He consulted his watch and said nothing further until we had gained Canon Stacey’s garden, where Mr Miggs was again waiting by a side-gate in the Close to conduct us to his superior.

  As Miggs had indicated, the Canon was indeed among his bees and as Pons appeared to be as impervious to those insects as to those of a criminous nature I stood some way off among the apple trees and admired the beauties of the garden until my friend had finished. The two men had an amiable conversation for about two minutes, the churchman in his bonnet and veil while Pons stood, a lean and imperturbable figure, among a cloud of buzzing insects. Mr Miggs, a slightly comic sight, stood halfway between myself and the two men by the beehives.

  When Pons re-joined me he was smiling and rubbed his thin fingers together in jaunty fashion.

  “The Canon has given me the key of a small door leading on to the cloisters. I think that should be sufficient for our purposes.”

  “What are our purposes, Pons?”

  “To apprehend criminals, Parker. It is a pity that you did not bring your revolver, for these are desperate men.”

  I frowned.

  “I thought we were on holiday, Pons. I do not usually bring deadly weapons on such trips.”

  “No, of course not,” said my companion soothingly. “Are you game for the midnight jaunt tonight?”

  “Of course, Pons.”

  Mr Miggs was deep in conversation with the Canon now so Pons and I came away, walking back slowly through the Close. I was about to make some commonplace remark when, to my surprise, Pons caught my arm in a powerful grip, almost making me cry out.

  “They are back earlier than I thought, Parker.”

  I followed his glance toward the broad concourse in front of the Cathedral and saw that the girl called Elise was walking purposefully across toward the great main door. We followed unobtrusively. The vast church was still half-full of people wandering about and we had no difficulty in keeping the girl in sight. From where we stood by a massive pillar we could easily see her slip through the wrought-iron gates into the Montresor Chapel.

  She was absent for but a minute and when she came out it was obvious from her expression that she was excited and tense. She sat in a chair some distance in front of us, across the aisle, her head bowed as though in prayer. Pons’ voice was calm, his manner distant as he whispered.

  “She has deciphered it, Parker. Unless I miss my guess she has taken the bait.”

  We waited while the fair girl rummaged around in her handbag. Once again her head was bowed.

  “She is composing her reply, Parker.”

  Less than a minute later she was on her feet, making her way with confident strides up the aisle toward us. Pons and I slipped round the pillar, as though examining architectural features, but she obviously had no eyes for us. As we watched she descended the stairs to the crypt. I made as though to follow but once again Pons’ hand was on my arm.

  “There is no point in following, Parker. Apart from the fact that there may be someone watching inside the church and we do not want to tip our hand. She is undoubtedly agreeing to the rendezvous proposed and will leave her message in a pre-arranged place below.”

  He moved out from behind the pillar.

  “I think we may as well get back to the hotel.”

  “But are we not going to wait, Pons?”

  My companion shook his head, a slight expression of irritation passing across his features.

  “There is no point, Parker,” he repeated.

  He was proven right a few minutes later when the girl passed us in the street as we walked slowly toward our hotel. Solar Pons looked at me enigmatically.

  “Now all we have to do is to prime Heathfield and settle down to wait,” he said gently.

  9

  I shifted my cramped position behind the pew and once again mentally criticised the hardness of the floor. Pons was still and alert at my side. On the summer breeze the silvery notes of church bells—dozens of them from the myriad churches of Norwich—had just pealed for half-past eleven. I leaned toward my companion to whisper.

  “It is a pity I did not bring my revolver, after all, Pons.” Faint light glinted on my companion’s eyeballs in the dusky interior of the great cathedral.

  “This heavy walking stick will have to do, Parker. Though Heathfield and his men will not be far.”

  “You think these desperadoes will come?”

  “Undoubtedly.”

  “Koch and the girl also?”

  “Koch, certainly. I am positive that she will remain with the boat.”

  I glanced at my companion’s almost invisible form.

  “But how would Koch get into the church?”

  “He would not need to, normally. The exchanges take place in daylight. My guess tonight is that his two companions in crime will unbolt or break open a small, little-used side-door. Ah, what did I say!”

  A faint creaking noise, seemingly far off, echoed and reverberated in an eerie manner through the vastness of the empty cathedral. There was a long silence and then the furtive sound of shuffling footsteps. Pons put his mouth up against my ear.

  “One is coming up from the crypt. The other has already gone to open a door. We shall not have long to wait.”

  No sooner had he spoken than there came the faintest pin-point of light, close to the floor and bobbing along the far aisle of the church. It passed away and as we turned to keep it in view, it was blocked from time to time by the vastness of the pillars which supported the roof of the cathedral.

  Presently there came the noise of metal on wood and a loud creaking sounded throughout the building. There were low voices now and the distant sound of footsteps and then two more shadowy figures came hurrying along the aisle and passed in the direction of the first.

  “Excellent, Parker,” Solar Pons breathed. “My theory was correct.”

  “I do not understand you, Pons.”

  “There has been some muddle over the place of concealment, Parker. It is just as I thought and accounts for the disorder discovered by Mr Miggs.”

