The Further Adventures of Solar Pons

1

"You are up early this morning, Parker?"

"Indeed, Pons. In fact I have been up all night on a difficult case and have only just come in."

"Ah, that accounts for the mud on your boots for it has only started raining within the last half-hour."

Solar Pons was in genial mood as he faced me in the sitting-room of our cosy quarters at 7B Praed Street, despite the rawness of the morning and the earliness of the hour. He waved me into a chair in front of the fire which Mrs Johnson had already lit.

"You look all in, my dear fellow. Breakfast will be ready shortly."

"I shall do justice to it, Pons," I said. "You have something afoot, if I am not mistaken?"

"The conclusion of a small affair, Parker. The addition of a full-stop to a sentence as it were. I expect one call from Bancroft and if it gives me the news for which I have been waiting — that Karl Voss has been arrested in Holland — then I shall be satisfied."

He turned to the darkened window of the sitting-room, where the feeble rays of the street lamps were slowly being dispelled by the dawn, and tamped fresh tobacco into the bowl of his pipe.

"Though it means that I shall be at liberty again. And

I confess that I find London confoundedly dull without the excitement of the chase."

"A little rest would do you good, Pons," said I. "You have been promising to accompany me to Scotland for some time."

"Pshaw, Parker, just look at it!"

Pons could not keep the disgust from his voice as he spread his hands to indicate the dismal sheets of rain falling outside the window.

"November is entirely the wrong time of year. And I prefer the capital. The sniffing out of evil-doing is holiday enough."

I closed my eyes and held out my hands to the warmth of the fireplace.

"I must confess that November is not the best time, Pons, but as your medical adviser as well as your friend, I must say you have been heavily overworking of late."

Solar Pons chuckled.

"Physician, heal thyself! I know you have the best intentions, my dear fellow, but just look at yourself this morning, grey with fatigue. If anyone overworks it is your average medical man. Why, I do not suppose you have had three straight days off in a row in the past year."

I snorted indignantly and opened my eyes. Solar Pons was standing in front of me, looking down with a whimsical expression on his face.

"If anyone needs a holiday it is you, Parker. My prescription for you is a fortnight at some Continental Spa. Or perhaps the winter sunshine of Nice."

"You are no doubt right, Pons," I grumbled. "And it is true that I do need a holiday. But who is to pay for such a luxury as you describe is beyond my humble powers of ratiocination."

Pons smiled broadly.

"The King of Bavaria was unusually lavish in that little matter in which I was able to assist him, Parker. It was my intention that you should be my guest."

"It is extremely generous of you, Pons," I mumbled. "But I could not possibly permit it."

Solar Pons sat down at the breakfast table and looked at me musingly as I sprawled in the armchair.

"Well, if Scotland does not suit me and Monte Carlo does not suit you, we must content ourselves with some more modest programme of relaxation."

He broke off as Mrs Johnson's well-scrubbed face with its heavy coils of hair looked interrogatively round the door. A pleasing aroma of fried bacon and hot coffee rose from the covered tray she carried.

"Come in, Mrs Johnson, come along in," said Pons briskly, rising swiftly and opening the door for her. "You are indeed welcome this inclement November morning. Dr Parker here is almost exhausted with his night's work. I have been trying to persuade him to take a brief holiday."

"I have been telling Dr Parker that for months," said our good landlady, bustling about the table.

I rose from my position by the fire and swiftly retired to wash my hands. When I regained the sitting-room Mrs Johnson had finished her preparations and Pons was pouring coffee for us from the silver-plated pot.

"Mrs Johnson's diagnosis — and it is one with which I entirely concur — is a week at one of our spa towns, to be taken before the end of the month," said Pons decisively.

Mrs Johnson smiled as I seated myself opposite Pons and reached for the toast.

"It is very good of you both to take such trouble over my health," I said mildly. "My locum would be quite agreeable, I have no doubt, and I am open to suggestions."

"Ah, we progress, Mrs Johnson," said Pons briskly, rubbing his hands together. "This began with Parker trying to pack me off to Scotland in the current abominable weather and now we are prescribing for him."

"If you ask me, you are both in need of a holiday, Mr Pons," said our landlady, quitting the room.

Pons looked quizzically after her as she closed the door and waited until she had descended the stairs.

"That admirable woman is right, you know, Parker," he said after a few minutes given over to the heaped plateful of food in front of him. "What say you to a modest jaunt?"

I put down my coffee cup in exasperation.

"It was I who suggested the holiday, Pons," I began with some asperity. "But I cannot really see us sitting in some dismal spa with a string orchestra playing, surrounded by gouty old gentlemen."

Solar Pons stroked his chin, little lines of humour showing at the corners of his mouth.

"You are right, Parker," he said. "You paint an horrific picture. We shall have to choose our venue with care."

And he said nothing further on the matter that morning. My medical duties took me out again after lunch and it was not until tea-time that I again set foot in our comfortable quarters. Pons was sitting in his mouse-coloured dressing gown and Mrs Johnson had laid an occasional table up near the fire for high tea. I caught sight of crumpets, toasted teacakes, bread and butter and Madeira cake in my first glance and the expression on my face drew a dry chuckle from my companion.

"I told Mrs Johnson you would no doubt be extremely weary by the time you came in, Parker, and I think that on this occasion she has excelled herself."

"Indeed, Pons," I said, sinking into an easy chair and allowing him to press a plate heaped with delicacies on me.

"You seem in ebullient mood," I added, when the keen edge of my appetite had been blunted.

"I have reason, Parker. I have just heard from Bancroft that Karl Voss was taken in Amsterdam early this morning. The case is closed."

"Congratulations, Pons. You will be free to take Mrs Johnson's advice, then?"

"Why not, Parker? We have still to select a destination in which boredom may be safely kept at bay. If nothing in London intervenes, I shall be ready by Monday of next week."

"Very well, Pons," I said, stirring my tea. "I will make the arrangements with my locum."

"And in the meantime, my dear fellow, we have a gazetteer and an excellent selection of guidebooks on the shelf yonder. No, Parker, I think we will wait until after tea, if you please. I find that melted butter and art paper do not go well together."

2

"Bath I think it is, then, Pons?"

The sitting-room was blue with tobacco-smoke and Pons and I, sprawled either side of the fire with whiskies at our elbows, had grown weary of the maps and guides which littered the table in front of us.

"It would appear to combine elegance and Roman antiquity with the benefits of urban entertainment such as can only be provided by a large city, Parker," said Pons languidly. "It is many years since I was last there and it is certainly one of the great cities of Europe. You are positively inspired this evening, my dear fellow."

"All I am worried about is whether we can get away in time, Pons," I said. "I have arranged things with my locum and it would be annoying, not to say disappointing, if I had to cancel."

Pons raised his eyebrows.

"I do not follow you, Parker."

"Now you are being obtuse, Pons," I could not resist saying. "Are you really telling me that if an interesting case arises before Monday, you will turn it down?"

Solar Pons smiled a thin smile as he took the pipe from his mouth.

"A point, Parker, a definite point. You are developing quite a pawky sense of humour of late."

He blew out a cloud of aromatic blue smoke and eyed me seriously.

"My dear fellow, I have given you my word. We have both been stretching ourselves. I guarantee that we will be on that train on Monday morning."

With that I had to rest content but I must confess I spent an uneasy week-end, only really relaxing when we were safely ensconced with our luggage in the taxi on the way to Paddington on Monday. It was a dry, sunny day and my spirits rose considerably. Pons too was unusually affected by the weather and even hummed a bar or two of a popular air in a tuneless monotone until I begged him to desist.

We lunched on the train and I watched the rich countryside unfold beyond the windows in a euphoric dream, conscious that Pons was again buried in his magazine and making elaborate calculations in pencil on its margin. In midafternoon we descended at Bath Spa Station and hailed a taxi. It was a bright, dry day still with scudding clouds and Pons looked with satisfaction at the Georgian buildings of the creamy local stone as we drove up Manvers Street and onward to the Grand Parade, leaving the massive pile of the Abbey on our left.

The taxi turned right over the elegant Pulteney Bridge with its shops in the style of Florence and Pons looked at the foaming race of Pulteney Weir as we crossed the Avon, the scale of the city slowly being revealed to us.

"I was not mistaken, Parker," said Solar Pons with satisfaction. "Roman Bath. Still one of the most elegant cities of Europe, I think."

"Undoubtedly, Pons," I replied. "I trust you will find much to occupy you here."

"The prospect certainly seems a little less arid than it did in Praed Street a few hours ago," Pons conceded drily. "Though whether I shall think so at the end of a week spent in these Georgian surroundings is another matter."

"Come, Pons," I said with some asperity. "This is my holiday too. We must just make the best of it."

"You make it sound a penance, Parker," said Solar Pons with a wry laugh as the taxi passed through Aura Place and pulled up at an imposing hotel in Great Pulteney Street. Our rooms were ready and after we had registered and unpacked, I met Pons in the lobby and suggested afternoon tea at the Pump Room.

"I must say, Parker, you are throwing yourself into the role quite thoroughly. But it sounds a not unpleasant idea."

He consulted his watch.

"It is just after four. An apposite hour."

Before we could leave the lobby, however, there was an interruption, as the receptionist came over from her rosewood desk at one side of the spacious entrance.

"Mr Pons? This just came for you, Mr Pons."

I looked at Pons resignedly as the girl handed him the telegram.

"Not bad news, Pons?"

Solar Pons' lean face lit up and he rubbed his hands together briskly.

"Good news, Parker. It seems that my services are needed."

He handed me the form. It was addressed Pons, c/o Hotel Glendale and simply said:

I sighed and handed the form back to Pons.

"This is supposed to be a holiday, Pons."

"Is it not, Parker."

Solar Pons looked at me sideways in a conspiratorial manner as we descended the steps of the hotel and set off in the direction of the centre of Bath. It was dusk and lamps were blooming along the broad vista of Great Pulteney Street and the grace and symmetry of the houses made one think we were back in the eighteenth century.

"Who on earth is Septimus Grimpton, Pons?"

"Your guess is as good as mine, Parker. I have never heard of the man."

"He has certainly heard of you, Pons," I said somewhat bitterly. "And how did he know you were staying here?"

"Possibly the good Mrs Johnson released our address in Bath, Parker."

I shook my head.

"That is a great pity, Pons."

"On the contrary, my dear Parker, Mrs Johnson was merely following out instructions."

"But we have just arrived, Pons," I protested. "And if you have to return to London.. "

"My dear fellow, I shall not be returning to London. If Mr Grimpton is calling at our hotel, is it not likely that he lives or has business in this neighbourhood? I hardly fancy that he would travel all this way from London just to consult me, especially when Mrs Johnson would have acquainted him with the fact that it is my holiday."

I stared at Pons for a moment as we crossed the bridge over the Avon and turned left into Grand Parade.

"That puts a different complexion on the matter, Pons."

"Does it not, Parker. And now let us absorb the unique atmosphere of this extraordinary city. Observe the almost magical way in which the Abbey rises from the dusk. If I am not much mistaken England's first Archbishop began its building."

We crossed the street and wandered through the precincts to where the lights of the Pump Room beckoned from the shadows. The area was crowded with shoppers and tourists and the red afterglow of the sun yet lingered in the west, turning the upper stones of the ancient Abbey Towers to carmine.

The rococo splendour of the Pump Room engulfed us and as we sat waiting for the buxom waitress to bring us tea, Pons glanced round the vast hall with its Chippendale furniture, absorbed in his study of the faces of the people who sipped their tea or ate their Bath buns, while their conversation rose like the murmur of the sea to the high ceiling far overhead.

An eight-piece orchestra on a dais at the far end of the huge room struck up a Strauss waltz and Pons turned back to me with an ironic smile.

"You are in your element now, Parker."

I waited until the waitress had put down the tea-tray, conscious of the toasted crumpets and other delicacies that were spread out on its silver surface.

"You must confess that it has a certain charm, Pons." Pons nodded.

"Oh, I give you that, my dear fellow. As a holiday it has much to commend it. As a way of life it would soon pall."

