage by stage, Mr Pons, for I am but a layman in these matters.”

“By all means, Mr Hibbert,” said my friend with a faint smile. “My apologies for telling the story out of chronological sequence.”

He picked up his pipe again and sat in silence for a moment or two while we waited impatiently for him to go on.

“At this stage many of my suppositions must necessarily be conjecture but I am convinced that when the true facts emerge they will differ from my conclusions only in detail. We will continue to call these two men Thornton and Voss for convenience, until such time as their true identities are established. It is on the cards that Voss is the man’s real name as his passport was undoubtedly genuine and his profession vital to the plan to rob one of Hamburg’s biggest banks.”

Pons pulled absently at the lobe of his left ear, smiling ironically at Inspector Jamison.

“How much money was in that valise, Inspector?”

Jamison shifted uneasily in his chair.

“As near as we can make out in the brief time at our disposal, though it is only a rough estimate, something in excess of £100,000.”

Pons nodded.

“Exactly. The percentage one would have expected had the German deutschmarks been exchanged through the underworld. There were only two men involved in the robbery, which took place a little over three weeks ago. The manager was held up at gun-point in his own office and forced to accompany them to the vaults. There, they were left undisturbed with the manager. They forced him to fill cases with medium-denomination currency. Then they simply walked out in conversation with the manager. The man we know as Thornton even shook hands with him on the front steps while Voss started a fast car at the kerbside.”

“But how was that possible, Pons?” I asked.

“Because, Parker, Thornton was covering the man with a gun in his pocket. There is no doubt he would have shot the manager dead with as little compunction as you or I would squash a mosquito. They got clean away in a daring and simple crime that captured the imagination of the German public.”

“But how do you know all this, Mr Pons?” put in Jamison.

“For the simple reason that it was all in those two newspaper stories,” said Solar Pons, obviously finding difficulty in keeping the impatience from his voice.

“But how would they have got the money to England, Pons?”

“They had thought of that, too, Parker. Again, it was simple but daring. They waited three weeks until the outcry had died down. Then they travelled via Hook of Holland-Harwich.”

“Your crystal ball again, Mr Pons?”

The Inspector could not keep the sneer from his voice.

“Simple commonsense, Jamison. Voss’ passport was stamped Harwich. His profession gave me the answer immediately. He simply walked through Customs with the case.”

“Through Customs, Pons?”

“His profession, Parker. He was an export official. No doubt he had made the same run many times previously. I counted no less than ten Harwich stamps on the passport, which was issued only last year. He undoubtedly had privileges and it is my opinion his luggage would not have been searched. The Customs of all European countries accord special privileges to such officials in their comings and goings across frontiers. But a simple telephone call to Harwich should speedily resolve the matter, Jamison.”

“I will see to it, Mr Pons,” said the Inspector heavily.

“We do not, of course, know exactly what led to the rift between the two men,” Pons went on, “but it must be obvious to the meanest intelligence that Thornton had at some stage decided to betray his partner and seize all the money for himself. He would not have done that until the pair arrived in London.”

“Why was that, Pons?”

“For the simple reason that the two men would have had to change the stolen money into English currency. Thornton would have had a difficult enough task to elude his enraged partner without having to worry about him following from Harwich to London. It is very much easier to disappear in a great city. And the hotel was carefully chosen.”

“Carefully chosen, Mr Pons?”

It was Hibbert this time, who sat with his eyes intently on Pons’ face, absorbing his every word.

“It is reasonably small and discreet, so that the fugitive could monitor the movements of fellow-guests. There are three means of exit; one to the Strand, another to the Embankment and a third, via a small courtyard in the rear, through which a guest, by using a service exit, could get to either area. More important still, it is within a stone’s-throw of Soho.”

“I do not follow you, Pons.”

