“What is in these boxes, Inspector?”
“I understand from Buckfast that Colonel Gantley, the gentleman who has leased Cheneys, is an antique dealer and importer of curios. Some of the stuff is very valuable, according to Buckfast; while other material is oriental workmanship of no very great value imported into the country for the Colonel’s business. He has a shop in Hampstead High Street, which was why he wanted to move nearer his premises.”
“Just so,” said Pons languidly, looking through half-closed eyes at the legends stencilled on the wooden boxes immediately in front of us.
“The gentleman certainly seems to have very extensive sources, Parker. Hong Kong, Manila. Singapore, Peking and Hangkow are just a few of the names I see before me.”
He stepped round a bundle of straw and looked sharply at a small porcelain Buddha which had been unpacked on a rough wooden bench.
“Rather charming work, wouldn’t you say so, Parker?”
“Excellent, Pons,” I agreed.
Indeed, the workmanship was first-rate and I was surprised to see that the label bore a price of only seven guineas.
“It is astonishingly cheap, Pons.”
“Is it not, Parker. But then labour is plentiful in the East, as you are no doubt aware.”
“I should not mind that on the mantel at 7B, Pons.”
“As you say, Parker, a nice piece. No doubt you may make the Colonel an offer for it when we see him in a moment.”
Pons moved away and as he did so his shoes made a harsh, gritty noise on the cement floor of the store-room. Jamison had already turned back to the open air as the thin form of a man came hurrying down the garden toward us, visible through the half-open door. To my astonishment Pons was on his knees, scraping with his fingernails at some white substance on the cement.
My amazement was increased when I saw him tentatively taste it with the extreme tip of his tongue. He put his hand back in his pocket, turned to me and then we were walking up the garden to meet the hurrying figure, before I had time to make any comment on this strange behaviour.
Colonel Gantley turned out to be a tall, fussy-looking man in his early sixties with whitening hair and a frayed silver moustache. He had deep furrows at the corners of his mouth that made his yellow face look like something out of one of those plays set on tropical islands which were becoming the vogue in the West end. He wore a lightweight drill suit with military-style buttons and his brown eyes twinkled benevolently from behind silver-rimmed spectacles.
“A disturbing business, gentlemen,” he said briskly, as Jamison introduced us. “I hope that nothing has been stolen from my premises.”
“They were all secure, sir,” said the Inspector. “And thank you for letting us look around.”
“Always anxious to assist the police,” said the Colonel, clasping my companion by the hand. “Mr Solar Pons. It is a pleasure, my dear sir. But you are surely not interested in this trifling affair of my neighbour’s burglary?”
Pons gave a dry laugh.
“Not at all. Colonel. I am assisting the police in another matter and needing to consult Inspector Jamison, was told I could find him here.”
“I see. Well. I am at your disposal, gentlemen, but I do not think I shall be of much help.”
“One never knows,” said Jamison mildly. “You heard nothing at all during the night, I understand?”
“Nothing, Inspector. But then I am a very heavy sleeper and my room is at the side of the house. Of course, anyone could have approached the studio by way of the drive. The gates are never locked. Mr Schneider sometimes leaves at a late hour. I hear his car during the night on occasion.”
“Indeed,” said Pons casually.
We were strolling back down the garden now in the bright sunlight, the faint hum of the traffic coming from the main road which passed through the Vale of Health.
“You have not contacted Mr Schneider, then?” said Colonel Gantley.
Inspector Jamison shook his head.
“We have rung his house, of course. But I understand from his secretary that Mr Schneider is away at present.”
“I see. Well, I hope you catch your man. Now, if there is nothing further, I must get back to my business.”
“By all means, Colonel. I am sorry to have taken your time.”
We shook hands with the Colonel and watched as he strode back down the driveway to where his car was parked in the side road. A few moments later its engine faded into the general traffic noise.
“So much for that, Pons,” I observed.
Solar Pons had been silent, idly drawing patterns in the dust at his feet with the toe of his shoe.
“As you say, Parker.”
Jamison frowned, screwing up his eyes against the strong light.
“What next. Mr Pons?”
“I really think a call at Mr Schneider’s private residence is indicated, Jamison.”
“Just as you say, Mr Pons.”
Schneider’s new address proved to be a narrow-chested three-storey house of mellow red brick, just off the bustle of Hampstead high Street. The brass fittings of the red front door sparkled in the sunlight and in the small front garden I recognised a granite phoenix created by Schneider, which had once been exhibited at the Paris Exposition.
The door was opened for us by Inspector Buckfast, who had preceded his colleague. He jerked his thumb back over his shoulder.
“I have just told his secretary, Godfrey Horrabin. He has taken it badly. The housekeeper, Mrs Biggins, is resting in her room.”
Jamison nodded without speaking and a moment later Buckfast led the way down a thickly carpeted corridor to a well-appointed study where the secretary was waiting.
Godfrey Horrabin turned out to be a dark-haired man of about thirty, with an ashen-white face and full lips from which the colour had now fled. He rose from his employer’s desk as we entered and I then realised he was of an enormous height, well over six feet tall. I shot a significant glance at Pons but he appeared to be occupied in looking about him at the contents of the study as Buckfast introduced us.
“I am sorry, gentlemen, but this has been a dreadful shock. A dreadful shock.”
Horrabin slumped back into his chair and passed a handkerchief over his face. Pons sat down opposite him at the other side of the desk and looked at him sympathetically.
“I quite understand, Mr Horrabin. These things tend to fell one at the time. You’ll forgive me, Jamison, for asking the questions.”
“Go ahead, Mr Pons.”
Jamison and I sat down in padded leather chairs which were set near the desk and I looked round curiously as Horrabin fought to control his feelings.
“You have been with Mr Schneider how long?”
“For the past five years, Mr Pons.”
“So that you know him and his habits fairly well?”
“As well as anyone could, I should imagine.”
The secretary replaced the handkerchief in the breast pocket of his blue jacket and appeared more composed.
“Was he a tempestuous man? One who would have made many enemies in the course of his career?”
The secretary gave a faint smile which momentarily lightened his features.
“Like most artists he was extremely temperamental. He had been involved in some tremendous arguments and on occasion in actual physical violence.”
Pons’ eyes were fixed on the secretary’s face. He tented his fingers before him and leaned back in his chair, his whole figure expressing dynamic energy.
“Tell me about it, Mr Horrabin.”
The secretary shrugged.
“It is a well-known story, Mr Pons. A famous rivalry between two sculptors. I have known them take each other’s mallets and actually demolish portions of each other’s work with which they were offended.”