"I could not agree more, Pons," I said. "But as we are on holiday let us just enjoy it."

And with that I bit with satisfaction into my first crumpet.

3

We were sitting in the lounge of the hotel at a quarter past eight when a page-boy came in, followed by an elderly man dressed in a thick overcoat with a fur collar.

"Ah, Parker," said Pons, rising from his place by the fire. "That should be the mysterious Mr Grimpton if I mistake not."

It was indeed for the old gentleman gave a start as he caught sight of Pons' lean, tall figure, dismissed the page-boy with a coin and hurried toward us through a sea of leather arm-chairs.

"Mr Solar Pons? It is indeed good of you to see me on your holiday, my dear sir. As you will have guessed, I am Septimus Grimpton."

"Pray sit down, Mr Grimpton. You will find this seat nearest the fire more comfortable."

Our visitor seated himself, unbuttoning his coat.

"I hope my telegram did not inconvenience you, Mr Pons, particularly as I understand this is the first day of your holiday."

"Not at all, Mr Grimpton. I gather that it is a serious matter on which you wish to consult me. This is my friend and colleague, Dr Lyndon Parker."

"Delighted to meet you, doctor."

Septimus Grimpton rose from his chair and gave me a half-bow as he seized my hand. He was a man of some seventy years of age, though of vigorous aspect and with a rosy complexion almost like that of a child. He had snow-white hair which hung over his forehead in careless wisps, and his tufted eyebrows waved in comic manner behind his gold pince-nez as he talked. One of the most striking things about him was his vivid blue eyes which made his face come wonderfully alive.

Pons had gone to stand by the fireplace and was studying our visitor with more than usual interest.

"A countryman and a scholar I see, Mr Grimpton. One used to taking notes in public places such as libraries or the rooms of learned institutions."

"Why yes, Mr Pons. You know me?"

The blue eyes had swivelled in an arresting manner to hold Pons in their unwavering stare. Solar Pons shook his head with a smile.

"You are of vigorous build and your complexion denotes the man who is much in the open air. Yet there is something of the scholar about your manner and tone of voice. When I find that combined with the slight stoop which comes from hours spent over books I deduce a gentleman of scholarly pursuits."

"And the libraries and institutions, Pons?" I could not resist putting in.

Solar Pons chuckled.

"Mr Grimpton is dressed expensively and in perfect taste. Yet I see from his high quality overcoat that the cuff of the right arm is nevertheless frayed and ink-stained. That comes only from his habit of resting his forearm on a table or desk while writing."

"But the public institutions, Pons?" I persisted.

Solar Pons shook his head and made a slight clicking noise with his tongue.

"You know my methods, Parker. It is only in public institutions or libraries, where conditions are often chill in winter-time, that the searcher after knowledge would keep his overcoat on."

I gave our visitor a wry smile.

"There is no catching you out, Pons."

"You do me too much honour, Parker. But you have not corroborated my findings, Mr Grimpton."

Our visitor shifted in his chair and his eyes sparkled behind the pince-nez.

"It is only because I am struck dumb with admiration, Mr Pons. You are correct in every respect. It is obvious my confidence in coming to you is not misplaced."

"You live in the neighbourhood, Mr Grimpton?"

"At Penderel Parva, Mr Pons, a small village just outside Bath; in fact, only half an hour's drive from here."

"Might I ask how you discovered my whereabouts?"

'That is just it, Mr Pons. A wonderful stroke of fortune. I was at my wit's end. I was so worried about this bizarre affair that I was about to set out for London to seek your advice. But some providence made me first telephone your London address and the good lady there told me you were staying in Bath and very kindly provided the name of your hotel. I am so sorry to cut into your holiday with my problems."

"I am at your disposal, Mr Grimpton," said Pons. "Other people's problems are my holiday so far as I am concerned and you seem to have your share of them if your telegram is anything to go by."

"You are too kind, Mr Pons. I think I can promise you something out of the ordinary. And money is no object."

Pons held up his hand.

"I never discuss terms, Mr Grimpton. I have a fixed fee and I never deviate from it, save when I remit it altogether."

Our visitor smiled gently at Pons and pushed his straggling white locks back from his eyes.

"My apologies, gentlemen. And now, to the purpose of my visit."

Septimus Grimpton's face had changed now and he had a strange, bleak look in his eyes that suddenly made one aware of his age.

"I live at Penderel Lodge, sir, a large house of a rambling nature, in extensive grounds outside the village of Penderel Parva," he commenced.

"It was built by my grandfather, Sennacherib Grimpton, a notable eccentric of Bath and a man who had money and taste but whose later life was clouded by his growing miserliness and a number of tragic events, which began with the premature death of his wife, my grandmother."

Grimpton gave a deferential smile and added, "I mention all this in some detail, Mr Pons, because I wish you to have the background of this strange affair firmly in your mind."

"Pray go on, Mr Grimpton."

"My life has been lived much out of the world, Mr Pons, though in earlier years I travelled extensively on the Continent in pursuit of my scholarly and bibliophile interests. I have one of the finest libraries in the West of England. A bachelor, I live with my secretary and domestic staff at Penderel Lodge, which descended to me on the death of my father some eighteen years ago. So much for detail, Mr Pons."

Solar Pons leaned casually against the mantel, his deep-set eyes fixed unwaveringly upon our visitor.

"The strange events at Penderel Lodge began some eight months ago, Mr Pons. They are a complete mystery to me; to my housekeeper, Mrs Shipton; and to my secretary, Jocelyn Granger. There were strange noises in the night; footsteps; doors slamming in the dead hours. I was several times disturbed and made the rounds of the house but was never able to find anything amiss.

"Then things took a more serious turn. We have had several burglaries, Mr Pons…"

Solar Pons made a low clicking noise with his tongue and held up his hand.

"Pray be precise as to detail, Mr Grimpton."

The blue eyes swivelled from me to my companion.

"Well, Mr Pons, none of it makes much sense. About three months ago I was aroused one night by a loud crash. Both Mrs Shipton and myself made a search but were unable to discover any intruder in the house. But we discovered a number of books in my library had slipped to the floor. We questioned my secretary and the servants in the morning but no-one knew anything about it."

Solar Pons pulled at the lobe of his ear in the manner long familiar to me and stared reflectively at our guest.

"Could the books have collapsed from the shelves of their own accord?"

"It is barely possible, Mr Pons, for the shelves are raked slightly backward to prevent just that."

"What were the volumes?"

"Nothing of importance, Mr Pons. Merely bound records relating to the estate in my grandfather's time. Worth nothing in monetary terms."

"I see. Please go on."

"There have been two burglaries since, Mr Pons. One, a month after the incident just mentioned. I saw lights coming from my study on this occasion. They shone on my blind and awoke me. I must have disturbed someone because I found the French windows open and a number of things missing."

"You reported this to the police?"

"Certainly, Mr Pons. But nothing followed. It was a dry night and there were no footprints on the terrace." "What had been stolen?"

^-That was the ridiculous part of it, Mr Pons. Quite worthless things. A bronze ashtray from my desk; a pair of candle-snuffers; and a pewter vase principally."

Pons' eyes sparkled.

"This grows more interesting by the minute, Mr Grimpton. What say you, Parker?"

"Indeed, Pons," I returned. "An amateur sort of thief by the sound of it."

"Undoubtedly. Unless he intended to corner the bronze and pewter market."

Our visitor's eyes widened.

"I hardly think so, Mr Pons. But I confess I am unable to make anything of this."

Solar Pons quitted the mantel and sat down opposite our visitor.

"There was another burglary at the house three weeks ago. Just as pointless as the first. I slept through this but my secretary awoke and chased an intruder on the terrace. He was shortly joined by my housekeeper but the man got clean away. A few trinkets from the morning room were taken and there was some disturbance in the library but nothing of value was stolen. The rare books are kept in locked cabinets. They would have been worth a fortune to any thief."

"But that is a highly specialised department," said Solar Pons enigmatically. "And calls for esoteric knowledge unlikely to be possessed by many. Hence the relatively few rare book thieves in operation on a world scale."

"I must bow to your arcane knowledge of the subject, Mr Pons," said our visitor ironically. "At least it has relieved part of my mind."

"That completes your sequence of strange events, Mr Grimpton?" began Solar Pons. "You mentioned life and death…"

"Except for this morning's incident," our visitor interrupted. "The inhabitants of Penderel Lodge are in a state of terror, Mr Pons."

"Something of the utmost gravity has happened then?" Septimus Grimpton nodded.

"Murder in the most shocking form, Mr Pons, under the most bizarre circumstances."

4

There was a long silence in the quiet of the hotel lounge. From beyond the thick-curtained windows the soft humming of a motor vehicle rose and then receded as it glided down Great Pulteney Street and turned into Aura Place.

Pons' face was grim. He leaned forward and tented his fingers before him as he stared at Grimpton.

"Pray be most precise and careful as to detail, Mr Grimpton."

"Certainly, Mr Pons. Though I am most shaken by such a terrible incident occurring in my grounds. A gardener was coming on duty at six o' clock when he had occasion to pass near the Mausoleum. There is a tar-macadam drive there and he was shocked and horrified to see bloodied footprints on the carriageway."

Our client's voice had dropped to a low whisper and he stared at Pons with a suddenly haggard face.

"Bizarre and shocking, Pons," I said.

Solar Pons nodded.

"Bizarre indeed, Parker. What is this Mausoleum you spoke of, Mr Grimpton?"

"Another fancy of my eccentric grandfather, Mr Pons. When my grandmother died he had a fancy to build a Mausoleum in the grounds of the estate. She is buried there in a marble sarcophagus. He is also interred within the Mausoleum."

"There is an agreeably Gothic tone to your story, Mr Grimpton, if you do not mind me saying so."

Our visitor nodded.

"A little too Gothic and a little too grim for my taste, Mr Pons. As I was saying, the gardener found these footprints. A few hundred yards farther on, in a small grove of trees fronting the house, he discovered a roughly-dressed man, terribly injured. He was covered in blood, which was dripping from a large wound in his chest. How he had survived that long was a miracle. The house was aroused, the police and a doctor summoned, but he died within half an hour of the latter's arrival, despite all that he could do."

"Was he able to say anything?"

'Just one thing, Mr Pons. He mumbled something to Hoskins, the gardener. It was something about 'The Shaft of Death'. He repeated this strange phrase three or four times before he died. Nothing else."

Solar Pons sat in silence for a moment, rapt in thought. "Had the weapon been found, Mr Grimpton?" The old man shook his head.

"That is another of the weird things, Mr Pons. I have not finished yet. The bloodied foot-prints were traced back from the roadway by Inspector Morgan and his men. They led to the Mausoleum, Mr Pons, which had been entered with a key, which was still in the lock. There was a good deal of blood within the building, particularly on the marble paving on which the tomb of my grandmother stands. There were bloodied hand-marks on the front of the marble effigy which surmounts the sarcophagus. There the trail ended."

"Say rather there it began," murmured Pons. "Well, Mr Grimpton, I have seldom listened to a more grisly or more baffling story. Have you more to tell me?"

"Very little, Mr Pons. The dead man has been identified. He was Abel Stokoe, a rough character who formerly made his living as a prizefighter. He was a convicted felon and in fact had been released from prison only three months ago."

"I see."

Solar Pons rose from his seat and paced silently up and down in front of the fireplace.

"He was sent to prison for what, Mr Grimpton?"

"According to Inspector Morgan, Mr Pons, for a number of offences. Occasioning grievous bodily harm; but mostly for house-breaking."

Solar Pons made a little clicking noise with his tongue. "What do you make of it, Mr Pons?"

Our visitor sat with his head on one side, regarding my companion anxiously.

"Nothing as yet, Mr Grimpton. But one should not waste too much time in these cases. If you have no objection, Parker, I should like to go over the ground tonight."

"Certainly, Pons."

Pons glanced at the great cased clock which ticked away in a corner of the lounge.

"It wants only a few minutes to nine o'clock. If you have your car at the door, Mr Grimpton, there is no time like the present."

