The dossier of solar pon.., p.9
The Dossier of Solar Pons, page 9
8
The tower shuddered and shook as the carillon in the bell chamber below boomed out the hour of nine. Almost as the last quivering stroke died away into silence, there came the thunderous crash of the main church door below and then the footsteps of Pons in the persona of Dr. Campbell, hurrying down the aisle. Three minutes later I had switched on the light, and Solar Pons was smiling at me over the edge of the trapdoor.
"Quickly, Parker. We have little time to lose."
No sooner had he gained the floor of the sealed spire chamber than he was stripping himself of his disguise. I was kept busy putting his discarded clothing into the traveling bag. It was precisely three minutes more before once again the familiar figure of Solar Pons stood before me. He put his hand to his lips to enjoin silence.
But I had already caught the noise; many footsteps across the flagged paving of the churchyard; the murmur of voices; and the rumble as the front door of the church went back again. Pons stood rubbing his thin fingers, a little smile of triumph on his face.
"A few moments more, Parker," he whispered, "and we shall see what we shall see."
The confused babble of voices grew stronger and there was a trembling vibration on the wooden staircase. At Pons's gesture I stood well back while my friend concealed
himself behind a dusty chest of drawers which stood at one side of the room. In a few seconds the black-haired figure of Isaac Dabson appeared in the opening. He was pushed into the room by the sheer pressure of people behind him. I caught a glimpse of the triumphant and bizarre figure of Mrs. Harbinger; there were two men with cameras and behind them, insistently pushing their way into the sealed spire, still more strangers, presumably people from the village.
By now Isaac Dabson had caught sight of me and his jaw dropped. He looked wildly around the dusty walls, his eyes open in surprise. .
"Where is the rector?" he cried. "What does this mean?"
"It means that your little game is up!" said Solar Pons sternly, stepping out from the shadow and confronting the group. "The rector is in London at the conference. My name is Solar Pons. It is perhaps not unknown to you."
Dabson's face was a mixture of chagrin and fear. He drew apart from the people who were still pushing their way up from the staircase.
"Solar Pons!"
Dabson's face was a white mask, but Mrs. Harbinger had elbowed her way to the front and stood glaring at Pons. She sniffed the air and then looked suspiciously at the heap of ashes on the metal tray in the corner.
"The Great Scroll of Thoth! You have not burned the treasures of the ages?"
"No, madam," said Pons imperturbably. have merely disposed of some malicious rubbish set to ensnare an innocent man. Ah, gentlemen, I see we have some cameras present. I do not know what Mr. Dabson has told you but I fear you may be disappointed."
A thickset man wearing a black homburg and carrying a heavy plate camera could not restrain his indignation.
"Hooper of the Shap and Stapleford Chronicle" he said, casting a sullen glance at the secretary.
"Where is this sensation you promised us, Mr. Dabson?"
"I fear there is no sensation in the sealed spire," said Pons mildly. "Other than that likely to be engendered when Mr. Dabson and I have had a little discussion in private."
"I have nothing to say to you," said Dabson, pulling himself together.
Pons shrugged.
"Dear me, Mr. Dabson, I trust I can get you to reconsider. Otherwise, I shall have to set matters in motion with the official police, and you will find them less easy to deal with, I can assure you."
Dabson licked his lips and cast a frightened look back over his shoulder to where the disgruntled journalists and photographers were elbowing their way back down the staircase again.
"I do not understand what you mean, Mr. Pons."
Solar Pons eyed the secretary thoughtfully.
"I think you do, Mr. Dabson. Especially as you are related to the Reverend George Neville Stoner, the rector of Chislington, if I am not mistaken. There is a strong family resemblance in the features."
Daheon had stumbled back, ashen-faced. He tried to speak but was unable to do so. Pons turned to me with a bleak smile.
"Come, Parker, I think the rectory study will be the best place for our talk. As for you, Mrs. Harbinger, I trust that tonight's little adventure will prompt you not to put too much trust in such half-witted legends as those of the sealed spire."