“Tut, Parker, it is simplicity itself. The men would need to change the money and Soho with its criminal underworld would be ideal for the contacts they wished to make. Thornton in his own persona settled in here three days ago because he knew it would take several days and the caseful of money, with a vengeful partner hot in pursuit, was literally a keg of gunpowder. As we have seen, he was successful in making his contact and changing the money; the facility would have cost him the usual fifty per cent.”

“I see. But why did he simply not kill Voss on the train, Pons, without all this elaborate masquerade?”

Solar Pons slowly shook his head, a look of incredulity on his features.

“Come, Parker, Thornton was a murderer but not a fool. The last thing he would want would be a corpse on a railway train with himself aboard with a easeful of stolen German currency. It would be to his advantage to sneak away by some means leaving his partner temporarily unaware of his loss. He obviously hoped to give him the slip in London where he, a native of the country, had all the contacts and the advantages while Voss, a foreigner, and conspicuous in his appearance, would be at a disadvantage. But somehow Voss followed him and learned that he had come to this hotel.”

Solar Pons smiled faintly.

“So much for scientific conjecture. Now for fact. During his flight, he had conceived a plan brilliant in its simplicity. It called for a great deal of nerve and daring, to say nothing of ingenuity, but the man we knew as Thornton had plenty of all three. Perhaps he had hoped to escape Voss altogether but he must have known there was small chance of that. His partner would obviously know of the plans for changing the money and the weight factor alone dictated a base close to the area chosen for converting the notes into English currency.”

“Talking of the weight factor, Mr Pons,” Jamison interjected suddenly. “I’ve got another puzzle on hand. My men found a suitcase full of strips of newspaper in Thornton’s room when we searched it earlier tonight. That was a terrific weight too.”

Solar Pons’ eyes were dancing now.

“I am not at all surprised, Jamison. Obviously Thornton’s first task was to leave the caseful of money at a left-luggage office, probably Charing Cross Station cloakroom, which is no great distance from here. But he would obviously have left it there for as short a time as possible. He turned up here in his own persona with a suitcase weighted down with newspaper to simulate the caseful of money, in case he were watched. He registered as Thornton, with an address at Banstead and was given Room 84. Yesterday, he again arrived at the hotel, this time heavily disguised as his partner Voss, and carrying the case containing the money, which he had retrieved from the left-luggage office.”

“But what if his partner had seen him, Pons?”

Solar Pons paused and looked sombrely round the manager’s’ office.

“That would not matter at all, Parker. It would merely strengthen the real Voss’ conviction that not only was Thornton cheating him of his half-share but was laying a false trail to implicate the real Voss if the police were watching. But I doubt if Thornton was actually seen arriving by his duped partner. He would have searched the hotel registers, looking for Thorn-ton’s handwriting, albeit giving a faked name and address. In fact, this was what first gave me grounds for believing a deception to have taken place.”

“The register, Pons?”

“Of course, Parker. On examining the book I made some remarkable discoveries. Although the inks were different and the hands elaborately disguised, there was no doubt that the man Thornton and the guest Voss shared basic similarities in their handwriting. When I saw that the signature and address of Voss revealed none of those Germanic qualities so beloved of that Nordic race, such as the heavy Gothic-style script taught in their schools and adopted as type-face for newspapers and books, I immediately came to the conclusion that the two men occupying those two rooms shared the same identity and that the man registered in the name of Voss was not a German. Having reached that conclusion I combined the information with the somewhat bizarre appearance of the second guest, which told me a great deal.”

“Brilliant, Mr Pons!” said Hibbert enthusiastically.

“Hardly,” said my companion deprecatingly. “I have made some little study of handwriting, Mr Hibbert, and the reading of such characteristics is a fairly simple matter to the skilled observer.”

“Even so, Mr Pons,” said Jamison heavily, “there still remains a great deal to be explained.”

“I am coming to that, Jamison.”

Solar Pons tented his thin fingers before him.