"Thank you, Mr Pons. You have taken a great weight off my mind."

Septimus Grimpton rose and shook Solar Pons' hand effusively.

"We will talk further in the car on the way to your house, Mr Grimpton."

It was indeed only a short journey to Penderel Lodge and after crossing the Avon, Mr Grimpton's gleaming Rolls-Royce, driven by a taciturn chauffeur, glided its way through undulating countryside to the small village of Penderel Parva. Passing through the village, the vehicle turned in through ornamental iron gates that led to a sizeable park.

The journey had passed with Pons' monosyllabic questions and Mr Grimpton's necessarily longer and more detailed answers but now Pons seemed satisfied with his questioning and the church clock had barely finished marking half-past nine before our host's massive vehicle crunched to a halt in the curving driveway which stretched like a white ribbon before us in the light of the moon.

It was a cold night and I was glad of my thick overcoat as Pons sprang down impatiently, his pocket torch in his hand.

"This is the spot?"

"Just ahead, Mr Pons. The police had canvas laid to preserve the prints, though it is obvious what happened."

Grimpton led the way to a spot about five yards distant, now brightly illuminated by the headlamps of the Rolls-Royce. Pons quickly unrolled the canvas and I could not repress a slight shiver at the bloodied outlines of the boot-marks thus revealed. Pons quickly worked his way over the ground, his pocket lens out, while his torch occasionally supplemented the beams of the headlamps.

He made an impatient clicking noise with his tongue.

"A great pity, Mr Grimpton. The boots of the constabulary habitually obliterate that which should be preserved."

"What on earth do you mean, Mr Pons?"

"It does not really matter on this occasion, Mr Grimpton. But if there had been indications of another person on the tar-macadam they would undoubtedly have been effaced by the eager shoe-marks of the Inspector's gaping assistants."

Pons turned his lean, hawk-like face toward our host. "Incidentally, why did you not leave this matter to the official police, Mr Grimpton?"

The old scholar hesitated, a strange expression on his face.

"It seemed to me that there was something here beyond the purview of the normal," he said.

"Something that might affect your family?"

Septimus Grimpton smiled faintly.

"You are an extremely shrewd man, Mr Pons. This business of the family vault, for example."

Pons stood with one hand pulling at the lobe of his ear.

"You may rely on my discretion, Mr Grimpton. Providing that it sits four-square with my conscience." "That is understood, Mr Pons."

Grimpton signalled to his chauffeur and the man brought the car up while Pons replaced the canvas over the driveway. The headlamp beams were now slewed across the park and Pons followed the trail of foot-prints, easily distinguished now in the soft grass. They ended on a knoll, among the grove of trees our host had already spoken of. Pons knelt, his torch-beam steady on the thick, dark patch of blood still visible on the ground, indicating the spot where the unfortunate Stokoe had died.

He rose to his feet, putting the lens away, while his deep-set eyes looked across to the facade of the gracious house that fronted us across the parkland, its bulk bleached silver in the moonlight.

"The sequence of events seems perfectly clear, Mr Grimpton. The man was evidently making for the house after the brutal attack on him. What did the police say about the cause of death?"

Grimpton led the way back down from the knoll in the direction from which we had come, while the car reversed until it was pointed toward the main gates.

"A massive wound over the heart, Mr Pons. Apparently inflicted with some semi-sharp instrument wielded with considerable force. Dr Kellett said it was incredible Stokoe had survived so long."

"How could he have got into the grounds?"

"There are many places along the boundary, Mr Pons. Hedges, or even high walls will not keep such people out."

"Very true, Mr Grimpton. I should like to see this family Mausoleum of yours before we go to the house." "Certainly, Mr Pons."

We had entered the car by this time and our host tapped on the glass partition; the Rolls-Royce glided back down the driveway and then took a secondary fork to the left which wound uphill through dark belts of trees. At length we came to a wide concourse and the trees dropped away. The beams of the headlights picked out a large octagonal building of white marble which seemed to shimmer like bone in the moonlight.

"That is the Mausoleum, gentlemen," said Grimpton in a hushed voice.

5

Pons descended from our vehicle and rapidly crossed over to the marble steps of the white building which was of tremendous size. We waited before the palatial bronze doors in the rising wind as Septimus Grimpton hurried after us. The chauffeur again brought the Rolls-Royce as far up toward the steps as was practicable until the beams illuminated the doorway.

Grimpton produced a large bronze key and inserted it into the lock.

"The police have finished their investigations here, Mr Pons," he murmured. "I have told the Inspector I was engaging your services and he said I could not have done better."

"That is extremely flattering, Mr Grimpton," said Pons gravely, shooting me a swift glance.

He put his hand to the portal which went easily round with a barely perceptible squeak.

"How often is this place entered, Mr Grimpton?" Our client hesitated.

"Perhaps once or twice a year, Mr Pons," he replied. "There was some small memorial ceremony in my father's time, which has persisted in latter years."

"Your parents are not interred here?"

A startled look passed across Grimpton's face, accentuated by the yellow light of the headlamp beams.

"Certainly not, Mr Pons," he said sharply. "They did not subscribe to my grandfather's eccentricities. They are buried in a village churchyard in Devonshire."

Solar Pons had his pocket torch out and was examining the hinges of the giant door.

"I ask only because of the state of these doors, Mr Grimpton. They have been recently greased."

"That is indeed strange, Mr Pons. I will question my outdoor staff if you think it important."

"It is of the utmost significance," said Solar Pons mysteriously. "Eh, Parker?"

I blinked.

"If you say so, Pons."

Solar Pons smiled enigmatically and directed his torch beam on to the interior of the Mausoleum. It was indeed a curious chamber in which we found ourselves; beyond the spacious entrance whose bronze vases set within niches had obviously once contained flowers, there was a large circular room about thirty feet wide. Our footsteps echoed heavily under the domed ceiling as we went slowly over the marble inlaid paving, which bore rich, incised patterns in green and gold. There were no windows and the lights of the car from outside, and the beams from Pons' torch, cast strange and sombre shadows which fled across the white walls.

The bloodied footprints, of which brief traces remained on the steps outside, were again visible here, and Pons gave a little catch of his breath as he followed them back with his torch.

"What do you make of it, Parker?"

I bent down to examine the markings more closely. "Why, that he was struck somewhere within the Mausoleum, Pons?"

"Excellent, Parker. As a medical man I was sure that fact would not escape you."

"How so, Mr Pons?" put in Septimus Grimpton.

"Because, as so often happens, Mr Grimpton, the wound did not commence to bleed at once. It was only afterward, as he began to walk that the blood pumped more vigorously through his veins, and copious bleeding began, outside the Mausoleum."

There was a heavy silence as our client absorbed this information. It was broken by Pons, who went forward to a raised dais in the centre of the chamber. It bore the sarcophagus of Septimus Grimpton's grandmother if the marble female effigy sculptured on top was a true indication.

The plinth carried the inscription, in heavy chiselled letters:

And underneath, in flowing script lettering:

"An unusual inscription, Pons," I began.

"A quotation from the Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam, Parker," said Pons. "The final stanza in Fitzgerald's translation, if I am not mistaken. It refers to the ephemerality of all human hopes and aspirations, Parker. But it is a strange epitaph for the mid-Victorian period, I agree. Your grandfather was an unusual man, Mr Grimpton."

"Indeed, Mr Pons," said the old scholar, looking at my companion with intense blue eyes. "I did not think the quotation would escape you. Though of ripe years, my grandmother died in a riding accident."

Pons was silent for a few moments, carefully examining the plinth of the sarcophagus and the surrounding floor, which also bore traces of blood-flecks. The plinth was set in the midst of a circular pattern and I followed it round when Pons gave another brief exclamation. I followed the dancing beam of the torch and saw the bloodied imprints of two hands on the feet of the white marble figure.

"I would venture to say that Stokoe was struck somewhere about here, Mr Grimpton. He first put his hand to his breast, where he had been wounded, and carried the first traces of blood to the effigy here as he leaned against it to recover himself."

"He must have been a man of tremendous strength, Mr Pons."

"I am inclined to agree, Mr Grimpton."

Pons looked round curiously.

"But I must confess there are some aspects which puzzle me. I find no trace of a second person, the man who struck the blow. Yet he must have been close beside his victim. And why did he not strike him again to finish him?"

"Ah, there I cannot follow you, Mr Pons," said our client respectfully, stepping back to the edge of the plinth and lapsing into silence.

"That is your grandfather over there?"

Pons' dancing torch-beam passed on to indicate a smaller effigy, set against the far wall; this carried only a plain marble tablet with the name and dates.

"Simple and dignified," said Pons. "He evidently thought a great deal of your grandmother."

"He worshipped her, Mr Pons. He was buried there according to the wishes expressed in his will. Though wanting to be near her within the Mausoleum, he did not want her disturbed for his interment. In fact, Mr Pons, the raised platform is symbolic, or so my father said. It partakes, in some ways, of the mediaeval."

Pons nodded.

"The allusion had not escaped me, Mr Grimpton. When the inferior in rank slept at the feet of their lord or lady. A rather charming sentiment for the high-tide of the Victorian age."

"You are a man of great sensitivity, Mr Pons."

Pons acknowledged the compliment with a slight bow and his gaze once again raked round the strange chamber in which we found ourselves.

"I think we have seen everything of importance here, Mr Grimpton. A short visit to your house will put most of the salient points within my orbit."

"Certainly, Mr Pons."

We waited outside while the old man locked the great bronze doors behind us.

"How many keys are there to this door, Mr Grimpton?"

"About three, I think, Mr Pons," said Grimpton as we once again re-entered the car and the chauffeur reversed it and set off toward the house.

"And where are they kept?"

"There are two in my study and a third in the estate manager's office, Mr Pons. We keep the building clean, of course, and it is entered for that purpose from time to time."

Pons nodded.

"So that if anyone could abstract the key it would be only the work of a moment to make an impression of it."

"No doubt, Mr Pons, but for what purpose eludes me."

"That is what makes these little problems so intriguing," said Pons with a thin smile. "Pray give me the benefit of your thoughts on the matter, Parker."

"Well, Pons," I said. "Supposing it had been robbery. Thieves falling out, say."

"I am not usually obtuse, Parker, but on this occasion I do not quite follow you."

"The materials of the vault, Pons. The marble flooring and other fittings; the bronze doors themselves, would be extremely valuable."

Solar Pons leaned forward and toyed with the lobe of his ear, his face heavy with thought.

"Distinctly ingenious, Parker. You excel yourself, but I think not. While such a theory might be plausible in a metropolis like London it would hardly suffice out here in the country. And while it is true to say that the materials are extremely valuable, think of all the time and trouble. It would need tools, equipment, many men; to say nothing of a large vehicle to transport such booty away. Yet there are no tyre-marks in the grounds at all that I have been able to discover. And I have particularly looked for such markings. I fear we must look elsewhere for the explanation of this bizarre affair."

Pons turned to our client.

"And we must not forget also, Mr Grimpton, that unless Stokoe were raving, he must have meant something by his enigmatic reference to The Shaft of Death. I would submit it referred to the method of his own demise. He repeated it not once but several times, according to your story."

"Perfectly correct, Mr Pons."

"This is a heavy problem, Pons," I said. "And will need all your ratiocinative gifts."

"Will it not, Parker," said Pons with an enigmatic glance at both of us. And he said nothing further until we were inside the house.

6

As our client had indicated, Penderel Lodge was a rambling old place, but furnished lavishly with taste and discernment. Septimus Grimpton had made certain improvements in the matter of creature comforts and I for one was extremely grateful for the enormous fire which blazed in the great panelled hall to which Grimpton immediately led us on arrival at the house.

The door had been opened by a grave-faced butler with a fringe of white hair at the temples and now he brought whisky in a decanter, together with crystal goblets on a silver tray.

"Pray make yourselves comfortable, gentlemen."

The butler had poured the drinks and we stood agreeably engaged by the mellow flames of the fire when our host recalled the man, who was on the point of leaving the room.

"Are the police still here, Simmons?"

