“As I have already indicated, I am relying on him doing so, Parker. You must remain in the library, of course. And do try to give some intelligent answers about the books. There will undoubtedly be genuine dealers present. The most valuable books are in the locked glass bookcase near the far window. Only the genuine bibliophile will go there. The person who hangs about the shelves near the French windows will either be a cleric; an enthusiastic amateur who is interested in all old books as opposed to first editions; or the man we want. Just leave him alone. We shall know soon enough when that paper has been taken. He can do nothing until after dark, in any event.”
“Certainly, Pons.”
Solar Pons seemed satisfied and when he had called at the commercial office of the newspaper to thank the lady in charge of the files we left the building and took our taxi back to The Old Rectory. Pons’ remarks about Miss Stuart’s father had aroused many impressions in my mind; to tell the truth I had quite forgotten this aspect in the excitement of our discovery and with the passing of the hours toward the time when the newspaper advertisement would appear, my apprehension grew.
The roots of the mystery appeared to lie in happenings which had occurred ten or more years ago and the longer I thought about it the more impenetrable did the matter appear. Of course, I knew that the people who had robbed Cresswell Manor had apparently buried their booty in the church, but why the Rev. Stuart should die of shock in his library; or who the bearded man with the scarred thumb might be was beyond my poor capabilities. I tried to apply Pons’ methods in my own humble way but soon had to give up.
And how had the coded messages appeared in the Rector’s Bible in his own study? The more I thought about it the more tangled it became and it was with relief that I saw the lean, spare figure of Pons reappear in the garden after his walk. His carriage was alert and his eyes were sparkling as he came through the French windows into the library. He had earlier taken the two calls from Jamison and Bancroft Pons but had not volunteered any information and I knew better than to ask.
“Well. Parker,” he said. “We progress.”
“I am glad to hear it, Pons.”
My companion sank into one of the wing chairs by the empty fireplace, now filled with a blaze of summer flowers, and stared at me quizzically.
“I think I not only know the reasons why Miss Stuart’s bearded man appeared so frequently in this room, but I have his name.”
I gazed at Pons open-mouthed.
“This is incredible, Pons.”
“Pray do not exaggerate, Parker. Once I had the right direction in which to work it was merely a question of narrowing down.”
He tented his thin fingers before him and fixed his gaze over toward the open French windows behind my back.
“Your walk has been productive, then?”
“It was not without its rewards, Parker. The exercise was certainly beneficial. Two of the sites were occupied by true Romanies. The third encampment, that in the quarry, was filled with a heterogeneous collection of didecais and travellers. It should serve our purpose well enough.”
I glanced at Pons with rising irritation. He read the expression in my eyes and his lips curled in a faint smile.
“Just a few hours more, Parker. My theories are not proven yet.”
He glanced over at the clock in the corner.
“And now, Parker, the time is almost six o’clock. Miss Stuart has her instructions. The housekeeper will refer any callers to you and you know my thoughts on the matter.”
“Certainly, Pons.”
Pons crossed over to the far bookshelves and checked the Bible we had replaced there. Then he closed and locked the French windows, shooting the bolts for good measure. He glanced round the room, as though setting the scene.
“Let me just recapitulate. The newspaper reaches Grassington in a quarter of an hour or a little after. If our man is as alert as I think him we might expect him as early as seven o’clock. Though he may not take the bait until tomorrow.”
He crossed over toward the door.
“Oh, by the bye, any telephone calls you may regard as being from genuine dealers. Those in which the callers require appointments for tomorrow or succeeding days I should certainly class as bona fide and pass them on to Miss Stuart.”
“Very well, Pons. What will you be doing?”
“I shall remain in my room, Parker, where I shall have a very good view of people walking up the front path without myself being observed. It would not do for our man to connect me with the energetic walker of this afternoon.”
I could not repress a faint snort of impatience.
“Very well, Pons. No doubt this will all become clear in time.”
“No doubt, Parker. I trust you to play your part.”
Solar Pons quitted the room swiftly and I heard his quick, athletic tread on the stairs. He had no sooner closed the door of his chamber when I heard the shrill of the telephone from the hall outside. A few moments later the face of Hannah, the housekeeper, appeared nervously at the library door.
“Some London book dealers, sir. Shall I fetch Miss Stuart?”
I nodded and went to pick up the receiver.
“Brackett and Prall of Pall Mall here, sir,” said the bland voice at the other end. “Your advertisement in the Surrey Observer has been brought to our attention by a dealer in Guildford. Would it be convenient for us to arrange an appointment for tomorrow morning?”
I found Miss Stuart at my elbow and thankfully relinquished the instrument. I went back into the library and sat down at the table by the window. I attempted to read a book but I confess my mind was not on the lines. My purpose there in the library: the black mystery surrounding the death of our client’s father: the bearded man who seemed to haunt the Rectory and grounds: the stolen hoard of silver buried in the church vault; and the responsibility Pons had placed upon me all combined to set my brain whirling.
I got up after a while and paced up and down the pleasant library, my mood widely at variance with the mellow sunlight which streamed through the windows. Twice more the telephone jangled in the hall outside and then Miss Stuart put her head round the door to say that two more rare book dealers hoped to come the following day.
It was almost seven o’clock when the front door-bell rang. I was just going out when Hannah crossed the hall in front of me, a tall, familiar figure behind her. He smiled somewhat crookedly at me.
“Ah, Dr Parker, I saw the advertisement in the paper just now. Miss Stuart told me nothing about selling up her father’s books.”
“It was a sudden whim,” I explained. “Please go in and browse about at your leisure.”
“Thank you, doctor.”
I watched Major Alan Kemp cross the hall with his firm, athletic stride and disappear within the study. I was about to join him when there came another ring at the door-bell. Hannah looked at me with widening eyes.
“Allow me this time,” I said.
I opened the door to reveal the massive, bearded face of the Rector, the Rev. Isaac Stokesby. He wore a neat grey suit with his clerical collar beneath and he seemed considerably surprised to see me. He waved a copy of the Surrey Observer in my face.
“I have just seen Miss Stuart’s advertisement, doctor. It seemed to me a good opportunity to add some ecclesiastical volumes to the church library. I trust it is not inconvenient…?”
“By no means. Rector. Do come in. You know the study. You will find Major Kemp already there.”
“Indeed,” said Stokesby coolly.
He hesitated, as though he would have changed his mind but apparently thought better of it.
“Perhaps you would be good enough to tell her I am here.”
“I will tell Miss Stuart,” I said.
When I returned with our client two other visitors had called: they were already in the study. I smiled encouragingly at Miss Stuart.