“As we know, the fake Voss arrived last night, elaborately disguised and carrying the heavily loaded suitcase. He made it a point to draw attention to the weight of the case and did not let it out of his possession. In addition to the heavy clothing he wore dark glasses not only to disguise himself, because the eyes are extremely difficult to conceal or alter, but further to draw attention to himself. He needed all these bizarre details so that when the body of the real Voss was discovered there should be no doubts in the minds of the hotel staff of his identity. He had at that stage known that Voss was closely at his heels and now that he had the real case of money he was at pains to draw attention to himself.”

“I see, Pons.”

Solar Pons smiled briefly at me and went on, as though burdened with the weight of his thoughts.

“When I examined the dead man s bedroom a number of things immediately struck me. The elaborate precautions taken by Voss, the fact that he kept his dark glasses on in the room and only spoke to Meakins very briefly. He did not speak much because he did not wish to give himself away and a disguised voice is difficult to maintain for any length of time. I realised at once that Meakins could not have known whether he had a genuine German accent or not from the brief communication he had had with him.

“But Thornton overdid matters. Though he undressed the corpse of his victim after the murder he stage-managed the thing far too thoroughly. I drew your attention to it at the time, Parker, but it was obvious to a trained eye that the real Voss would never wear dark glasses in bed. If his object were to disguise himself on arrival at the hotel what would be the point when on his own in a locked room where no-one could see him? It did not take me long to construct a theory which was further strengthened by the evidence of the hotel staff, and the dead man’s possessions, particularly the two newspapers and the passport with its tell-tale Harwich-Hook Customs stamps.

“These, together with Voss’ profession gave me the essential outline of the matter. We may briefly paraphrase my findings as follows. The newspapers were over three weeks old but carefully preserved. Therefore there was something in them of significance. The only two possible items which fitted were those concerning the Hamburg bank robbery. In the bedroom, I pointed out to you, Parker, that something might be read, though the traces of many people made it difficult to read indications in a semi-public place like a hotel bedroom.

“However, I made out the heavy indentations of feet behind the door and it was obvious to me that Voss had been strangled by someone concealed behind the door who had then dragged the body over to the bed. There were the distinct indentations of heel-marks quite clearly traceable in the heavy pile carpet. The police were not looking for such things; therefore they did not discover them.

“The passport was definitely genuine and definitely that of Voss; there was no mistaking the face. The question therefore that came at once to my mind was whether the man who arrived at the hotel was Voss or not. Circumstances led me to conclude that he was someone disguised as Voss. What was the point of the masquerade, then? Simply, that Thornton could not afford to have the body of a complete stranger lying about the hotel. The police might have immediately checked with the German Embassy which would have led to the embarrassing disclosure that Voss was being sought for the Hamburg robbery.

“By registering as Voss he was establishing his presence in the hotel, and hoping that the English police would concentrate on the search for the murderer rather than on checking the identity of an obscure German businessman. He needed a little time; at least another day for changing the money into English currency, when he could conveniently disappear. My guess is that he changed the money this afternoon and decided to move out tonight, when the hotel would be quiet.

“The passport was genuine, therefore Voss was genuine. But the man who arrived here was not. I commended his profession to you, Parker. He was an export official. That immediately suggested the two men merely walked through Customs with the stolen money.

“I next turned to the source of the disguise and with the statement of the taxi-driver we confirmed the West End theatrical costumiers, Glida and Company, whose proprietor gave me a description of my man which fitted Thornton perfectly when I glimpsed him later passing through the lobby. perfectly when was a plan brilliant in its simplicity, Pons.”

“Was it not, Parker.”

“That is all very well, Mr Pons,” said Jamison harshly. “I have no doubt we shall find things as you say but what about the locked door and Mr Hibbert’s involvement in the matter?”