The butler inclined his head, the lights from the chandeliers glinting silver at his temples.

"The main body have returned to Bath this afternoon, sir. Inspector Morgan is working on his notes in the morning room. It was his intention, I believe, to await your return."

"Very well, Simmons. We will see the Inspector in a few minutes. Will you ask Mr Granger to step this way if he has not retired for the night."

"Certainly, Mr Grimpton."

Our host rubbed his hands together and turned to us, his blue eyes frank and level.

"Mrs Shipton, my housekeeper, and Hoskins, the gardener, are available for questioning should you desire to have them here."

Pons looked across at the great grandfather clock in the corner.

"It is past ten, Mr Grimpton. I do not think I will bother them tonight. There will be time enough tomorrow."

"As you wish, Mr Pons."

There came a low rapping at the door and at our host's command a thin, sandy-haired fellow pushed open the door and stood poised upon the threshold. He had an alert expression on his face and his body was coiled like a tense spring so that he reminded me of nothing so much as a wire-haired terrier.

"Little of import to announce, Mr Grimpton," he said easily. "Inspector Morgan is no farther forward, I feel."

"That may well be," said Septimus Grimpton drily, "but I think we must forbear to sit in judgement on the police force until they have had longer on the case. Granger, this is Dr Lyndon Parker and Mr Solar Pons who has come to give us the benefit of his great deductive wisdom in the matter."

The secretary smiled, showing even white teeth and hurried over to shake hands with each of us in turn.

"Welcome, gentlemen. I am a great admirer of your methods, Mr Pons."

"Let us just hope that you will remain an admirer after my departure, Mr Granger," said Solar Pons good-humouredly. "I understand you played a leading part in these mysterious events."

A shadow passed across the secretary's face. At Grimpton's invitation he poured himself a steep measure of whisky and went to stand moodily by the fireplace, facing Pons.

"I do not know what Mr Grimpton has told you, Mr Pons. I chased somebody one evening, yes. But I know as little as anyone else about these strange events. And as for the shocking murder this morning, I cannot for the life of me make any sense of the matter."

"Then you are at one with Dr Parker here," said Pons wryly. "But logic has a way of imparting coherence to otherwise widely disconnected events. We have a series of burglaries or attempted burglaries, in each of which valueless trifles were stolen. We have a murder and a Mausoleum; no visible weapon and a mysterious death-cry of a man evidently of sound mind, for he repeated the same phrase several times."

I shook my head.

"Baffling complexity, Pons."

"Is it not, Parker?" observed Solar Pons mischievously. "But light will break in, I have no doubt, as we proceed."

The secretary shook his head, exchanging a glance with his employer.

"Well, sir, I am entirely at your disposal, if you wish to question me. Similarly, the contents of the study and my own records are freely available. With Mr Grimpton's permission, of course."

Solar Pons had seated himself in a deep leather chair at the side of the fireplace and now he tented his fingers before him, his sharp eyes fixed unwaveringly on the secretary's face.

"Well, that is good to know, Mr Granger. I shall not trouble you this evening, but I may have need of your views and your records at some future time."

"They will be ready, Mr Pons."

"What do you make of this man, Stokoe, Mr Granger?" The secretary shook his head, swilling the amber liquid around in his glass.

"I had never heard of the fellow until today, Mr Pons.

Though he sounds a nasty character, by all accounts. Inspector Morgan has some theory about gypsies, so we may learn something further."

"Indeed."

Solar Pons pursed his lips and looked inquiringly at our host.

"There is a band of gypsies encamped on the far side of the village," said Grimpton shortly. "Though what connection they may have had with the man Stokoe only the Inspector knows."

"Perhaps we had better ask him," said Solar Pons, rising easily from his chair and bidding the secretary goodnight.

"Bring your glasses along by all means, gentlemen," said Grimpton with a good-natured smile. "We will not stand on ceremony at a time like this."

I hurried after Pons and Grimpton, for my friend had strode out across the parquet in his usual dynamic manner.

"The door on the far side of the hall, Mr Pons," Grimpton called after him.

I gained the threshold in time to see a heavily-built, middle-aged man dressed in comfortable tweeds rise from a desk near the fire with a welcoming smile. The butler Simmons was standing in front of the desk as though in the act of being questioned and I noticed a notebook covered in inked longhand script on the desk, with the police officer's silver pen beside it.

"Morgan, Mr Pons. Inspector, Bath C.I.D. An honour to have you here, sir."

Pons shook hands, his eyes sharply scrutinising the Inspector's face.

"You honour me, Inspector. Rhondda Valley, I should say. You are a member of the Metropolitan Police Hockey Club. Enthusiastic rugby player too, I believe."

The Inspector's mouth was wide open.

"Correct, Mr Pons. Though how…"

"Tut, it was simple enough," interrupted Solar Pons.

"I have made some study of accents. That lilting speech with its curious inflexion is found nowhere else but in the Rhondda Valley. Your tie denotes your membership of the hockey club."

"Ah, Mr Pons."

The Inspector smiled again. "I was a member for years when I served in London. I retain my membership. But my enthusiasm for rugby?"

"Your nose has been broken not once, but twice, Inspector. And.. "

"That could have occurred in a number of sports, including boxing," I could not resist putting in mischievously.

"As I was about to add, Parker, if you would kindly refrain from interrupting me," Solar Pons went on blandly, "I have twice had the pleasure of seeing Mr Morgan perform as centre-half at Twickenham in earlier years. So my observations on the matter were based on knowledge and not on the evidence of his nose, though the breaks are typical of the type of blow dealt by a hand-off."

Inspector Morgan's expression denoted amusement as he caught sight of my discomfiture but Solar Pons, ignoring the butler and Grimpton, who stood somewhat awkwardly by the fire, went on easily, "What do you make of all this, Inspector?"

Morgan shook his head and resumed his seat at the desk.

"I have not come to any definite conclusions, Mr Pons."

"That is always wise at an early stage of such an investigation," said Pons, going to sit on a leather divan where I shortly joined him.

"But you must have some sort of theory. The Mausoleum and Stokoe, for instance?"

The Inspector wrinkled up his brow in furrows of concentration.

"It's a rum business, Mr Pons. Frankly I can't see why the man wanted to get into the Mausoleum, though the materials — the bronze doors and such — are extremely valuable in themselves. I had a theory about the gypsies."

"The gypsies?"

Solar Pons leaned forward with an intent expression on his face that I had often observed when a point of particular importance gained his attention.

"There is an encampment near the village. Or was," the Inspector corrected himself.

"According to my informants they left in the early hours of the morning. They will not get far. They took the Bristol road."

"And yet you have not traced them, Inspector, though over fifteen hours have elapsed? Dear me."

The Inspector's neck turned a dull red.

"It's not as simple as it sounds, Mr Pons. We have few men. And even a sizeable band can camp undetected in the woods and deserted lanes hereabouts. But we'll find them, never fear."

"And when you have found them, Inspector?"

"Well, Mr Pons, it's well known that gypsies deal in scrap metal and are not above stealing it. Stokoe was seen at the gypsy camp on at least one occasion by a provision merchant in Penderel Parva who was out delivering with his van. And gypsies are not above using knives on their victims. It is a big wound, it is true, but quite possible."

"I see. Distinctly ingenious, Inspector Morgan. And what do you make of Stokoe's dying words?"

"The Shaft of Death? It could have referred to a big knife."

Pons shook his head, looking innocently from the Inspector to Grimpton, who stood awkwardly holding his drink, as though the conversation were beyond him. By contrast, Simmons, the grave-faced butler was listening eagerly, his face betraying his intense interest.

"I think not, Inspector. Would he not have said, The Blade of Death?"

"The man was dying, Mr Pons. Who knows what he meant?"

"Well, well. You may be right," said Pons, draining his glass.

"It is getting late, Mr Grimpton, and our presence here inconveniences you. If we could trouble your chauffeur…"

But Inspector Morgan had jumped to his feet, closing his notebook with a snap.

"I have my own car here, Mr Pons. I will be glad to drive you back to Bath."

"That is settled, then. Goodnight, Mr Grimpton. We will see you tomorrow."

"I will send the car to the hotel at ten o'clock, Mr Pons."

"We shall be ready. Come, Parker."

7

It was a dry, bright day the following morning and as we drove out to Penderel Lodge in our host's car Pons was unusually silent, sitting in his corner of the vehicle with his chin sunk upon his chest, his eyes half-closed against the wreathing plumes of blue smoke from his pipe. We had no sooner driven through the lodge-gates before two police-cars followed us in and announced their presence by a blaring of horns.

At a signal from Pons our chauffeur pulled up and we descended. Inspector Morgan's bluff face bore an exultant look as uniformed officers debouched from the police vehicles bearing along with them a dark-haired, sullen figure, roughly dressed, and in handcuffs.

"We have our man, Mr Pons; their camp was not far," said Inspector Morgan crisply. "It was this gypsy, Mordecai Smith."

"Indeed," said Pons coolly, looking at the manacled figure of the gypsy. "What makes you think that?" Morgan chuckled.

"Because he has admitted throwing a large knife into the Avon from Pulteney Bridge last night. It will mean dragging the river below the weir but we shall find it, never fear. And in addition I have two witnesses who saw him do it."

"Let us just see what Smith himself says about it," said Pons, going forward to look steadily at the thickset gypsy. He threw his coarse black hair from his eyes and glowered back at Pons unwaveringly.

"I don't know who you are, mister, but I never did it," he said firmly. "I knew Stokoe and it's true we quarrelled. We had enough trouble without convicts joining our camp. I gave him shelter for a few nights and then said he would have to leave."

"Do you deny that you came to blows?" said Inspector Morgan fiercely.

The prisoner turned to face his accuser.

"Aye, that's true too. But I wouldn't kill a man for exchanging a blow or two when provoked."

"Well said, Smith," Solar Pons interjected soothingly. "What do you say to this knife charge?"

"I did throw the knife in the river, sir, but it had nothing to do with Stokoe. One of our band, old Gaffer Jenkins died three weeks ago and we burned his caravan and all his possessions, as is the Romany custom. But I remembered that some months ago he lent me the knife. It was bad luck to keep it, sir. I couldn't burn it because it was made of metal, handle and all. So I got rid of it by throwing it in the river and that's the truth."

The Inspector had been listening with some impatience.

"A likely story, Mr Pons. We shall find the knife, I have no doubt, and it will prove to be the murder weapon. It's my opinion Stokoe and Smith went to the Mausoleum to steal bronze and marble from the building but that their quarrel broke out afresh and Smith stabbed him with the knife, which he later threw into the Avon."

"You make it sound convincing, Inspector," said Solar Pons sombrely, studying the prisoner's face. "But I should be disinclined to build your case upon it, if I were you. You have checked the story of the gypsy funeral?"

"It is true, Mr Pons, that the old man Jenkins died and that his effects were burned in a ceremony at the camp," said Morgan quietly. "I am not denying that."

"Nevertheless, this is an ancient custom of the travellers, Inspector," said Pons. "And the knife might well have belonged to Jenkins. It should be easy enough to prove."

"Have no fear, Mr Pons. I am certain of my man," said the Inspector briskly, nodding to his officers. "We are going to the Mausoleum now and I expect to get a full confession before the day is out."

"I wish you luck, Inspector," said Solar Pons politely. And he watched the Inspector and his men until both they and their vehicles were out of sight.

"Well, Parker, what do you make of that?"

"Inspector Morgan would appear to have a strong case," I began cautiously. "And things do look black against the gypsy."

Solar Pons chuckled, leading the way back to the Rolls-Royce.

"Tut, Parker, I have trained you better than that. Morgan is building his case on shifting sands. Mark my words, there is something darker and more sinister at the back of this."

"But Smith did know Stokoe," I persisted. "And the two men had quarrelled."

Solar Pons gave me a patient look.

"My dear fellow, I am not denying it. But Morgan is twisting the facts to fit his own theory. That will not do at all. And when he finds that the knife will not match the wound by any conceivable stretch of the imagination, then he will have to start all over again. That is assuming he can even find the knife. The way the river goes rushing over the weir there, it may be anywhere. And in the meantime the good Inspector is wasting valuable hours. I thought better of him, I really did."

