The exploits of solar po.., p.14
The Exploits of Solar Pons, page 14
part #12 of Solar Pons Series
He glanced round swiftly.
“There is no time for explanations now. We must get back to Bredewell House and then telephone Inspector Cunliffe. This matter must be handled discreetly and there has been sensation enough for one night.”
11
“Yes Mrs Bracegirdle, I will have another cup of coffee, thank you.”
Solar Pons chuckled and looked bright-eyed round the room. Michael Balfour sat opposite us at the circular table with Inspector Cunliffe next to him. I sat on Pons’ right and at our insistence Mrs Bracegirdle sat between my companion and her employer, where she presided at the coffee pot. A week had passed since the terrifying events of the night on which Sherlock met his death and much had happened since. Young Balfour passed a hand through his rumpled hair.
“Even now, Mr Pons, though much has been explained I am still not certain why Dr Sherlock would want to murder his best friend and then make an attempt on my own life.”
“Human nature is dark and mysterious,” said Pons. “Events may turn the strongest brain and Dr Sherlock was desperately short of money.”
“That is true, Mr Pons,” said Inspector Cunliffe. “Our investigations have shown that Sherlock had speculated unwisely. He lost not only his own money but that of his partners in his previous practice and he left under a cloud.”
Solar Pons nodded.
“Which is why he came to Tidewater. I should guess that racing was his real downfall.”
Inspector Cunliffe looked sharply at Pons.
“That is correct enough, Mr Pons. He was in for thousands and was desperate for money.”
“I cannot see, Pons . . .” I began, when my companion gave a short laugh.
“It was merely an inspired guess, Parker. When we met Dr Sherlock at the station that night, he carried some books as well as the medical report. I noticed that one of them was Ruff’s Guide to the Turf. When I learned from Mrs Mackney that Sherlock’s waiting room was filled with sporting and racing magazines I must confess my mind was turned to that direction.”
Pons leaned forward at the table, the library fire on this bitter evening casting strange shadows over his lean, ascetic features.
“Let us just recapitulate, Parker, if you would be so good.”
“Well, Pons,” said I. “We had a rather strange old man, who was abnormally reclusive and worried; who literally bolted himself into his house after receiving threats. He dies after seeing a horrible face which had been haunting the neighbourhood; and his nephew, Mr Balfour here, who asks your help, is the heir to Mr Boldigrew’s considerable fortune.”
“Exactly, Parker. Most succinctly put. I could not have paraphrased it better. It became obvious to me that this was no random haunting of the village; neither was it a joke or even less a genuine phantom. It was clear from early on that Mr Boldigrew was literally scared to death, which left Mr Balfour as the only person between the murderer and a considerable fortune. You may remember, Parker, I was particularly careful to enquire into the circumstances of the other so-called ‘hauntings’ in the village.”
“Why was that, Pons?”
“Because a brief analysis of the circumstances in each case revealed that the phantom was seen only through glass and that all the people who saw it were getting on in life.”
“I am afraid I do not see the significance, Pons.”
“That is because you are not using your ratiocinative powers, my dear fellow. The phantom appeared only outside windows and in the dark and then only very briefly because the hoax would have been obvious without these aids to flight. Similarly the people to whom Sherlock appeared in his disguise were elderly and either too terrified or simply not physically capable of running after him quickly. He needed time and distance to get away. The point being, of course, to establish that there was a ghost in Tidewater, before he struck at Boldigrew.”
“But why not strike at my uncle first, Mr Pons?” said young Balfour, bewilderment on his features.
Solar Pons gently shook his head.
“That would not have done at all, Mr Balfour. It would immediately have thrown a spotlight on the solitary crime. Sherlock wanted to avoid this at all costs. Firstly, by establishing a veritable reign of terror in the neighbourhood. Then, when your uncle died of a heart attack after seeing the face, it would be one of a series of unconnected incidents. The last thing Sherlock wanted was to emphasise the aspect of the will.”
Balfour turned worried eyes upon each of us in turn.