“Oh, come, Inspector, the matter is childishly simple and Mr Hibbert’s so-called involvement is nothing more than the behaviour of any highly-trained hotel manager on being confronted with a murder on his premises. I thought I had explained the matter even to your satisfaction. Thornton was already registered and in possession of Room 84, when he had the money under lock and key. He had laid an elaborate trail, aware that his partner was keeping him under observation. He took possession of the new room, № 31, as Voss, changed his clothes and waited.

“Though it cannot now be proved, it is my belief that the real Voss bided his time until late in the evening, perhaps sitting in the lobby, until he saw Lennard leave his post at the desk. It would be the work of a moment for him to abstract the pass-key from the number board. He would, already, of course, have ascertained the room from a perusal of the register, most likely at a busy period of the day when the receptionist’s attention was elsewhere.

“But Thornton was waiting for him when he opened the door; strangled him — as we have seen he was a powerful and very violent man — and removed his clothing. He had hours to carry out the rest of his plan. When he had arranged things to his satisfaction, Voss in the bed with his pyjamas on, Thornton left the room key on the table. He let himself out, taking the case full of cut newspaper and the clothes Voss had worn.”

Jamison nodded heavily.

“We have already found them in the room Thornton rented,” he said ponderously.

Solar Pons looked round the table.

“When he had covered his traces, all he had to do was to go down the back stairs and out into the Strand. Awaiting the right opportunity he returned to the hotel, by the front entrance, replacing the pass-key on its hook while Lennard was still in the kitchen quarters.”

“But supposing he were seen, Pons?”

“That would not matter, Parker. He was merely retrieving the key of his own room from the board and undoubtedly he would have had it in his hand for that purpose. But as we know from Lennard himself, he was not seen. It was a bold and brilliant scheme and ought, by all the laws of averages, to have succeeded.”

“And it would have done but for you, Mr Pons,” said Hibbert warmly. “I have never seen or heard anything so brilliant.”

“You do me too much honour,” Solar Pons protested. “The matter was not without its interesting aspects but must remain conjectural until friend Jamison here has established the salient facts. I fear we shall not get much out of Thornton himself. He bears all the marks of the hardened professional criminal.”

“I am still puzzled about one thing, Pons,” I said. “Why did not Thornton leave the hotel immediately after the murder?” My companion gave a wry chuckle.

“Apart from the fact that he had not yet changed the money, that was just what he could not afford to do, Parker. And that was something I banked on as soon as I began to see the truth of the matter. If Thornton had left the hotel in the middle of the night it would immediately have drawn attention to him and that was the last thing he wished. Having noted the similarity between the handwriting of Thornton and Voss I learned that the former had given it as his intention of leaving the hotel tomorrow. That was very cool under the circumstances but I then hazarded a guess, rightly as it turned out, that he would leave some time this evening as even he — iron-nerved as he was — could not afford to overplay his hand. At any moment the police might have decided to turn their attention to the guests. But he had all the attributes of the real professional. Coolness and brute courage in equal measure. He undoubtedly relied on the police assuming the murderer had already left the hotel the previous night and would turn their efforts in that direction accordingly. I really would be most grateful, Inspector, if you would let me know the man’s real identity should it turn up in your criminal records.”

“We are on to it, Mr Pons,” said Jamison, resignation in every timbre of his voice.

He rose and hovered uncertainly for a moment or two. “Well, I must get back to the Yard, gentlemen. We have much to do.”

“I am sure you have, Inspector,” said Pons drily.

Jamison stepped forward, putting out his hand to the manager, his face red and troubled.

“I am sorry, Mr Hibbert, but circumstances were against you.”

“Think nothing of it, Inspector,” said Hibbert cordially. Jamison shook his head, a curious expression in his eyes. “It has been a lesson to me, Mr Pons.”

“It is a wise man who benefits by experience, Inspector,” said Pons equably.

He glanced over at the clock in the corner of the manager’s office.

“Ah, Parker, it has been a somewhat fatiguing day. If we hurry back to Praed Street I have no doubt we shall be just in time for one of Mrs Johnson’s excellent suppers.”