He said nothing further until the butler Simmons had ushered us into the study at Penderel Lodge. It was a big, impressive room, deserted for the moment, with the sunlight spilling in through two handsome French windows at the far end.

"Ah, this will be the scene of the dramatic burglary and chase," said Pons eagerly. He had his pocket lens out now and went up and down quickly. I crossed to a big mahogany desk and stood looking at the serried rows of leather-bound books that marched across the long room, while Pons carried out his examination. He concluded by opening one of the windows and stepping out on to the terrace. He looked sharply about the large expanse of flagstones.

"Well, this would not have given much away," he said as he re-joined me. 'The flags are tight-bonded, with no vegetation growing between them. They would not have retained foot-prints on such a dry night as our client described."

"So what are we left with, Pons?" I asked.

Solar Pons stabbed the air with the stem of his pipe to illustrate his points.

"Enigma upon enigma, my dear Parker. There is no possible motive at the moment. Until we arrive at that the problem is of formidable opacity."

He allowed himself a wry smile and at that instant the door of the study opened and Septimus Grimpton appeared. He was accompanied by a younger man dressed impeccably in a grey suit with a blue bow-tie. The family resemblance was striking and I was not surprised when our host introduced him as his younger brother, Thaddeus.

The newcomer came forward with a twinkle in his eye and shook hands gravely. He was about sixty and though his thick hair was liberally sprinkled with silver, he exhibited none of the scholarly traits of his brother.

"I live in Bristol and am often here for week-ends, Mr Pons," he explained. "This is a shocking business. I must confess I shall find it fascinating to watch so distinguished a practitioner of the forensic art at work."

Pons made a modest disclaimer and studied the two brothers closely as the master of Penderel Lodge motioned us into comfortable chairs.

"Granger will be joining us in a few moments," he explained. "He has been out for his walk round the estate and is just tidying himself. You and Dr Parker will stay to lunch, Mr Pons?"

"With pleasure, Mr Grimpton. Were you present at the time of the burglaries, Mr Grimpton?"

This is to our host's brother.

"On one occasion only, to the best of my recollection, Mr Pons. A nasty affair. Mr Granger chased an intruder. I'm afraid it was all over by the time I got down."

He chuckled.

"Though judging by the haul it was hardly worth the fellow's while."

"Serious, nevertheless, Thaddeus," said Septimus Grimpton sharply. "And now this man, Stokoe."

"Forgive me, brother," said Thaddeus Grimpton placatingly. "I did not mean to sound frivolous and I realise just how worried you are."

There was something so engagingly old-fashioned about Thaddeus Grimpton and his concern for his older brother that I could not forbear exchanging a brief smile with Pons.

"I am worried about Granger also," Septimus Grimpton confided to us. "His health has been far from good the past few months."

"How so?" said Pons.

He had raised himself in his chair now and his sharp eyes were fixed upon the old man's face.

"Some sort of stomach trouble, Mr Pons. Granger has had several bouts. But my brother's herbal tea has done him some good, I am glad to say."

Solar Pons shifted his eyes to the younger man. The latter smiled deprecatingly.

"Granger works too hard in my opinion. I fear a stomach ulcer, though the doctor says no. I am a great believer in herbal remedies. I have on several occasions prescribed my own blend of herbal tea for the sufferer."

"I must concur there, Mr Pons," said Septimus Grimpton. "Thaddeus knows a great deal about the subject. And the tea certainly did Granger good. He was up and about in no time. But I do worry about him. What on earth should I do if he had to leave me because of his health?"

"I am sure it will not come to that, brother. His health seems a good deal better of late."

"That is true, Thaddeus," said our host, somewhat mollified. "Ah, here is the man himself."

At that moment the door had opened and the wiry, dynamic form of the secretary hurried down the room toward us.

"Apologies, gentlemen. I hope I have not kept you waiting, Mr Pons?"

"Not at all, Mr Granger. I have only a few questions." "In that case we will excuse ourselves," said Septimus Grimpton, rising. "Come, brother."

And the two men, with courteous apologies glided out and left us alone with the secretary. Granger went to sit down at the desk and looked at us rather defensively, I thought.

"Your employer tells me you have been ill over the past months, Mr Granger."

"Oh, it is really nothing, Mr Pons."

"Nevertheless, I should like to hear about it."

"Sickness and vomiting mostly. Followed by stomach cramps. The attacks lasted only a day or two. The doctor tells me nerves, but it was something more definite than that."

"So it would seem, Mr Granger. But Mr Grimpton Junior's herbal tea did the trick, I understand."

The secretary laughed, his white teeth gleaming in his face.

"Well, there is certainly something in it, Mr Pons. On each occasion Mr Grimpton's beverage put me right within hours."

"Well, that is good to know," said Pons and he did not return to the subject but wandered up and down the study in an apparently aimless fashion. He paused before a long row of dark leather volumes and moving to join him I saw by the gilt titles on their spines that they were account books relating to Penderel Lodge and the estate.

"Where were the keys to the Mausoleum kept, Mr Granger?" said Pons, idly turning over the leaves of one of the volumes he had taken down from the shelves.

"In the locked desk here, Mr Pons. One key is here, as you see. Mr Grimpton has the other at present."

And he held it up. Pons examined it in desultory fashion and handed it back.

"I must look in at the estate office," he murmured and returned to his examination of the account books.

"A fascinating subject, Parker," he said. "It is a microcosm of English social life itself, the study of a great house over a period of time and has indeed been made the source of a number of outstanding volumes."

"I have no doubt, Pons," said I, "but I fail to see for the moment.. "

"As usual, Parker," said Pons somewhat rudely, taking down several of the books from the shelf and running his eyes over them. "Most interesting. Estate accounts. Farm upkeep. Husbandry. Household expenses, even down to the still room. For example, there is an interesting section here devoted to Mr Grimpton's grandparents and the Mausoleum. Hullo!"

There was such a sharp urgency in his tone that I looked at him in surprise.

"Something has been torn out here."

I moved to his side quickly. I soon saw what he meant; toward the end of the volume in question, about ten pages had been ripped away. Granger was up from the desk now, his face worried.

"I did not know that, Mr Pons. May I see?"

"By all means."

Pons passed him the volume and the secretary studied it in silence.

"Well, I had never noticed that, though I must confess we do not often consult these old volumes. They were mostly written up by Mr Grimpton's grandfather and father and they have been discontinued since their time. Perhaps it was done many years ago."

"I think not, Mr Granger," said Pons sharply. "You will see where the edges of the tear are white. They are comparatively fresh — certainly done within the past year or two — by comparison with the faded and yellowing pages of the main ledger."

"You are certainly correct, Mr Pons. How peculiar." The secretary studied the book further, his face still puzzled.

"Do you know to which specific subject the missing section related, Mr Granger?"

The secretary nodded.

"Nothing of great importance, Mr Pons. I believe it concerned the construction of the Mausoleum; costs, specifications, time taken; that sort of thing."

"I see."

Solar Pons stood in silence for a moment, his deep-set eyes looking somewhere far beyond me, and there was an awkward pause.

"Well, well, Parker. I think we have seen enough for the moment. A brisk stroll about the grounds would not come amiss. Thank you, Mr Granger. You have been most helpful. We will see you at lunch."

And he led the way from the room.

8

We walked swiftly down the terrace and away from the house. Pons was going so fast that I had a job to keep up.

"Where are we going, Pons?"

"To the estate office, Parker. I have a fancy to see where that third key is kept. And, if there is time before lunch, I should like to put a few questions to Hoskins, the gardener."

As he spoke we rounded the corner of the house and there, spread before us across the rolling parkland bathed in the November sunshine were the substantial outlines of extensive farm buildings emerging from beyond a belt of trees. But before that a massive glasshouse rose on the banks of an ornamental lake. The squeak of a heavily-laden wheelbarrow became apparent to the ear and Pons quickened his steps.

"Ah, Parker, if I mistake not, here is the man himself."

Hoskins turned out to be a middle-aged, stolid sort of person with a fringe of greying whiskers which gave his face a nineteenth century aspect. He rested his barrow-load of red and gold leaves and looked at Pons somewhat defensively, I thought.

"Mr Pons, is it? Mr Grimpton's guest? Well, gentlemen, I must be civil seeing as how you're staying at the

Lodge but I've been plagued a deal by the police since yesterday, I can tell you."

'That's as may be, Hoskins, but I will not detain you long. And I have nothing to do with the official force."

The gardener looked relieved and squared his shoulders as though Pons were about to take him on at a round or two of boxing.

"Fire away, sir."

"It is just that I have a fancy to know a little more of this man Stokoe's wound."

Hoskins' face clouded over.

"Ah, sir, it was a terrible gash. Several inches long, almost over the heart. A miracle the poor man was still alive. Blood everywhere."

Solar Pons narrowed his eyes and stabbed with the stem of his pipe to emphasise his points.

"You are a man, Hoskins, who is used to inflicting wounds with various weapons."

"Eigh, sir?"

Hoskins looked startled and stepped back a little warily.

"In a manner of speaking of course. You wound the earth with a variety of instruments; the spade, the fork, the pick, the mattock and so on."

The gardener's face cleared.

"Yes, sir. I take your meaning."

"And you are therefore familiar with the type of shape made by the various tools you use."

"I should hope so, sir."

Pons nodded with satisfaction.

"What type of wound was inflicted on the unfortunate Mr Stokoe?"

"Large, made by something big and heavy, sir. And with considerable weight, I would have thought. Like the digging blade of a pick-axe."

Solar Pons' face was alive with interest as he stared at the gardener.

"Thank you, Hoskins. I find that most interesting.

You are certain the wound could not have been inflicted with a knife?"

The gardener snorted with disgust and shook his head. "Certainly not, sir. And no-one who really knows anything about such things could mistake it."

"Not even a large knife?"

Hoskins shook his head even more emphatically.

"By no means, sir. The wound was far too big. There was a huge piece of flesh scooped right out of his chest. I know, sir, because I pulled his shirt back to have a look."

"Inspector Morgan seems to think it was a knife." "With all respect, sir, the Inspector is wrong."

Pons replaced his pipe in his mouth and puffed at it with considerable satisfaction, it seemed to me.

"I just wanted to be sure, Hoskins. You have been most helpful. I have only one more question. Was Stokoe going toward the house when you found him or away from it?"

"Toward the house, sir. I am positive."

"He could not have simply spun around in falling?" Again the gardener shook his head.

"By no means, sir. He was trying to drag himself across the grass as I went to restrain him. He kept muttering about 'The Shaft of Death'. It made no sense to me, sir."

"Nor anyone else for the moment. Thank you again, Hoskins. Here is a pound for your trouble. No doubt you can put it to good use at your local hostelry."

The gardener's face brightened and he took the note with alacrity, transferring it quickly to the pocket of his corduroy trousers.

"Good day to you, gentlemen. And if there's anything further you require to know, I'm usually to be found on this side of the house."

There was a smile on his face as Pons resumed his walk and I kept at his side, refraining from asking any questions as I could see that his agile mind was revolving a number of possibilities. Five minutes more took us to a mellow brick stable block, on top of which a cupola was set, the sunshine winking back from the gilt hands of a clock which now indicated the midday hour.

A groom in riding clothes was forking straw in a corner of the stable yard and readily pointed out the estate office, a comfortably appointed chamber, obviously part of the estate manager's private house. Pons rapped on the glass-panelled door but there was obviously no-one there so after a momentary hesitation he pushed open the door and we walked in.

A large mahogany desk; several shelves of books and box-files of farm accounts; a swivel chair; and two filing cabinets almost filled the interior. A beaker of hot coffee stood upon the desk surface, steam still rising from it, so it was obvious the occupant had stepped out for only a few moments.

A decent thick-pile rug covered half the parquet floor and a cheerful fire burned in the brick fireplace, before which a red setter was languidly sprawled. It took no notice of our entrance, except to regard us with a liquid eye, and then dropped back again, apparently satisfied, to its motionless contemplation of the flames.