  I gave up at this point and concentrated on the faint reflections of light and the sounds coming from a side chapel farther along the aisle. We waited perhaps half an hour, until the noises had died away. Then three shadowy figures crept back. A distant door closed.

  “Quickly, Parker!” said Solar Pons, all caution abandoned.

  I hurried forward in the thick, glutinous darkness, hard put to it to keep up. He went straight to the area just vacated by the three men. Inside the railed-off chapel interior everything was in confusion. In the light coming through the stained glass window from the city outside I made out a gaping blackness in the oak altar-piece.

  “It is as I suspected, Parker,” said Solar Pons. “We have not a moment to lose.”

  In a few moments we had let ourselves out into the cloisters and a short while afterwards were hurrying at an undignified pace through the streets of Norwich. Presently Pons slackened his pace.

  “There is no hurry now, Parker,” he said calmly. “Our men are just ahead, emerging from that side-street.”

  The three shadows were visible ahead and I turned into a shop doorway with Pons. To my astonishment I saw, from the light of the street-lamps, that two of the men wore clerical surplices.

  “Are you sure this is right, Pons?” I asked. “These men look like clergymen.”

  Solar Pons chuckled softly.

  “Do they not, Parker. The best disguise in their circumstances. They would find everything they want in the Cathedral.”

  We followed at a discreet distance as the trio moved down Bishopsgate and into Riverside Road. I noticed that the third man seemed to be moving more slowly, weighed down with a suitcase. Now and again the cadences of their voices came to us on the summer breeze. They seemed to be arguing about something. As though he could read my thoughts Pons commented succinctly, “They have not yet realised that a third party was responsible for this midnight meeting. Let us hope they are aboard before the truth sinks in.”

  We were nearing our destination now; there were only a few passers-by at this late hour but it was such a beautiful night that a number of people were abroad, strolling in the scented air; some walking dogs while others, obvious lovers, were making for the waterside where the River Yare passed by Norwich Thorpe Station.

  Our trio made for that area too but without even pausing at the Yacht Station or glancing at the lighted windows of the small hotels and guest houses on the other side of the road, continued along the tow-path in the Yarmouth direction. The faint beat of a motor-launch came to us down wind.

  “Should they be moving at this time of night, Pons?” I asked.

  My companion shook his head.

  “My guess is, no. All Broadland craft are obliged to tie up at dusk. It is forbidden to move at night without proper navigation lights and hired holiday craft do not have them.”

  He frowned.

  “As their launch is the only craft moving it should not be too difficult to pick them up again. I think we will take to the road, Parker. According to the maps I have studied there should be another bridge a little farther down.”

  I hurried after him up the steps at the side of the tow-path and we walked along a well-lit, metalled road.

  “Lack of navigation lights will make it difficult for us to pick them up, Pons,” I said.

  “True, Parker,” my companion agreed. “But you forget that no part of the Broads is more than an hour away by car. There is ample time to cut them off when we give Heathfield the word to move. We want all four, on board, and with the money.”

  I glanced at my companion’s tense, aquiline face.

  “You think they are making for Great Yarmouth, then?”

  “Undoubtedly that direction, Parker. The police are watching the roads about Norwich and the launch is their only way out. I have no doubt they intend to transfer to a motor vehicle when they reach some pre-arranged lonely spot. Now we must be sparing of talk as we have some stiff walking ahead of us.”

  He said nothing more as we walked briskly along the road, following the course of the broad, sluggish river; we could hear the launch clearly but as we had left the tow-path which the three men had taken, they were no longer in view. The noise of the launch was clearer now, the slow beat of its motor echoing back from the banks.

  Then it increased and as the throttle opened it settled into the familiar rhythm of a motor vessel under way. Pons glanced at his watch as we passed under a street-lamp. His face expressed satisfaction.

  “All four safely aboard, Parker,” he said. “I think we might make our move now, before they get too far down-river.”

  “You are showing remarkable knowledge of the locality, Pons,” I commented.

  My companion chuckled.

  “I have not wasted my time and this afternoon I studied a large-scale map of the area. Unless I am much mistaken, there is a bridge about a mile ahead which will do very nicely.”

  I tucked my arms into my sides for the lean, athletic figure had increased its pace and I am afraid I was a little blown before we had reached our destination. The river twisted here, for the sound of the launch was fainter, though we had evidently gained upon it, for I could see the faint cabin lights between the trees down below. The road, of course, ran straight, taking no account of the river, which veered away at this point and in remarkably quick time we had come to a broad road-bridge across, guarded by a low parapet topped by iron railings.

  Pons had reached it first and stood awaiting me impatiently, his eyes dancing with excitement. He still carried the heavy stick and his keen eyes were fixed on the bend of the river behind us.

  “I think this will do nicely, Parker. The bridge is low and sloping so that they will have to keep in the centre of the stream. The cabin top should not be more than four feet below the arch at this point.”

  “Good heavens, Pons,” I mumbled. “You surely do not intend to drop on to the vessel?”

  “That is exactly my intention, Parker. But if you do not feel up to it, I shall quite understand. In which case I should be grateful if you would remain as an observer and sound this police whistle once I am aboard.”