“I am still not sure that I understand, Mr Pons. Surely Sherlock could not go openly to the shop in the village and buy such things as carnival masks.”
“Naturally not, Mr Balfour. That was where his waiting room came in so useful. His patients naturally included young children from time to time. With the craze for carnival masks and other toys in the district, they sometimes brought such items with them to his surgery. We can now never know for certain, Sherlock being dead, but it is obvious that both the carnival mask and air-pistol were abstracted from the waiting room when the young Mackney boy visited there as a patient. His mother told me the circumstances, which was when I found my thoughts on the matter becoming crystallised.”
Solar Pons turned to me.
“You will remember, Parker, that the shopkeeper was at some pains to demonstrate that the green carnival masks were flimsy and did not last. In other words, they tore easily and this Sherlock soon found; having used it on several occasions to spread alarm in the neighbourhood it became worn so he undoubtedly destroyed it. You may remember, Parker, that I drew your attention to the significance of the shopkeeper, McMurdo, running out of the green masks. So Sherlock obviously had to improvise his own.”
“Which accounts for the fiend with the yellow face appearing, Pons!”
My companion turned to me with a reproving look.
“Somewhat picturesquely put, Parker, but basically correct. Sherlock then constructed his own mask, as we have seen. The stage was now set for the murder of your uncle, Mr Balfour, who incidentally had nothing wrong with his heart at all.”
“Nothing wrong, Pons?”
Solar Pons shook his head.
“The exhumation of Mr Boldigrew’s body and the subsequent post-mortem by the County Pathologist, has established that conclusively. It was a fiction conveniently fostered by Dr Sherlock for reasons of his own.”
Balfour passed his hand across his eyes.
“Then Uncle Charles did not die of a heart attack brought on by fright, Mr Pons?”
“Of course not, Mr Balfour. Naturally, no-one was to know this at the time as Dr Sherlock himself performed the original post-mortem and signed the papers so there was no reason to suspect him.”
“And when did you suspect him, Pons?”
Solar Pons turned shrewd eyes to me, ejecting a thin plume of fragrant blue smoke from his pipe. He looked at Mrs Bracegirdle thoughtfully.
“The very evening we reached here, Parker. I felt that the doctor arrived a little too pat upon the scene. He played his part superlatively well, so that I could not be sure, but with my arrival in Tidewater he needed to know exactly what was going on; what my client suspected; and he required to be on the spot himself to obtain his information at first-hand.”
“He did not get very much, Pons,” I interjected. “But if Mr Boldigrew was murdered, Pons, then how on earth was it done?”
“By a very simple but at the same time very clever plan, Parker. You may remember that the young Mackney boy also missed one of his favourite toys, an air pistol, shortly before Mr Boldigrew was murdered. This was one of the last pieces I needed to make the whole scheme clear in my mind. You will recall, Mr Balfour, that I was particularly interested in Mr Boldigrew’s rather strange custom of securing his house from intruders but himself going to the window at night and opening it when particular friends called and tapped upon the glass. It is now obvious that the ruin of the Indian venture and the loss to his partner preyed on his mind and Sherlock took advantage of that, even to the extent of sending him threatening letters.”
“The threatening letters, which Sherlock undoubtedly cunningly timed, had a cumulative effect upon poor Boldigrew. They not only added to his remorse over the suicide of the Indian partner but turned him into a grim, frightened recluse who transformed his house into an almost impenetrable fortress. But, with the strange aberrations to which human nature is vulnerable, he left a loophole which Sherlock immediately seized upon.”
“His odd habit of opening his study window to callers, Pons.”
“Exactly, Parker. I will refer to the window again in a moment but something immediately struck me about the situation. You will recall, Parker, that I told you that the figure of the apparition could be seen only through the central pane of the turret window. If the figure had appeared at the side windows it would have been obliterated by the reflection of the room lights on the glass. That was of the utmost significance.”
“Significance, Pons?”