We had been standing there for perhaps ten or fifteen seconds when the door which obviously led to the house beyond was flung violently open and a huge, red-faced man with a yellow moustache, dressed in a hairy tweed jacket and riding breeches, glowered at us.

"No trespassing allowed," he said crisply. "I shall oblige you to state your business."

"If you will have the kindness to introduce yourself we shall do the same," said Pons imperturbably.

The military gentleman's puce expression deepened. "I know who I am," he grunted. "Captain Mannering. Estate manager. Who are you?"

"Solar Pons. This is my friend and colleague, Dr Lyndon Parker. We are the house-guests of Mr Grimpton." "Indeed."

Mannering stared at us in an offensive manner and then sat down at the desk in front of his beaker of coffee. He did not ask us to sit but continued frowning at the wall in front of him.

"I am investigating the murder of the man Stokoe," said Solar Pons. "I should like a glimpse of the key of the Mausoleum which I understand is kept in this office."

Pons' request had an electrifying effect on the Captain. He went white, swallowed once or twice and his face gradually assumed a mottled aspect.

"As if the police were not enough," he muttered under his breath.

Then he turned his head to glare with bloodshot blue eyes at my companion.

"Who are you to question me?" he demanded. "You are not a police officer. Of what concern is it to you?"

"Nevertheless, I should like to see that key," Pons went on imperturbably.

The Captain's hand crashed down on to the surface of the desk with a vehemence which made the coffee beaker jump and slop half its contents on to the blotter. The Captain rose to his feet. Pons was a tall man but this formidable figure seemed to tower over him.

"I must warn you, Mr Pons. Don't meddle in my affairs."

There was a mocking smile on Solar Pons' lips as he stared steadily at the other; in the end it was the Captain who lowered his eyes.

"You are being extremely foolish, Captain Mannering," Pons said quietly. "However, it makes no matter. You are only postponing the inevitable. Come, Parker."

We left the figure of the Captain standing at the desk as though turned to stone. Once across the stable yard Pons burst into a short laugh.

"Well, Parker, what do you think of our Captain Mannering?"

"What a rude brute, Pons," I said hotly. "His behaviour is extremely suspicious."

"Is it not, Parker."

"When I tell Grimpton how he has behaved he will make him give up the key," I said.

Solar Pons put his hand on my arm.

"No, no, my dear fellow, it will not do. We must not alarm him."

"But the key is vital, Pons. He must be made to give it up."

"If he has it, Parker," said Solar Pons enigmatically. "Eigh, Pons?"

I stared at my companion in irritation.

"The Captain strikes me as an extremely frightened man, Parker. Just let me have your thoughts upon this little problem."

"It gets darker and deeper, Pons," I said.

"Does it not? But just apply those latent ratiocinative gifts I have so assiduously tried to cultivate."

"We have a murder and no discernible motive." "Capital, Parker!"

Solar Pons' eyes were sparkling.

"We have a mention of a Shaft of Death which clouds the issue still further."

"Pray continue."

"A massive wound, no weapon, and a knife which Inspector Morgan insists is the murder instrument and yet which cannot possibly fit, if all the facts are correct."

"You continue to sparkle, Parker. You are showing an amazing grasp of the problems."

"A gypsy who has a possible motive for the crime, swears he is innocent. The secretary is somewhat reticent, it seems to me."

"Ah, you have noticed that, have you?"

"Captain Mannering is acting in a highly suspicious manner. As estate manager he is familiar with the Mausoleum. The specifications of that building are missing from Grimpton's study. Even the gardener, Hoskins, does not believe a knife inflicted Stokoe's wound."

I stopped and stared with disbelief at Pons' widening smile.

"Good heavens, Pons. Hoskins is a strong and powerful man. As you yourself said, he knows how to wield heavy tools. You cannot mean it! Even Hoskins himself admitted that the blow which felled Stokoe could have been dealt with the obverse side of a pickaxe!"

"Could it not, Parker. You have admirably summed up some of the slight difficulties which beset one of the most interesting problems which has ever come my way. But here we are at the house again. Our little walk has quite given me an appetite for lunch."

9

The afternoon passed quietly. Pons was absent for a while, and I heard him talking with Granger the secretary. I took a short walk about the grounds after lunch and observed the gardener in the distance. I kept an eye on him but despite my efforts at remaining under cover he soon spotted me and retreated into the glasshouse by the lake with a highly suspicious air, it seemed to me.

I took a circular route that brought me within viewing distance of the main gates and attracted by the noise of engines noted the two police vehicles, no doubt containing Inspector Morgan and his sullen gypsy prisoner. To my surprise, instead of coming toward the house, the vehicles disappeared through the entrance of the estate and shortly afterward the hum of their motors died in the distance.

I continued my walk with many questions occupying my mind and on my return to the house found Septimus Grimpton and Pons walking up and down the terrace. As I hesitated Pons caught sight of me.

"Don't go, my dear fellow. Mr Grimpton and I are merely discussing a few details of the estate."

The old scholar shook his head, his fringe of white hair whipped about by the rising wind.

"This is a baffling business, Mr Pons. I don't know what I should have done without you being here. We might all be murdered in our beds."

Pons smiled gently.

"I hardly think so, Mr Grimpton. I submit it is more a case of old friends falling out."

Grimpton shook his head.

"The servants are terrified, though they keep up appearances well before guests. My brother has been a great settling influence but even Simmons seems affected by the old stories about my grandfather."

"The butler?"

Pons' face expressed keen interest as he turned toward out host in the pale November sunshine.

"That is correct, Mr Pons. The old chap has been with the family a good many years. I could see he was bursting to tell you the story when we were all in the study with the Inspector."

"You intrigue me, Mr Grimpton. Just what stories are these?"

"Fairy-tales, Mr Pons. Legends that have been linked with every vagabond and itinerant traveller seen about the place."

"Nevertheless, I shall have to ask you to be more precise, Mr Grimpton."

The old man's face looked worried but his voice was steady enough as he turned to face my companion.

"You must remember that my grandfather was an immensely wealthy man, Mr Pons. And stories and superstition accrete round such wealth. It was reputed that he amassed a great fortune in cash, plate and precious stones. This was supposed to have been hidden somewhere in the house and grounds. It was referred to in the village, I believe, somewhat picturesquely as The Treasure of Brimstone Grimpton. Arrant nonsense, of course. I doubt whether there was ever such a thing. But my poor father wasted a great deal of time searching for it."

"Nevertheless, it is intriguing, Mr Grimpton. I take it your father never found anything?"

Grimpton shook his head.

"Not that I ever heard, Mr Pons."

He chuckled.

"It certainly never descended to me or I should be a great deal richer and should not have to worry so much about Mannering and the running of the estate."

"I should not speak of this again, Mr Grimpton. It does not do to let rumour fly and if the legend were to become attached to the violent death of the man Stokoe, the resulting notoriety.. "

"Good heavens, Mr Pons! I had not thought of that." Grimpton's face looked shocked and his mouth sagged open. Solar Pons took him by the arm.

"You mentioned something about Captain Mannering?"

Grimpton's features looked even more lugubrious.

"He has a drink problem, I fear. Yet I would hate to discharge him. He has given sterling service to the estate over the years."

"That is indeed a difficulty, Mr Grimpton. And one that you alone can solve. In the meantime Parker and I have problems enough of our own. I am sure you will excuse us, Mr Grimpton. Come, Parker."

During the latter part of the afternoon Pons was again closeted with Granger the secretary and then took the opportunity to visit the upper floor of the rambling house. When he descended he drew me to one side in his usual brisk manner.

"Now, Parker, I require assistance. I would like you to engage Simmons in a little conversation. I have a mind to delve into the mysteries of his pantry."

"Eigh, Pons?"

Solar Pons shook his head, a whimsical smile on his face.

"This is your chance to shine, Parker. Here comes the man now."

"But what shall I talk about, Pons?"

"Anything that comes to mind, my dear fellow. The weather, politics, the decay of the country estate — I am sure you will think of something."

And with that he darted off down the corridor, leaving me to face the grave-featured old man who bore down upon me with a tray in his hand. In the event I think I acquitted myself creditably, for I chose the one subject the butler had a passion for. He had strange and very strong preconceived ideas about the cultivation and serving of exotic fruit raised under glass and his strictures upon the unfortunate gardener Hoskins and his ministrations in the glasshouse were quite severe.

He was well into his stride on the best way to raise peaches when Pons re-appeared, an enigmatic smile on his face, dusting his elbows. He nodded pleasantly at the old man and I excused myself to join him.

"Well done, Parker, you have excelled yourself. You are quite a horticulturist, I see."

"What were you doing in the butler's pantry, eons?"

"Observing, Parker. And drawing conclusions. There are quite enough materials in there to make up a strong emetic mixture, ranging from curries and chutneys to the most virulent and exotic forms of spices from our great Indian Empire."

"Indeed, Pons," I ventured mildly. "But I fail to follow you."

"It is not the first time, Parker," said Pons, a twinkle in his eye. "But we have been asked to stay on to dinner this evening. I have but a few more questions to ask before coming to some definite conclusions."

And he said nothing further until dinner, breaking silence only at the coffee and dessert stage. Instead, he had listened with rapt attention to the conversation between the two Grimpton brothers and Granger the secretary; the talk was mostly of a trivial nature, about the great house and its occupants, the state of the Home

Farm and the general running of the estate but Pons seemed to find it of inordinate interest.

At length there was a lull and Septimus Grimpton profited by the short silence to ask after the secretary's health.

"It is a great deal better, sir, thank you," Granger returned. He looked searchingly at his employer, as though he feared there might be an ulterior motive behind the question. Thaddeus Grimpton beamed jovially behind his glasses and once again I was touched by the obvious affinity which existed between these two so different brothers.

"Your brother's herbal tea seems to have done the trick perfectly, Mr Grimpton," Solar Pons observed, giving the secretary a reassuring smile.

"Thaddeus is a kind fellow," said the elder Grimpton warmly. "He does a deal of good in Bristol and elsewhere too. He is on the board of several charitable trusts; a prison visitor; active on the hospital board…"

An electrifying change had come over Solar Pons and he gave Septimus Grimpton a hawk-like glance from his piercing eyes.

"Indeed, Mr Grimpton. Well, Parker and I have much to do. We must be going. There is a concert at the Theatre Royal tomorrow and, I understand, an excellent Roman exhibition at the Guildhall."

"Really, Mr Pons, I do not quite follow," said our host, bewilderment written on his features.

"It means that your little problem is solved, Mr Grimpton. I quite forgot to tell you. Inspector Morgan made an arrest this morning. One of the band of gypsies. He killed Stokoe with an extra large knife, which he later threw into the Avon. I do not think you will be troubled further."

"You astonish me, Mr Pons."

Our host was on his feet too as Pons rose swiftly. "Extraordinary, Pons," I began when my companion gave me a warning glance.

"I am sorry to have imposed upon your hospitality, Mr Grimpton, but as you can see Inspector Morgan was quite capable after all and had the correct solution."

"I still do not understand, Mr Pons."

The entire dinner party had risen now and my own bewilderment was re-echoed on the faces of the younger Grimpton and the secretary.

"But what was the motive, Mr Pons?"

"Theft and robbery, Mr Grimpton. Nothing but a common quarrel among petty thieves. The case is closed. Allow me to congratulate you on the resumption of calm at Penderel Lodge and to take my leave in order that Parker and I may resume our interrupted holiday."

"You disappoint me, Mr Pons."

There was sadness in our host's voice and I glanced swiftly at Pons but he only answered blandly.

"Disappointment comes to us all at times, Mr Grimpton, and I too am sorry that I was unable to display those modest gifts which you so flatteringly believe me to possess. Now I really must say goodnight. No, we shall not need the car. It is a beautiful evening and I fancy a brisk walk back to Bath."

A few moments later we were out of the house and striding across the park in the moonlight, the winding road before us. I had a job to keep up with my companion who walked furiously, as though possessed by some galvanic force.