Mrs. Harbinger glared at us and then marched imperiously down the staircase. Dabson followed, a broken figure.
Pons chuckled.
"A weak tool, Parker, in the grip of a stronger intellect If you will bring the bag and switch off the light as we leave, I will guide us down with my flashlight."
9
We were driving northward from Shap. Pons sat in his corner, his hands thrust deep into his ulster pockets, his brow knotted while clouds of sulfurous fumes from the bowl of his pipe ascended to the roof of the taxi. To my repeated questions he had merely murmured, "All in good time, Parker, all in good time," and lapsed into silence.
We had been traveling for some half an hour when the vehicle passed through the streets of a sleeping village and in through tall iron gates to deposit us at the steps of a white Victorian building.
Pons got down and ordered the driver to wait. I followed him up the steps to where a single lantern burned above the porch. A worried-looking housekeeper answered Pons's peremptory ring.
"Solar Pons to see the Reverend George Stoner," he announced.
The elderly woman looked at us doubtfully. She wore a thick, quilted dressing gown and had evidently been on the point of retiring.
"It is almost eleven o'clock, gentlemen. The rector is in bed and cannot be disturbed."
Pons took a piece of pasteboard from his pocket and scribbled something on it. He handed it to the housekeeper.
"Kindly give him this. I fancy he will see us."
The woman glanced at Pons's card in surprise, asked us to wait in the hall, and slammed the door behind us. She put on the light in a study to the right, which was furnished with almost sumptuous taste. We waited while the woman's footsteps ascended the stairs.
"Ah, Parker," said Solar Pons coolly, running his eye over the rector's crowded shelves. "Some ethical writings of Erasmus; the Gnostic Mass; Marcus Aurelius; Walter Pater. A catholic and devious mind, as I surmised."
I could not resist an acclamation.
"What exactly are we doing here, Pons?"
"Just a little more patience. I fancy that is our man now."
There was indeed a nervous tattoo on the staircase, and the study door burst open to admit a tall, lean, ascetic- looking man with a shock of white hair, a hook nose, and a lantern jaw. He wore a mouse-colored dressing gown and he stood breathing heavily, looking first at me and then at my companion.
"Which of you gentlemen is Mr. Solar Pons?"
Pons bowed stiffly.
"I answer to that cognomen, Rector."
The Reverend Mr. Stoner stepped forward, his face haughty and disdainful.
"Then perhaps, sir, you would be good enough to explain the impertinence written on this card?"
"Certainly," said Pons coolly. "It means, surely, that your persecution of your old colleague, Dr. Campbell, rector of Stapleford and sometime fellow student, must cease."
There was a long moment of silence while the rector stared at Pons with burning eyes.
"I take it you realize what you are saying?" he replied with deadly calm. "You would need proof for such a wild assertion."
"We have proof, Rector," said Pons quietly, taking a sheet of paper from his pocket. "Your wretched nephew, Isaac Dabson, has given me a full confession. A weak tool for such malicious work. If you do not do as I say, this document will be placed in the hands of the police."
The Reverend Mr. Stoner gave a strangled cry and stared at Pons with eyes which seemed to have become sunken and cavernous.
"Withdraw from the bishopric of Durham, Mr. Stoner!" said Pons in ringing tones.
He replaced the paper in his pocket.
"If you do not, then I will not hesitate to expose you as a malicious rogue! Come, Parker."
He strode from the room, leaving the shrunken figure of the rector alone in the study. I hurried at his heels and in a few moments more we were in the taxi driving back toward Shap and our comfortable rooms at the inn. Pons burst into laughter and hunted in his pocket for his pipe.
"Well, Parker, what do you make of such a pretty rascal?"
"I must confess, Pons, that I have not made a good deal of the whole muddled business," I said. "And I am afraid that it does not do too much credit to the cloth."
Pons stabbed the air with the stem of his pipe.
