I had never heard Pons so vociferous on this subject before and I stared at him in surprise until he eventually broke off his discourse with a dry chuckle.
“So you think Superintendent Heathfield will ask your advice, Pons?”
“It is entirely possible, Parker.”
He took the pipe from his mouth and stabbed the air with its stem to emphasise his point.
“Heathfield knows I have already had a run-in with LaFontaine and he is wise enough to realise that he will need specialist advice.”
“You mean the background of the Museum, Pons?”
“Exactly. Colonel Loder is, of course, one of the highest authorities in the land on Oriental art and artefacts. But he is a busy man and has many duties to occupy his time. He cannot spend every day trailing around with Heathfield and his officers.”
“Whereas you have a certain knowledge in this area and would like nothing better than to cross swords with LaFontaine again, Pons.”
“You have hit it exactly, Parker,” said Solar Pons good-humouredly, his alert figure jerking upright in his chair. A moment or two later I caught the soft footfall of our admirable landlady Mrs Johnson ascending to our quarters. The discreet tap on the door was followed by the motherly face of that good lady herself which insinuated itself somewhat nervously round the panel.
“I am sorry to disturb you, Mr Pons.”
“Not at all, Mrs Johnson,” said my companion, rising to his feet. “Come in by all means. Dr Parker and I were merely indulging in a little idle speculation.”
Mrs Johnson entered and closed the door behind her.
“I have just had a telephone call, Mr Pons. From Scotland yard.”
Solar Pons’ eyes were dancing with mischievous lights as he glanced across at me.
“Indeed?”
“I was asked to relay a message to you, Mr Pons. From Superintendent Heathfield.”
Pons’ eyes held an ironic expression as he continued to face in my direction.
“He wishes to consult you, Mr Pons. Something about a museum. I did not quite catch the name, I am afraid.”
“It does not matter. Mrs Johnson. It would be the Mentmore, would it not?”
“That was it, Mr Pons!” said our landlady, relief on her good-natured face. “He said if it was convenient he would like to call on you within the hour. Knowing you, Mr Pons, I took the liberty of saying it would be.”
“Certainly, Mrs Johnson. You were perfectly correct. It would be entirely convenient.”
And Solar Pons sat down at the fireside and smoked his pipe with great contentment until the arrival of our visitor.
2
Superintendent Heathfield looked at Pons with a quizzical expression. The trim military figure, the clipped grey moustache and the elegant suit and overcoat all bespoke of great energy and neatness of mind.
“You will find the sugar bowl at your elbow. Superintendent.”
“Thank you, Mr Pons.”
Heathfield dropped two cubes of sugar into his cup with the silver tongs and stirred thoughtfully, his twinkling brown eyes glancing first at Pons and then at me.
“You are not surprised to see me here?”
Pons shook his head.
“Parker and I were discussing you earlier on. I would have done exactly as you are doing had I been in your position.”
Heathfield smiled.
“I do not quite understand you.”
“I think you do. Superintendent.”
“Pons was expounding one of his favourite maxims,” I volunteered to the Scotland Yard official.
“When confronted by problems which call for specialist knowledge, first consult a specialist.”
The Superintendent shot me a shrewd glance.
“Unlike some of my official colleagues, eh. doctor?”
“Perhaps,” I said. “We did not get on to personalities.”
Pons gave me an approving glance from beneath his lowered lids.
Heathfield chuckled.
“Well, you are right again, Mr Pons. I have called about this Mentmore Museum business. As you have undoubtedly seen by this morning’s papers both the Museum authorities and the Yard are taking it seriously.”
“I am glad to hear you say so,” said Pons crisply. “And as I have already had some experience of Mr LaFontaine you seek my advice.”
The Superintendent inclined his head ironically, his eyes dancing.
“I immediately detected his handiwork, Mr Pons. As you know why I am here perhaps you know what I am about to show you.”
“Naturally. The letter this impudent scoundrel sent Colonel Loder.”
The Superintendent smiled and rummaged in a crocodile-skin briefcase he had put down on the table.
“You have no objection to lending your talents to this investigation, Mr Pons?”
My companion shook his head.
“Delighted. Superintendent. I could think of nothing that would give me more pleasure.”
He glanced across at me.
“Providing you have no objection to Parker?”
The Superintendent looked at me in surprise.
“Good heavens, no. An honour to have you both.”
Pons rubbed his thin fingers together in satisfaction.
“Excellent. And now to business.”
Heathfield had produced from his briefcase a large, buff-coloured envelope. It was addressed to Colonel Loder at the Museum and bore a London postmark I saw as Pons held it up toward me. The writing was in thick blue ink, the lettering exquisitely formed.
“First-rate,” said Pons, glancing casually at the superscription.
“And exactly the same as those messages sent during our last encounter.”
He bent over the envelope, his magnifying lens held closely over the paper.
“Expensive envelope, Glamis Bond, sold at high-class stationery shops throughout the land. Written with a quill, which he has cut himself. The pen-strokes are typical of the method and the handwriting is definitely the same as before, whether LaFontaine be a nom-de-plume or not.”
He frowned, holding up the envelope to the light.
“Posted at St John’s Wood, I see.”
“How do you know that, Mr Pons?”
There was sharp curiosity in the Superintendent’s voice. “I thought all these letters were stamped by the sorting office at St Martins-le-Grand.”
“So they are,” said Pons casually. “And here is their stamp. But this was handed in at the postal area covered by St John’s Wood, probably when our man bought the stamps. There is a disfigurement of the V in the 15th of the month. I have noticed this for some months. It is about time they changed the stamp but like most Government departments it denotes parsimoniousness.”
The Superintendent turned sharp eyes on my companion.
“You think our man lives in St John’s Wood?”
“It is possible.” said Pons lightly. “But I attach no importance to the fact. It signifies little and such an artist as LaFontaine would think nothing of going miles out of his way to post such a letter, to avoid being traced.”
The Superintendent blew out his breath with an audible hiss.
“If you think he is so careful why does he go to all this trouble to warn the authorities of an impending burglary?”
Pons smiled.
“Ah, you have noticed that, have you? It is of the greatest significance, is it not, Parker?”
“If you say so, Pons,” I mumbled.
“Let us just have a quick look at the contents,” Pons continued. “I think I have learned all that can usefully be gathered from the envelope.”