As he spoke the dark-coated man advanced from the doorway of the tailor’s establishment, making placatory gestures. The Duke shrugged and the other made some adjustments to his jacket. A few seconds later, the two men disappeared into the shop, the chauffeur slammed the door of the sumptuous motor vehicle and Regent Street resumed its normal placid appearance, the flow of pedestrians going smoothly forward.
“A grotesque little drama, Parker, not without elements of French farce,” said Solar Pons reflectively. “And certainly enlivening our walk. A microcosm of the human comedy, one might say.”
“There is no getting round you. Pons,” I said. “If anyone other than you had sketched such a story for me, I should have been highly sceptical.”
“You are at liberty to check the facts. Parker, if you wish. We have only to step over the way, as the Duke is not unknown to me.”
I smilingly declined the offer.
“I have no doubt everything you said is correct, Pons. It is only that I occasionally find your infallibility somewhat galling.”
Solar Pons gazed at me sombrely from his deep-set eyes and shook his head.
“Hardly infallible, Parker. I have had my share of failure. It is just that I seldom venture an opinion until I am absolutely sure of my ground.”
We were both silent until we had reached the lower end of Regent Street and were skirting Piccadilly Circus. Pons glanced at his watch as we turned down into Hay market.
“Such a promenade is a great stimulator of the appetite, Parker. What do you say to a spot of lunch at Simpson’s?”
“The idea is an admirable one, Pons.”
“Is it not, Parker. Simpson’s it is. Then I really must return to Praed Street as I have a client coming to see me at three o’clock. Are you free this afternoon? If so, I would like you to be present.”
“Nothing would give me greater pleasure, Pons. Something interesting?”
“I have high hopes, Parker, high hopes.”
And he said nothing further on the matter until we had returned to 7B.
2
It was just a quarter-past three and Pons was showing signs of impatience when Mrs Johnson, our amiable landlady, announced my companion’s visitor. The tall, pale young woman she ushered in bore a marked look of suffering on her features. She would have been extremely attractive otherwise, with her tawny yellow hair that fell over her shoulders, her full lips and white, perfect teeth. As it was, she had a drawn expression about the face and a lurking fear in her hazel eyes, which glanced quickly about her as though half-afraid of what she might see.
“I fancy the young lady could do with some tea, Mrs Johnson,” said Pons, looking at our visitor sympathetically and ushering her over to a comfortable chair.
“I will see about it at once, Mr Pons,” said our landlady, bustling out.
“It was good of you to see me, Mr Pons,” said the young lady in a low, cultured voice, sitting down and taking off her long white gloves. She was plainly but well dressed in a high-busted suit, fashionably cut, of some light material appropriate to the weather, and appeared more at her ease by the minute.
“From your letter it seemed that your problem was so grave it could brook no delay,” said Solar Pons. “Miss Stuart, this is my very good friend and colleague, Dr Lyndon Parker. Miss Elizabeth Stuart of Grassington, Parker.”
I came forward to shake the young lady’s hand. We waited a few minutes. Pons talking of trivial matters, obviously to put the girl at ease. When Mrs Johnson had brought the tea-things and withdrawn. Pons passed a cup to our client and seated himself in his favourite chair. His deep-set eyes never left her face.
“For the benefit of Dr Parker, Miss Stuart, it might be as well to recapitulate the contents of your letter. I shall need a great many more details before being able to come to any definite conclusions but it would appear a problem which presents unusual points of interest.”
Miss Stuart sipped her tea, a frown furrowing the smoothness of the brow.
“It is rather more than that, Mr Pons,” she said.
Solar Pons smiled wryly, tenting his lean fingers before him.
“Pray take no offence, Miss Stuart. I speak purely from the viewpoint of the private consulting detective. It is obvious that you have been through a good deal.”
“Indeed, Miss Stuart,” I added. “You have our sympathy.”
The girl smiled shyly. The shadows seemed to lift from her face.
“I am sure of that, Dr Parker. Oh, gentlemen, if only you knew how I have suffered these past months.”
“Pray tell us about it in your own words,” Solar Pons invited.
He leaned back in the chair, the sunlight at the window turning his alert, aquiline features to bronze.
“Well, gentlemen,” the girl began hesitantly, “as I indicated in my letter, I live in a small village near Haslemere in Surrey, where my father was Rector.”
“Was, Miss Stuart?”
The girl nodded, the sadness returning to her face.
“Father died suddenly, under tragic circumstances, about two years ago. Fortunately, the house in which we live belonged to my parents and was not part of the living or I do not know what Mother and I would have done. Father had small means and had contributed to a pension fund and we have contrived to manage, with my teaching work.”
“I am glad to hear that, Miss Stuart,” I commented. “It is very often difficult when the head of the family dies under such circumstances.”
“What were the circumstances?” interjected Solar Pons crisply.
The girl looked momentarily startled.
“I do not quite understand, Mr Pons.”
“Of your father’s death, Miss Stuart.”
“There was a crash one evening, during the winter-time. Mother ran in, Father was in the study, consulting some old books. He was lying near the bookcase, quite dead by the time Mother got to him, a Bible open at his feet. She swore he had been frightened by something, there was such a look of terror on his face.”
“I see.”
Solar Pons’ face was sombre as he stared at the girl.
“What was the medical opinion?”
“Our family doctor said it was a heart attack. Mr Pons. Such an expression was common in angina cases, he said.”
“That is perfectly true,” I interposed. “Though I can imagine your mother’s distress.”
“It was a difficult time, Dr Parker,” the girl said quietly. “But it was not of that I
wished to speak. You have my letter there, Mr Pons?”
“Indeed,” said my companion, producing a pale blue envelope from his inside pocket and opening it. “You speak here of terrifying, inexplicable events which have afflicted you and your mother. Pray tell us about them.”
“They began back in the winter,” the girl continued. “On a dark day of wind and driving rain. Our house, though a pleasant Georgian edifice, is quite near to the churchyard and from some windows, particularly the study, looks out on a sombre view of ancient trees and tombstones with the church beyond.”
She paused as though the recollection of something too deep for words had disturbed her. I took the opportunity of rising in the brief interval to pour her another cup of tea. Miss Stuart sipped gratefully for a few moments before resuming.
“I had heard a tapping sound some while before but had thought little of it, because of the noise of the wind. Mother was lying down upstairs before dinner. Hannah, our housekeeper, was in the kitchen. It was a little after dark and I had been reading by the fire in the parlour. I suddenly heard a loud cracking noise. It was somehow connected with the tapping sounds and appeared to come from my father’s study.