"Ah, Parker, there is a good deal of enmity and professional jealousy in the closed world of scholarship. I knew from the moment Dr. Campbell approached us that there was more to this affair than merely stupid practical jokes. Why should anyone want to play such idiotic and cruel tricks on a country rector? But he is a brilliant scholar and author, Parker. And in the world of scholarship there are often unsuspected depths beneath the placid surface ripples. Even before I came to Shap, I was convinced that I was looking for something in Dr. Campbell's past which was impinging upon the present."
"You astonish me, Pons."
"It would not be the first time, Parker," said Solar Pons, mischievous lights dancing in his eyes. "When I found that these manifestations had begun only six months ago and that Dabson had become the rector's secretary a year ago, I found my suspicions crystallizing. He would need some months to prepare the ground for these cruel and elaborate hoaxes, of course."
"But the motive, Pons!"
"That was crystal-clear also, and it took only a short while at the rectory for it to become obvious to me."
"Mrs. Harbinger..."
An expression of annoyance crossed Pons's face
"You disappoint me, Parker, you really do. Mrs. Harbinger was a red herring of only the crudest kind but admirable for Dabson's purposes. His entire purpose in Shap was to discredit Dr. Campbell, and this he proceeded to do by every means at his disposal. The rector sees no harm in anyone, but it was obvious from the scope and method of the annoyances perpetrated on our client that the agent behind them had to be someone close to him. Dabson was the only person who fitted that bill, and Mrs. Harbinger's vendetta against the rector and her reiterated parrot cries for the opening of the sealed spire put a ready tool to his hand."
Pons broke off for a moment and paused to relight his pipe, which had gone out unnoticed during his conversation with me.
"You may remember I was inordinately interested in the photograph of the rector and the members of his theological class. I had a shrewd suspicion from the outset that scholarship and professional rivalry were at the basis of the feud and I found a rapid means of ascertaining and establishing certain basic facts about Dr. Campbell, his fellow students and friends. We eliminated, as you recall, many people in the group through the action of war, age, and death. Of the handful remaining only one was suitable for my purposes."
"The Reverend Mr. Stoner," I interjected.
"Precisely. He had an unmistakable face—lean, with a hook nose and lantern jaw. When I saw those same traits prominently displayed in the physiognomy of Dabson, the admirable secretary, the coincidence was too great to be chance. I concluded, therefore, that Dabson was a relative of Stoner, who lived only twenty miles away. I established from Crockford's that he was a brilliant speaker, theologian, and author. There is nothing like a fellow student to harbor jealousy, rancor, and envy. When the two men follow the same profession, church or no, they are rivals for life, Parker. And Stoner was close at hand to direct the vendetta."
"You leave me sadly disillusioned, Pons."
Solar Pons shook his head, making sure with a sidelong glance that his pipe was drawing properly.
"You make the same basic mistake as the layman, Parker. Politics and religion are two of the greatest causes of strife and dissension on this planet. Eliminate them both and one would go a long way toward lasting peace."
"Come, Pons," I protested. "You go too far."
"Perhaps," my companion admitted. "But in the case of the Reverend Mr. Stoner, his hatred for the good Dr. Campbell had assumed paranoiac proportions. And in the person of his nephew he found a weak but willing tool Young Dabson was heavily in debt to bookmakers. In return for financial assistance from his uncle, he agreed to the plan to discredit his employer. I have this from his own lips."
He tapped the pocket of his ulster, in which reposed Dabson's signed confession.
"So that as soon as I clapped eyes on Dabson I was suspicious. In the first instance, he had told the rector he would be absent in the north. But here he was back again, unannounced. No doubt, to my mind, to prepare fresh mischief. When I saw traces of cobwebs on his coat, I deduced he had been at work in the church, a fact he himself immediately confirmed. He had, of course, been there to prepare the sick material displayed in the sealed spire. And it was his whole purpose, using Mrs. Harbinger's malice also to bring the rector to the point of going there."
"I must confess I am still not clear about this business, Pons."