“Of course, Parker. It told me at once that the ‘phantom’ could only have been someone who was familiar with the room; in other words, someone who had already been inside the house. That narrowed down the possibilities considerably.”
“Brilliant, Mr Pons,” said Balfour, open admiration on this face.
My companion shook his head.
“Elementary to a trained investigator, Mr Balfour. To return to the window. This seemed to me to be the crux of the matter and I soon discovered a number of very interesting points. One was the patent window lock and the fact that the window glass itself intervened between the murderer and his victim. I came to the following conclusion and though it is not now provable I am convinced it is the true explanation. The night of your uncle’s death Sherlock came here in his motor vehicle and left it on the remote road beyond the farm. It was a bitterly cold night and there would have been no-one about.
He wore the same costume as on the night of his death, carrying the mask in his pocket. He saw the light in your uncle’s study and tapped on the glass.”
“Your uncle drew back the curtains, opened the window and spoke to the doctor. On some pretext Sherlock withdrew into the darkness, donned the mask and came back into the light to fire the air pistol that originally belonged to the Mackney boy.”
Pons turned to Inspector Cunliffe.
“As we have already seen, Inspector, Sherlock had adapted the weapon to fire sharpened darts; small pieces of wood like splinters which were coated in a substance which rendered the victim unconscious in a short space of time. He then drew the window down, automatically locking it.”
“I got on to this only through Mrs Bracegirdle mentioning that her employer had a cut upon his neck. I instantly surmised it to be a small wound or puncture, and the idea of a dart came into my mind. Sherlock removed it on arrival, of course.”
Pons turned to the housekeeper.
“I am not, of course, blaming Mrs Bracegirdle for this but her cleaning the wound immediately erased my initial suspicions of Sherlock as my mind was already in that direction and I wondered why he would not have reported such a puncture. Of course, I had already established that the window could be closed and locked noiselessly and the same was obviously true from outside the house. Sherlock had time to draw the window down and automatically lock it before the nephew ran in.”
“I see, Pons!” I interjected. “He got in his car and quickly drove home, only to be summoned back to Bredewell House.”
“Exactly, Parker. Then, with great cold-bloodedness, he sent Mrs Bracegirdle and Mr Balfour out of the room while he supposedly revived the dying man, only to give him a lethal injection.”
“There is no doubt about that,” said Inspector Cunliffe. “The County Analyst tells me that there was a quantity of a deadly poison found in the remains, which had undoubtedly been administered intravenously.”
Mrs Bracegirdle had listened with an ashen face and now she turned toward Pons, her eyes seeking his face.
“But what was the point of all this, Mr Pons?”
“You forget that Dr Sherlock was Mr Boldigrew’s oldest friend. Greed and desperation had distorted his nature. It is as clear as day. The doctor was the chief beneficiary of the will in the event of Mr Balfour’s demise. No doubt he had played on Mr Boldigrew’s fears over the past few years by saying he had heart disease and had gained an ascendancy over him.”
Young Balfour shuddered.
“It is absolutely horrible, Mr Pons. I would have rather given up the money than have all this happen.”
My companion shook his head.
“Your sentiments do you credit, Mr Balfour, but we must take the world as we find it. It is a very imperfect one.”
“And poor Mr Sainsbury?” put in Mrs Bracegirdle.
“Murdered by Sherlock because he alone knew that the doctor was the beneficiary of the will,” said Pons. “It was obvious that he wished to tell me something but that the doctor, guessing what was in the wind, found him alone in his office, knocked him on the head and set the place on fire.”
The Inspector nodded grimly.
“The Sainsbury post-mortem has established skull damage, despite the heat of the fire. Sainsbury’s secretary has told us Sherlock had an appointment with him earlier that morning, though she did not see him at the office.”
“Of course,” went on Solar Pons, “the fact that Sherlock was the ultimate beneficiary in the event of Mr Balfour’s death would have come out eventually. But as you know, if Mr Balfour had been murdered in the same way as his uncle, the will would not have been published for a year or so, as is the normal custom. It is my belief that Sherlock would have been agreeably surprised at the news and as Sainsbury was safely out of the way and the copies of the will in his office destroyed, there would have been no-one to suspect him.”