"What on earth are you at, Pons?" I spluttered when I at last caught up with him.

"Let us hurry, Parker. We have not a moment to lose. I fancy our man will strike again tonight when he fancies the coast is clear. I want to be in position long before that moment comes."

I stared at Pons in amazement.

"I do not follow you, Pons."

"My dear fellow," said Solar Pons, unable to keep the note of weariness from his voice. "What on earth do you think that display was for at dinner just now? To allay our man's suspicions. Now he knows that both the police and Solar Pons are off the case he will make another attempt to achieve his objective."

"Then we are not going back to Bath? The case is not closed?"

"Tut, Parker. You disappoint me. Just save your breath for we have a stiff walk before us. I want to get in position near the Mausoleum long before our man appears. The game's afoot!"

And he said no more but plunged along the winding estate road, all powdered silver in the moonlight, at such a rate that I was breathless long before we reached the lodge-entrance.

10

Pons unhesitatingly swung through the main gates of Penderel Lodge and turned left on to the main road back toward the village of Penderel Parva. He put his finger alongside his nose to enjoin caution.

"We must be seen to be well clear of the estate, Parker. That is why we must hurry."

"But where are we going, Pons?"

Solar Pons gave a brief chuckle.

"Farther down the estate boundary, Parker. I understand there are a number of gaps in the walls and hedges. It may take us some while to work back up to the Mausoleum. These woods will be dark, despite the moonlight."

He consulted his watch.

"I estimate that he will not make his move for another hour, until the household is abed. It will then take him at least twenty minutes on foot to reach the Mausoleum. We have already been twenty minutes on the road. That should leave us another hour or so to work our way back."

The way indeed seemed interminable. The moon was high now and shed a brilliant light on road and hedgerow. I was a little perturbed at this but we met nothing on the way and just before we reached the outskirts of

Penderel Parva, Pons led me down a small side-turning which followed the estate wall as it curved away into the middle distance.

"Silence here, Parker," he whispered. "I fancy this is Grimpton's private road and I have no wish to be disturbed by any of his inquisitive cottagers."

We pushed our way along in the shadow of the trees and presently came to a place where the wall fell away and was replaced by a high spike fence. We followed it for another two hundred yards and eventually found a spot where the staves were distorted with damp, leaving us enough space to squeeze through. Our feet shuffled eerily among the fallen leaves as we walked through the dark belts of woodland, guiding ourselves by the faint moonlight which filtered through the bare branches.

The way was longer than we had thought and several times Pons halted and carefully orientated himself. After a stiff uphill walk, which I estimated as taking about twenty minutes, we came out of a silent ride in the forest and on to a cart-track which wound away through the trees. It went in the right direction and with the easier going it was only a few minutes more before we found it joined the tar-macadam estate road about a quarter of a mile from the lodge-gates.

"Just over here, Parker," Pons whispered, his lean face alive with suppressed excitement. "And not a word if you please."

I followed him off the road and into another belt of trees and a short while later we skirted a fringe of bushes to find ourselves in front of a wide expanse of roadway, the white blanched expanse of the Mausoleum standing up sharp and clear before us. Pons moved over and knelt behind a fallen tree-trunk, where I joined him. He put his mouth up against my ear.

"It wants but a few minutes to midnight, Parker. I think we are just in time."

Indeed, we had not been there more than a quarter of an hour before his keen ears picked out a hurried step on the roadway. Then it stopped and there was a long period of silence. Again Pons bent to me.

"He has left the road and gone on to the grass, Parker. He should be here in a minute or so."

His grip tightened on my arm and a few moments later I saw what his keen sight had already picked out; a tall, sturdy figure, heavily muffled in a thick overcoat, which glided cautiously from under the trees. I felt my breath catch in my throat, as there was something inexpressibly sinister about the black shape in the whiteness of the moonlight at that dead hour of the night.

The figure looked round sharply as it crossed from under the trees and then went swiftly up the steps to the great bronze door of the Mausoleum. A moment later I heard the harsh grating of the key in the lock and the gap where the door had been showed black against the white facade. There was another long silence and then I caught the beam of a torch from within the interior. Solar Pons rose to his feet.

"Come, Parker. Our man will be too distracted. There will never be a better opportunity."

We quickly crossed the concourse, bright with moonlight, taking care to make as little noise as possible. We gained the steps without incident and had got up quite close to the doors when there came a harsh grating noise from within the Mausoleum, which set my teeth on edge. Pons swiftly flattened himself to one side of the door and I joined him within the shadow of the buttress. Pons' face expressed satisfaction.

"I have been extremely lax in this matter, Parker. The groove in the floor should have told me. Well, there is nothing better than having one's theories tested in practice. I think we may venture in safely without disturbing our quarry."

He glided into the blackness of the interior and without hesitation I followed. I shall never forget the sight which met our eyes. The interior of the Mausoleum was dimly lit by the rays of an electric lantern whose light was flung upwards from an oblong slit in the floor of the building.

The first thing which struck my eye was the monstrous, elongated shadow of a human being on the domed ceiling. My nerves jumped and I clutched at Pons instinctively. A moment later I saw that the white, dead face which stared back at me from the top of the sarcophagus was indeed marble and belonged to the tomb of our client's grandmother.

The entire structure had been pivoted round on its base which ran in a circular groove which I had originally thought to be an incised pattern in the flooring.

"The bloodied hand marks on the sarcophagus, Pons!" I whispered excitedly.

Pons nodded grimly and motioned me to silence. We moved forward quietly and as we drew nearer I could see that a shallow flight of steps led downward into the aperture that the removal of the sarcophagus had disclosed. We had silently covered half the distance when there was a sharp whirring noise from below, followed immediately by a soft thud and one of the most terrible cries it has ever been my misfortune to hear uttered by a human throat.

I stood paralysed as that unearthly scream echoed and re-echoed round the dome of the Mausoleum but Pons dashed forward, all caution abandoned. I could hear his feet echoing over the steps as I hurried down after him. The cry had ceased now and a moment later I learned the reason why. Pons was kneeling by the crumpled figure at the foot of the steps, while scarlet pumped steadily over the stone floor.

The electric lantern set to shine upon the stout wooden door that barred the passage disclosed a terrible and bizarre sight. From the ceiling protruded a shining metal shaft which had descended with tremendous force from a slot in the wall. The metal arm ended in a lead-cased weight into the tip of which was set the broad blade of an enormous knife, now coated with blood and rust.

"The Shaft of Death!" said Pons, white-faced. "I did not know it would end like this. Your department, I think, Parker. But be careful, in case there are any other lethal devices left by old Brimstone Grimpton."

I bent over the recumbent figure in the expensive overcoat only to recoil with a cry of shocked surprise. It was not just the terrible, gaping wound in the chest, so tremendous that it actually exposed the heart; or the certainty that a corpse lay before me in the passage; or even the horribly distorted face, the staring eyes or the tongue protruding from the bleeding lips. It was an abysmal catalogue all too familiar to me as a medical practitioner.

I gently laid the mutilated remains back on the floor and stared in silence at the dreadfully changed face of Thaddeus Grimpton.

"Did you know this, Pons?"

Solar Pons stood and gave me an enigmatic glance.

"It came to me rather late, Parker, I regret to say. But we have other work before us. This diabolical toy appears to be actuated by a spring concealed beneath the flagstone here."

He bent to demonstrate and with a sudden whirring of gears, which made us start back in alarm, the dreadful weapon withdrew silently to its former position between two stones in the wall where it was difficult to detect. Pons had knelt again and was busy about Grimpton's clothing. He drew forth a bundle of blood-stained documents.

"The missing estate material, Pons."

Solar Pons nodded.

"Containing, I have no doubt, the specifications and details of the building of this passage beneath the sarcophagus, Parker. Though it is obvious the old man said nothing in there about his deadly sentinel."

"But what is the point of all this, Pons?"

"The object of the game, my dear fellow. Which lies behind that door. Just have a care and stand back."

Carefully skirting the flagstone set directly in front of the door, Pons cautiously tried the bronze handle. He gently opened the door and shone the lantern's beam within the small chamber disclosed. The light danced upon paintings stacked against the dusty walls; velvet-lined cases, some half-open, disclosing silverware; leather bags stacked in profusion upon a heavy table. I entered behind Pons as the lantern disclosed yet more valuables. Pons hefted one of the bags thoughtfully. The rotted fastening split and a cascade of sovereigns rained upon the table.

"Heavens, Pons!" I said in a none too steady voice. 'The Treasure of old Brimstone Grimpton."

"For once the legends did not lie, Parker," said Pons softly. "There will be little sleep for us tonight. We must first apprise my client of his sad loss and then telephone Inspector Morgan."

He pulled reflectively at the lobe of his ear, the torch beam dancing golden on the coins which had already cost two men's lives and had endangered that of a third.

"The gypsy must be released at once, Parker. Let us put matters in train without delay."

11

"I do not know how to thank you, Mr Pons. Though I cannot tell you what a shock it was to learn of my brother's treacherous behaviour."

Solar Pons looked sympathetically at Septimus Grimpton, who sat the other side of the library table from us, the sunlight from the windows making a halo round his white locks and revealing the ravages that the last three days had wrought upon him. Inspector Morgan sat awkwardly twisting a pencil between his fingers opposite, while Granger, the secretary, made the fifth member of our party.

"It was a long-planned strategy, I am afraid, Mr Grimpton. My own inquiries since and Inspector Morgan's investigations in Bristol have revealed your brother's intense jealousy over your inheriting this house and estate."

"But he was well provided for in my father's will, Mr Pons."

Solar Pons shook his head.

"The traditional jealousy of the younger son, I am afraid, Mr Grimpton. Though I was incredibly obtuse on this occasion, until a very late stage."

"Come, Pons," I protested. "It was a brilliant performance, particularly as there was no discernible motive."

"I am still completely in the dark, Mr Pons," said the secretary. "Why, for example, should Mr Grimpton's brother make these crude burglary attempts?"

Solar Pons tented his fingers before him and looked sombrely round the table.

"Desperation, Mr Granger. For years he had been searching for the money and valuables recovered from the chamber below the Mausoleum. He regarded them as his own portion of his patrimony, despite the generous provision made in his father's will. He was convinced there was a hiding place and that some record would be found among the estate papers. That was why he cultivated you so assiduously during the past years, Mr Grimpton."

"He was here a good deal at week-ends, from Bristol, Mr Pons."

Solar Pons nodded.

"Exactly. And one could imagine his annoyance when he discovered a year ago that you had engaged a secretary to help you with your scholarly researches."

"How so, Mr Pons?"

"Because he was in the habit of spending long periods in the library. I have that from your butler, Simmons. He was undoubtedly searching for clues. But when Mr Granger came things changed drastically. The library was no longer available to him. Or, if it were, he could not very well rummage through the shelves and document files without engendering suspicion in the breast of Mr Granger here."

I stared at Pons for a long moment.

"So he staged the burglaries, Pons?"

"Not quite, Parker. He had to ensure at times that Mr Granger was out of the way and nowhere near the library. An illness of some sort provided the answer."

"But Mr Grimpton's herbal tea did me the world of good, Mr Pons," the secretary protested.

Solar Pons gave a thin smile.

"By clearing up a stomach disorder that Grimpton had himself induced. I found a large assortment of highly potent but quite harmless substances in Simmons' pantry. To an amateur herbalist like Grimpton it would not take much to concoct a mixture that would upset the most stable stomach. It could be introduced into food or drink in a number of ways. And Simmons has told me that small quantities of things like spices and curry powders have been missing over a long period."

"I am sorry to speak ill of your brother, Mr Grimpton," said the secretary bitterly. "But that is a most damnable thing."

"I am not excusing my brother, Granger," said Septimus Grimpton in a low voice. "He appears to have been the blackest of villains."

"Masquerading in the guise of a person of great charity and compassion," put in Inspector Morgan. "I am afraid I was completely on the wrong track over the gypsy, Mr Pons."

