Solar Pons put down his coffee sup and tented his fingers before him as he looked round the table with suppressed excitement.
“I am sorry to have roused you at such an inopportune hour, Miss Stuart, and what I am going to say may cause some distress.”
Our client looked at us wide-eyed.
“Distress, Mr Pons?”
Solar Pons nodded.
“It concerns your family and does not reflect very well on one of its members. Under these circumstances, if you would prefer the Rector to withdraw, I am sure he would understand.”
Miss Stuart looked round the table in bewilderment, then clenched her jaw firmly.
“I have no secrets from the Rector, gentlemen. And I am sure that what is said here tonight will remain within these four walls unless there is good reason for making it public.”
“Well said, Miss Stuart. I did not expect you to give any other answer.”
Solar Pons looked at the fair-haired girl with a reassuring expression and sipped his coffee before replacing the cup in the saucer.
“This story begins a long time ago, Miss Stuart. In fact, it goes back to your childhood, one might say.”
Miss Elizabeth Stuart looked at Pons wide-eyed.
“You astonish me. Mr Pons.”
My companion leaned back in his chair and began to light his pipe at our client’s extended permission.
“As soon as you visited me at 7B Praed Street and told us your strange story, it was self-evident that your bearded visitor had a definite purpose in view. Two visits by the same burglar might be coincidence but a whole series, with nothing stolen, was so bizarre a circumstance that I rapidly came to the conclusion that the intruder was searching for something. Something hidden within this study.”
Solar Pons put his match down in a crystal ash-tray on the table and puffed a cloud of fragrant blue smoke at the ceiling. He stared at it almost dreamily through the misty atmosphere.
“I had formed two conclusions before I left London, Parker. The first I have already mentioned. The second was that the man engaged in such a desperate search was disguised.”
I looked at Pons in astonishment.
“You cannot mean it. Pons!”
My companion shook his head impatiently.
“It was self-evident, Parker. Miss Stuart had called the police. Inquiries had been made in the neighbourhood, on more than one occasion. But no-one had seen a bearded man with an evil face and with a distinctive scar on his thumb. It was surely impossible for such a person to come and go in a small village like Grassington, even at night, without being seen. Therefore, it was elementary that he was disguised. As we have seen, our captive wore a mask. Not so much to conceal his own identity as to create a false one. So that even if he were seen it did not matter. His scarred thumb could easily be concealed by gloves or a piece of sticking plaster whenever he went out in his own persona.”
“That is all very well, Pons, and we now know the reason, but what was behind the whole charade?”
“Patience, Parker. The genesis of the affair goes back a good many years, and this is why we have to be discreet. It all began. Miss Stuart, in your childhood. Your uncle, Jeremy Stuart. You spoke of him as the black sheep of the family, if I recall your words correctly. And mentioned that he had emigrated to Australia. The expression black sheep usually carries the connotation of being a wild young fellow. Unfortunately, Jeremy Stuart was an habitual criminal and so far from emigrating he fled the country to avoid the police. In Australia he served a lengthy prison sentence for burglary and it was some years before England saw him again.”
Miss Stuart had gone pale and she gazed at Pons with trembling lips. Pons put out his hand and clasped her own.
“Have no fear, Miss Stuart. Everything is over and done with. I am sorry to distress you but the truth must out. as I think the Rector would agree.”
The Rev. Stokesby nodded sombrely. His burning eyes, which never left Pons’ face, now wore an expression of approbation. The girl smiled faintly.
“I am sorry, Mr Pons. It is a shock to find that an apparently respectable family contains such a hidden secret. But it explains much that was mysterious and troubled about my father.”
I gave Miss Stuart an approving glance.
“It is no disgrace, Miss Stuart,” I assured her. “Many families contain a member who goes wrong in one way or another. You are not responsible for your uncle and it is certainly not your family’s fault that he turned out so badly.”
“Well said, Parker,” interjected Pons warmly. “And I am sure in his own way, Miss Stuart, your father did everything to redress the balance by his Christian work and charity in this parish.”
“I can certainly endorse that, Mr Pons,” said the Rev. Isaac Stokesby. “I have never heard such testimony as the terms used by the people of Grassington about my predecessor.”
Miss Stuart blushed.
“You are most kind, gentlemen. I promise I will not give way again, no matter what revelations you have to make about my uncle. Please proceed.”
Solar Pons gave our client an encouraging look and went on as though he were thinking aloud.
“When your uncle eventually returned to England he sought refuge with his brother. It was while he was staying here at The Old Rectory that a daring scheme came into his mind. It was no less than the major robbery of valuables belonging to Sir Roger Cresswell of Cresswell Manor. He obviously carried it out with the aid of criminal associates. The gang escaped with valuables worth over £100.000. The haul would be worth considerably more now.”
The Rector stared at Pons open-mouthed.
“How do you know all this. Mr Pons?”
My companion shrugged.
“From my own deductions and the records of Scotland Yard. Friend Jamison has his uses, eh, Parker?”
“Undoubtedly, Pons. But I must confess I am in the dark over a number of things.”
“Patience, Parker. It will take only a few minutes to unravel the remaining threads.”
Pons turned to Miss Stuart.
“What do you remember of your uncle from your childhood, Miss Stuart?”
“He seemed very kind and amiable, Mr Pons. He was very fond of antiquities and was often in the church and churchyard.”
Solar Pons smiled.
“It was undoubtedly his researches in your church. Rector, which led him to the Cresswell vault.”
“Eigh?”
The dark, bearded face looked startled.
“I am afraid, Mr Stokesby, that you will find your church in some disorder tomorrow. Miss Stuart’s uncle, when he committed the robbery at Cresswell Manor in 1912. had the foresight to prepare a hiding place no-one would suspect. He hid the valuables in a hamper at the entrance to the Cresswell vault in the side chapel of the church. It has been there to this day and in fact Parker and I have only recently recovered it. This is what our visitor was looking for. Sir Roger Cresswell was killed on the Somme and buried in France and as he was the last of the line the vault was never opened again.”
There was a thunderous silence in the study and the Rector stared at Solar Pons as though he had been struck dumb. Pons blew out more fragrant smoke and continued imperturbably.
“I do not know how closely he took his criminal associates into his confidence, but I am willing to bet that your uncle was the undisputed leader and told no-one of the hiding place. He obviously prepared his groundwork well and secured the spoils at dead of night while your father and family were asleep. He could easily have taken the keys to the church from your father’s study.
“The gang had scattered far and wide, of course, but Stuart, as the Rector’s brother and a guest at The Old Rectory would have been above suspicion. From what I have been able to learn from Scotland Yard, your father quite naturally kept his brother’s scandalous activities quiet. It is equally obvious that he did not really know anything about them, though he suspected much and at last came to realise his brother’s callous and criminal nature. But Stuart is a common enough name and it is no great feat of reasoning to deduce that no-one in Grassington would ever have known that their Rector’s brother and honoured guest was in reality a hardened criminal who had served prison terms in Australia.”