“It was a good thing you put me on to Somerset House, Mr Pons,” said Inspector Cunliffe.
Mrs Bracegirdle turned a worried face to Pons.
“I am afraid I have misled you, Mr Pons, with my suspicions regarding Mr Ram Dass. I am so ashamed now.”
Solar Pons chuckled.
“It was a natural assumption to make, Mrs Bracegirdle. But one completely unsupported by the facts. It took only a brief interview with the gentleman concerned to eliminate him entirely from my inquiries.”
“Why was that, Pons? He looked extremely suspicious to me.”
“That is because you were entirely superficial in your approach, Parker.”
I must have looked nonplussed because my companion smiled winningly.
“Oh, come, Parker, it is not so very difficult, Mr Dass was a rather strange, colourful character in the district. Sherlock evidently banked on him being a prime suspect if murder was ever suspected, as he and the Boldigrew estate had already had a boundary dispute. I largely discounted this possibility even before we visited Mr Dass but I had to eliminate him from our inquiries. What possible motive could he have had? Money is one of the most powerful motives known to mankind. Yet Dass could not possibly benefit by Boldigrew’s death. And people rarely murder over relatively trivial boundary disputes and as I had already learned that the two men had had no personal contact in the matter I swiftly put the possibility from my mind.”
Solar Pons turned back to the Inspector.
“We had already established that Dass had nothing to do with the man who lost money in the Indian speculation, so I had to turn elsewhere for my culprit. Dr Sherlock was the only man who was in a position to pull the strings in the case; he was Boldigrew’s oldest friend and knew most about him; he had performed the post-mortem; and, most importantly, he had the opportunity to purloin both the mask and the air-pistol from his own waiting room as my interview with Mrs Mackney made clear. The only thing missing was the motive and I saw my way to that with the death of Sainsbury, a check with Somerset House revealing the identity of the beneficiary.”
“It. was a clever plot,” Inspector Cunliffe observed. “The air pistol had been cunningly adapted to fire the darts.”
Solar Pons fixed his deep-set eyes upon his client.
“I am only sorry I had to use you as a tethered-goat in the outcome, Mr Balfour. My case rested upon pure theory and needed the corroborative factor that only the circumstance of catching the culprit in the act could give.”
“But supposing the dart had been discovered?” I said. “Or it had fallen to the carpet? Surely the police might have suspected Sherlock.”
Solar Pons shook his head.
“Hardly the police doctor, Parker. He had Ram Dass picked out as a ready suspect for that. As we know, he was not liked in the neighbourhood and you yourself drew attention to the blow-pipes and other weapons on his walls.”
“But I am still puzzled about one or two things.”
“For example?”
“The appearance of the apparition to Stevens, the gardener.”
“That was entirely fortuitous, Parker. Sherlock was obviously on his way to make an attempt on Boldigrew’s life but his accidental encounter with the old man frightened him. In the event he did not make his second, and fatal attempt, until the following week.”
“But why did he appear in that strange way to Mr Balfour, on the first occasion, Pons?”
Solar Pons smiled wryly.
“Ah, that can only be conjecture now, Parker. He would not have been attempting to frighten Mr Balfour. He had already established his reign of terror and after his mishap with Stevens he had become more cautious. It is my contention that he was merely peering into the room, trying to make sure whether Mr Balfour was alone and carrying on with his uncle’s habits. I understand from Mrs Bracegirdle that the elder man’s eyesight was not so good. At any event Mr Balfour immediately spotted him and frightened him off, thereby saving his own life, for the upshot was that he came to us.”
“But why was he wearing that horrific mask, Pons?”
“For the simple reason, my dear fellow, that it would disguise him. He could not simply appear at the study window in his own persona at that stage. But as soon as we appeared on the scene he realised he had to act quickly.”