"It was an understandable error, Inspector. And fitted most of the known facts at the time. This was the confused background which suited our man. With Mr Granger out of the way he could pursue his search uninterrupted."

"But the burglaries, Pons," I interrupted.

"That was elementary, Parker. They were the most palpable simulations, staged merely to hide the real purpose of the search. On one occasion Mr Grimpton here surprised his brother late at night in the study; on another Mr Granger chased an intruder. Thaddeus Grimpton, when disturbed, had little time other than to hastily seize a few items from the house and make his escape through the French windows, leaving the occupants to believe a burglar responsible. As you know, we have found the things in a trunk in his room. I have no doubt he conveniently re-appeared at the height of the disturbances and, of course, the burglaries would have occurred only when he was staying here. I noted that from our conversations, gentlemen."

Septimus Grimpton passed a shaky hand across his brow.

"That is perfectly correct, Mr Pons. I had not seen the connection."

"There is no reason why you should have, Mr Grimpton. And you would certainly not have suspected your own brother of any ill will."

"If I had known of his intentions, Mr Pons, I would gladly have shared my grandfather's treasure with him." Solar Pons smiled wryly.

"Ah, there we have one of the supreme ironies of life, Mr Grimpton. Two men lying dead and all these tragic circumstances, with greed again responsible. Now, from what Inspector Morgan tells me and from what I have been able to piece together, it is almost certain that the man Stokoe and your brother together plotted to steal the secret cache of valuables from the Mausoleum. Your grandfather's eccentricity had devised, as he thought, a perfect way of guarding his valuables. He had constructed the secret room beneath the sarcophagus of his wife, telling everyone at the time that he himself would be interred there. This was the reason the plinth pivoted on that curious turn-table. I had seen the circular groove in the floor when we visited the building but foolishly failed to make the connection, taking it to be part of the pattern of the tiling. It was cunningly done, so there may be some slight mitigation in my own defence.

"Of course, it was obvious to me at once that the quarrel and the knife theory regarding the gypsy would not hold water. It was evident from the circumstances that the fatal blow had been struck within the Mausoleum. But there was the problem of the missing weapon; and furthermore, there was no trace within the chamber of the man who had struck the blow. I saw these facts at once and also noted the curious corollary that the old gentleman himself was interred on the far side of the Mausoleum, away from his wife. But I had not then learned of the story of the treasure from Mr Grimpton, neither did anyone know anything about the hidden chamber, so that I was unable at that time to piece these disparate segments together."

"Come, Pons," I said. "You are being too modest."

Solar Pons made a faint clicking noise with his tongue.

"I should have seen the connection at once, Parker. The fact that the grandfather was interred on the far side should have plainly spelled it out to me. He left careful instructions in his will about that, I now understand. And to guard the valuables he left the terrible device, so picturesquely referred to by the unfortunate Stokoe, as The Shaft of Death. Perhaps you can enlighten us there, Mr Grimpton?"

"I cannot vouch for it, Mr Pons, but I often heard my father say that Grandfather was a wonderful mechanic and watch-maker. It was a particular hobby of his."

Solar Pons inclined his head with a sombre expression.

"He said nothing, of course, about this diabolical instrument in his estate book notes, so your brother would have had no inkling of the danger. And he naturally did not anticipate Stokoe's own treachery in attempting to secure the money for himself."

"I am still not clear about all this, Pons," I said.

"And yet it was all there before us, Parker," said Solar Pons. "I myself failed to draw the necessary conclusions until quite late in the day. The bloodied hand-prints Stokoe left on the tomb effigy were not simply put there when he tried to steady himself when dying. Gravely wounded as he was, his first instinct was to protect the secret by pushing the plinth back over the entrance passage. In so doing he used almost his last strength and he was undoubtedly on his way to the house either to warn or upbraid your brother when he collapsed and died, Mr Grimpton."

The old man shook his head.

"A terrible story, Mr Pons."

"The connection between Stokoe and the late Thaddeus Grimpton is by no means clear," said Inspector Morgan, clearing his throat.

"Yet, it was perfectly simple once we had learned the motive," said Pons. "Grimpton had the secret and he guessed, rightly, that a fortune lay within his grasp. But to remove the treasure he needed a man more used to danger and the sterner side of life. He was himself a scholar and a man well into late middle-age. He required a ruthless, younger man, who would work under his direction for a share of the fortune. He found that man in the person of the ex-convict, Abel Stokoe."

"I see, Pons," I said. "You mean…?"

"Exactly, Parker," Solar Pons interrupted cuttingly. "It leapt at me when Mr Grimpton here said his brother was a member of charitable trusts and a prison visitor. Bristol Gaol was the former habitation of Stokoe, and Grimpton visited there. He no doubt cultivated Stokoe over several years and primed and recruited him before his release. He would have been the perfect tool. Used to dangerous house-breaking work at night and physically strong, as he would need to be, to remove the materials Grimpton hoped to find in the vault. But the two men either quarrelled or else Stokoe decided, unknown to his employer, to make his own attempt on the Mausoleum.

"The doors had been greased so as to avoid attracting attention by making a noise at dead of night and Grimpton had stolen the key from Captain Mannering's desk at the estate office, after having found it impossible to get at either of the two keys Mr Granger kept in the study."

"They were away under lock and key, Mr Pons," said the secretary earnestly. "I made sure of that."

"So that was what you meant at the Home Farm, Pons," I said. "But how did Stokoe get the key?"

"But surreptitiously making a wax impression of the stolen one," said Pons. "We can be reasonably sure that this would have been done when the two men first vis- iced the Mausoleum to try to uncover its secret. They may well have made several nocturnal excursions for, as you have seen, Inspector, the catch which actuates the pivot is damnably hard to find."

"That is so, Mr Pons."

"You may remember, Parker, I particularly questioned Mr Granger about the keys and was reasonably satisfied that no-one could have had access to them. There remained then the only other known key, that at the Estate Office. When we visited Captain Mannering there, I saw at once that the key must be missing. He was so ill at ease and inclined to bluster that I was sure the key left in his charge had been stolen. He felt guilty and realised he might be implicated after the Mausoleum had been found open and Stokoe murdered. He was not going to admit to the key's loss without a struggle and nor do I blame him."

"Even so, Mr Pons…" our host began.

"What you decide about your Estate Manager is your business, Mr Grimpton," continued Pons. "I am merely stating the facts."

"But how would anyone have got the key?" I asked.

"Pshaw, Parker, use the evidence of your eyes. We were complete strangers when we arrived at Home Farm yet the groom immediately directed us to the Estate Office, which was empty. Any intruder would have only to search the desk undisturbed to find the key. And as Mr Thaddeus Grimpton was a trusted member of the household and might well have visited the Farm in the normal course of events, nothing would have been easier than to get hold of that key. I do not like telling tales out of school, Mr Grimpton, but it was common knowledge that the Captain liked the bottle and he might not have discovered the theft of the key for weeks. He only realised its significance following the tragic events at the Mausoleum and quite naturally attempted to cover things up when I so unexpectedly visited him."

"You make it sound so easy, Pons," I said.

Solar Pons shook his head.

"On the contrary, Parker, I have been extraordinarily obtuse. It is extremely difficult when working without discernible motive, as we were. And the gypsy Smith's action in throwing the knife into the river confused the issue."

"Do not remind me of that, Mr Pons," said Inspector Morgan ruefully.

"You acted perfectly correctly as an official representative of the law, Inspector. Stokoe had stayed at the caravans with Smith and his fellow gypsies. For the business he had on hand in the neighbourhood, it probably suited his purpose to submerge himself among the Romanies. And if anything had gone wrong they might well have been blamed. But he was a surly fellow, as we have learned, and he quarrelled with his gypsy hosts and was told to leave. This was awkward, as he was placed close to his base of operations at the estate. He could not stay at Penderel Parva because it was too small and might excite comment so he took cheap lodgings in Bath. There Inspector Morgan recovered the mould from which he made the fourth key to the Mausoleum entrance, the one found in the door. You have been extremely useful in that direction, Inspector."

"It is good of you to say so, Mr Pons," the Inspector murmured. "Though I was so taken up with the gypsy and the knife theory that I quite overlooked a number of salient points."

"Most understandable," said Solar Pons soothingly. "It was your gardener, Hoskins, who inadvertently gave me a vital clue, Mr Grimpton."

Our host looked up with quick interest.

"What was that, Mr Pons?"

"We spoke of spades and mattocks and such broad-bladed instruments. I saw at once that such a weapon would have perfectly fitted Stokoe's terrible wound and that again directed my attention back to the Mausoleum and the dying man's cryptic reference to The Shaft of Death."

Pons turned to the table and picked up his pipe with a frown.

"When we recovered Mordecai Smith's knife from the Avon I saw it was a hopeless match and had to let him go," said the Inspector resignedly.

"And that, I think, Parker, almost clears up the salient features of one of the strangest and most terrible cases in which I have ever been involved."

'There remains one important point, Pons," I said mischievously.

Solar Pons paused in lighting his pipe, his brown corrugated.

"And what might that be?"

"I am sure Mr Granger will forgive me, but I suspected him at one stage. He had every opportunity of finding the Mausoleum details from the records and of staging the sham burglaries."

Solar Pons shook his head with a faint smile.

"I absolved Mr Granger from all suspicion immediately, Parker. You really must learn to apply your grey cells in the approved manner. There was ample opportunity for Mr Granger to have used either of the two Mausoleum keys, which were in a locked drawer in his desk. So why would be need to draw attention to himself by staging robberies? Even more ludicrous for him to go to Home Farm to burgle Captain Mannering's desk. Things began to point toward Mr Thaddeus Grimpton but it was not until the legend of the money was mentioned that the missing motive was supplied. My suspicions crystallised from that point, strengthened by mention of the prison visiting. I decided to test my theory by announcing my withdrawal from the case and its solution by Inspector Morgan, with the tragic result we have seen."

"But why did Grimpton go there so unwittingly after Stokoe's death, Pons?"

"That we shall never know, my dear fellow. But he must have been desperate. It was obvious to him that Stokoe was after the money himself, because of the duplicate key. He might perhaps have felt that Stokoe had recruited one of the gypsies; that the two men had quarrelled and that the man with him had knifed him and fled. This was extremely plausible, as we all know. And was obviously reinforced with the arrest of Smith. But he knew that he had to act fast and resolved to try to remove the money himself. That was what I relied upon when I staged our little charade which ended in such a macabre manner. It was his first opportunity to re-visit the Mausoleum since the police had been called in."

"It does not dispose of the central enigma, Pons?" "And what might that be, my dear Parker?"

"Old Brimstone Grimpton's motive in all this, Pons. He amassed a second fortune, which he secreted. He guarded it with that abominable instrument which Mr Grimpton has just had dismantled. But he apparently made no mention of this treasure in his will."

Solar Pons smiled a strange smile.

"I have the benefit of hindsight there, Parker. I have been browsing through the old man's papers and diaries, with our host's permission, since the conclusion of the case. I have found some curious things. Money was a religion with him. He not only worshipped it but felt somehow that wealth could transcend even the snuffing out of life upon this earth."

"You cannot mean it, Pons!"

"But I do mean it, Parker. His beliefs were basically those of the Ancient Egyptians, and paralleled exactly by his underground treasure house, which mirrored that race's burial customs. The money was for his own use and that of his wife in the after-life."

There was a long silence in the room, broken at last by Septimus Grimpton.

"I think you ought to know, Mr Pons, that part of the money will be used for various charities, including those for the welfare of ex-prisoners and gypsies."

"Remarkably appropriate, Mr Grimpton," said Solar Pons, rising from the table. "But I think we should be on our way back to Bath. If I could trouble you for a lift, Inspector?"

"Certainly, Mr Pons. It has been an education."

Grimpton rose too and pumped Pons' hand warmly.

"I will be in to see you in a day or two, Mr Pons."

"It will be a pleasure, Mr Grimpton. And now we really must sample more of the delights of Bath. I think we should stay on for a further week in view of the brighter weather. After all, it has not been much of a holiday for you so far, Parker. And you have not yet taken the waters."