  He slipped the chain of the whistle about my neck as he spoke but I shook my head.

  “I would not dream of remaining, Pons. Where you go I shall follow.”

  Solar Pons smiled thinly.

  “Excellent, Parker. I knew I could rely on you. We must drop quite accurately and make sure we do not get in each other’s way. Timing is all important and you must drop three seconds after me. I shall land in the bow and you on the cabin-top that way.”

  “You seem to have worked it out in a good deal of detail, Pons,” I said, looking back at the small circular blobs of light from the launch portholes which were now coming broadside on to us at the far bend.

  “It is hastily improvised, Parker, but I fancy it will do,” he said casually.

  We were quite alone on the bridge and the nearest street light was at the far end, so that we were in shadow here. Pons went over to the other side of the bridge and stepped on to the low wall. He seized the iron railing and eased over. He disappeared and a few moments later I heard his voice echoing upwards above the beat of the launch engine.

  “It will not be difficult, Parker. There is a brick groyne here which gives excellent footing and one can hold on to the iron bolts of the railings.”

  I looked down over the coping and saw that he had spoken the truth; he held the stick under his left arm and balanced himself easily on the brickwork holding on to a long, protruding iron bolt with his right hand.

  “It is just a question of timing. Pray go to the far parapet and run back to me as soon as the bow of the craft reaches the bridge. Then we have only to wait until the Moorhen appears beneath us. I estimate she is travelling at only some five knots.”

  I did as Pons ordered, running swiftly to the far parapet. The dim shape of the launch was already a hundred yards away, the chug of its engine sounding exceptionally loud in the still summer air. As Pons had said she carried no navigation lights but someone had made an attempt to duplicate the green port and red starboard markings by affixing electric torches to the cabin top on either side and fastening coloured mica strips across them.

  There was no-one visible aboard but there was a dim light from the steering well and I crouched down, carefully calculating the vessel’s progress as she cleaved the dark brown water, briefly turned to silver in the moonlight.

  “She is beneath the arch now, Pons!”

  I ran swiftly back, my heart thumping and scrambled down next to Pons. He smiled at me encouragingly.

  “Three seconds, Parker. No more or you will overshoot.”

  “I understand, Pons.”

  The words were no sooner out of my mouth than the bow of the vessel appeared from beneath the bridge, directly underneath us. Pons was already gone, dropping cat-like on to the bow. I finished my counting and was in the air; the cabin-top looked as small as a postage stamp but I landed safely, slithering sideways for one sickening moment, before I managed to steady myself by catching hold of a wire cable which helped to support the short mast of the launch.

  The bang I made on the cabin top roused cries of alarm from the interior and I was reassured to see Pons appear beside me; he looked alert and formidable as he brandished the heavy walking-stick.

  “I hope this is the right launch, Pons,” I said, “or we shall have a suit for assault on our hands.”

  Pons laughed, his keen feral face clear-minted in the moonlight.

  “You never cease to entertain me, my dear fellow. Ah, here they come.”

  He lashed out as a burly figure flailed its way from the cabin. There was a howl of pain as the heavy cane descended and the big man in the tarpaulin coat backed away. Two men appeared to have collided in the cabin doorway and I leaned over and got in a smart blow at the neck of one of them. A search-light suddenly stabbed out across the water in front of us and the chugging of another launch was heard.

  “Ah, that will be Heathfield,” said Pons calmly, jumping down into the well of the vessel. “Just sound that whistle, if you please.”

  I had no sooner given three sharp blasts of the police whistle than the three swearing men were on us. I saw Pons close with one and heard a hoarse shout; a heavy body fell with a resounding splash and was soon left astern. A villainous-looking fellow with a shaven head had his hands at my windpipe but I managed to break his hold and he fell back into the cabin interior where a fair-haired girl was steering the launch and looking anxiously back over her shoulder.

  The third man, who could only be Koch had closed with Pons, and was reaching for his pocket. I heard him grunt as my companion caught him a well-timed blow on the face and then he was asprawl on the deck, the revolver falling from his pocket. Pons was on it in a flash and steadied the barrel on the big man who came in a rush through the door.

  “The game is up,” he said sternly. Just place your hands on the cabin top.”

  The big man sullenly obeyed and I went to help Koch up. The other launch was approaching rapidly now, the yellow beam of the searchlight playing on our vessel. Heathfield’s voice, clipped and confident, came across the water to us.

  “Is all well, Mr Pons?”

  “All well, Superintendent. We have our men. You will find one in the river yonder. Fortunately, it is a nice night for a swim.”

  He chuckled as he glanced at the bearded features of Koch. “You may tell the lady to switch off the engine now. You have no further cards to play.”

  The sound of the motor died away and the Moorhen began to drift as the bows of the other launch bumped against the rubbing strake of ours. Heathfield jumped aboard, followed by two uniformed constables. The searchlight beam had picked out the agitation in the water where the third man was trying to swim ashore. He was still some yards from the bank when a constable on a bicycle stopped on the tow-path and waited for him to scramble out. Heathfield rubbed his hands together.

 

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