"It was the piece de resistance, Parker, and would undoubtedly have succeeded had not Dr. Campbell asked for my assistance. It would have been the final scandal which would have broken Dr. Campbell and allowed his rival ascendancy. Why do you think Dabson went out of his way to call in the press and half the village in addition to Mrs. Harbinger? No, Parker, Dr. Campbell would have been a ruined man as many another discredited cleric before him."
"But the motive, Pons!"
The patient look was back on my companion's face.
"It was before you all the time, Parker. It has been in the newspapers the last few weeks, and I particularly drew your attention to the Times, where the matter was firmly under your gaze in heavy black type. But you insisted on reading out some asinine conclusions about a trunk murder."
I fear I stared at Pons for a long moment as though thunderstruck. A faintly mocking look had settled on Pons's lean features.
"The bishopric of Durham, Parker. That was the key to the whole thing. The article, if you had taken the trouble to read it, referred to the selection of the new bishop, one of the key posts in the Church of England. There were only two candidates, both men of high repute; both authors and brilliant scholars."
"Dr. Campbell and the Reverend Mr. Stoner, Pons!"
"Exactly, Parker. And a man of doubtful sanity like Dr. Campbell, who was involved in sexual and other scandals over a period of months in his own village, would hardly be preferred over someone of the Reverend Mr. Stoner's character."
I sat back in the cab.
"What a damnable villain, Pons. And I have been extremely obtuse."
"On the contrary, Parker, you have been invaluable, as always. And with your assistance we have persuaded Dr. Stoner to withdraw, and Dr. Campbell's preferment is assured."
"What will you tell him, Pons?"
"Merely that young Dabson was called away due to the illness of a relative. He will not return. And I have no doubt that within a day or two we will see that the Reverend Mr. Stoner's candidature has been withdrawn."
10
And so It proved. Pons and I were at breakfast a month later when he slit open a large buff envelope which had come in the morning's mail. A check fluttered to the carpet, and I picked it up and handed it to him. He smoothed it and raised his eyebrows.
"From Dr. Campbell. He has been extraordinarily generous, Parker."
"I take it he is to be the new bishop of Durham, Pons?"
"Ah, you have seen this morning's Times."
I nodded, studying Pons's face as he rummaged about within the envelope.
"I fancy Dr. Campbell's advancement will be rapid from now on, Parker. He is seventy, which is a mere stripling as senior churchmen go. I would expect to see him translated to York within five years. Do you realize that by the time he is seventy-eight, our client might well be the new archbishop of Canterbury?"
"You are joking, Pons!"
Solar Pons put down his teacup and looked at me severely.
"I was never more serious, Parker. But in the meantime a more pleasant duty. Here is an invitation for us both to attend the investiture of the new bishop of Durham at the end of March. I trust you will be free, my dear fellow."
Pons paused and then chuckled.
"I fancy Dr. Campbell will be none too sorry to arrive at Durham. I fear he will have found great difficulty in persuading Mrs. Harbinger that I have not burned the Great Scroll of Thoth."
The Adventure of the Six Gold Doubloons
1
"The laws of chance operate in quite arbitrary ways, Parker, and despite all man's puny efforts and painstaking care, the best-laid schemes often come to naught."
My friend, Solar Pons, was sitting on the park bench looking at me with a mocking expression. It was a beautiful day in early summer, and Hyde Park was crowded with people strolling or sitting on the grass while London's traffic came as a muffled roar from beyond the tall iron railings. I stared at my companion in astonishment.
"Really, Pons! Your deductive feats become ever more astonishing. That was just what I was thinking."
Pons chuckled.
"There was little magical about it, Parker," I can assure you. For the last fifteen minutes you have been completely absorbed by the activities of those ants on the tree stump just behind this bench. During all that time a band of them has been engaged in the herculean effort of transporting a large wood splinter to the top of the stump. It must weigh hundreds of times their own weight and yet they have persisted. I noted by your expression that your enthusiasm was entirely with the ants. Yet, just as they were on the point of success, the thing slipped and has tumbled to the bottom again. All is to do once more, and by your crestfallen expression I read, aright it seems, your rueful thoughts on not only the ant's but on man's condition."
