I took the flashlight from him and steadied it up on the wooden structure. Pons bent to it with a grunt. His hands moved about, seeking a purchase and then he had thrown his whole weight against it as though it were a point-lever in a railway signal cabin.
“There is a counter-weight, evidently,” he said thoughtfully as there came a perceptible rumble. I was so startled that I almost dropped the torch when a black hole suddenly appeared in the flooring of the platform, growing longer until it reached almost to my feet.
“Brilliantly ingenious,” said Solar Pons, taking the torch from me and casting its beam down the stairwell.
“As you will see the boarding was not tongue and groove up here, but fitted flush. It was the only possible explanation to the mystery.”
I now saw that the heavy pine planks of the floor had separated to form steps; they were held from beneath by flat pieces of metal screwed to them and which from below I had taken as strengthening bands for the ceiling. The whole thing resembled nothing so much as a gigantic piece of trellis-work.
“But why all this elaboration, Pons?”
“Supposing some of Mr Schneider’s lady-friends were illustrious names, who could not afford a scandal, Parker. What simpler than the pretence of renting a garage in this quiet spot. The lady could simply drive her car in, lock the door behind her and ascend to the studio from the interior of the store-room and no-one the wiser.”
I gazed at Pons in mute admiration.
“You are undoubtedly right. You knew this all the time, Pons!”
Solar Pons slowly shook his head.
“I knew there had to be an entrance. The motive for it did not cross my mind until we found those letters in Schneider’s study.”
He put his hand on my arm, his head on one side.
“Have your revolver ready, friend Parker. Something is moving in the garage below. I fancy I have just heard the outer door softly close. Take no chances but if you have to shoot try to wound rather than kill. I will just get to the light-switch yonder.”
He moved silently away, extinguishing the torch. I had the revolver in my hand when the staircase trembled to a furious tread and a gigantic shadow rushed toward me in the bleached moonlight.
7
There was a savage cry which made my nerves jump but my hand was steady enough as I levelled the revolver. The huge figure reached the top of the stairs and turned toward me with incredible speed, the heavy mass of timber held threateningly over its head.
“For heaven’s sake, man!”
Pons’ voice, crisp and incisive rang out as there came the click of the light-switch and the studio was bathed in incandescence. I stood as though paralysed but I came to myself at Pons’ cry.
“Fire for your life, Parker!”
The vast man with the yellow face distorted with hatred was almost on me when I squeezed the trigger. He grunted and turned aside, scarlet spreading on his shoulder. I jumped back to the edge of the platform as he fell with a crash, the heavy billet of wood flying from his hands. Pons was beside me in a flash, pinning the fallen giant.
“Help me with this rope, Parker. A flesh wound only. I fancy, but he will be formidable indeed when he recovers from the shock.”
I swiftly helped him to pinion our prisoner’s hands and when we had secured him, I urged him up with the revolver. The heavy yellow face was sullen, the eyes burning viciously with pain and anger.
“Take no chances. Parker.” said Pons coolly. “If he tries anything further shoot him in the leg.”
The Chinese, who was dressed in blue chauffeur’s livery, with white gloves.
turned to Pons.
“I no understand.”
“I think you understand well enough,” said Pons equably.
He helped the groaning man into an armchair which stood just below the platform. He crossed over to me to take the revolver.
“Now, Parker. Your department, I think.”
He covered the Chinese while I made a rapid examination and roughly bandaged the wound with my handkerchief. I pressed it back and bound it with an old trunk strap I found in the corner of the room.
“A flesh wound only, Pons. It has gone right through.”
Pons smiled slightly.
“You have been fortunate, my friend. Dr Parker here is an excellent shot. Though I fear you have been spared merely to provide work for the hangman.”
The chauffeur shook his head stubbornly.
“I no understand. I see light. Think burglars.”
Solar Pons’ smile widened.
“I think not. It really will not do. This man is undoubtedly the murderer of Romane Schneider, Parker. Thought obviously the tool of others.”
“I do not understand, Pons.”
“You will in due course, Parker. We are nearly at the end of the road. But here, for a start, is the big man we were looking for.”
“He is certainly that, Pons.”
“Is he not?”
Solar Pons had a mocking smile on his face.
“We will just have a few words with his employer.”
“His employer, Pons?”
“Certainly. Colonel Gantley.”
I stared at Pons in puzzlement.
“Come, Parker. It does not take very much reasoning. This is Colonel Gantley’s chauffeur and general factotum or I will give up my title to whatever reputation my modest talents have earned me.”
“But what has Colonel Gantley to do with this, Pons?”
“Everything, Parker. He pays one hundred pounds a week for Cheneys, as a start. And by the time we have crossed the strip of lawn which separates this studio from the house, I shall no doubt have thought up a few more questions for him.”
He prodded the bound giant to his feet. With me following behind we descended the outer stairs of the studio and picked our way through the garden to where the lights of the Colonel’s house burned dimly before us.
A dark-clad servant answered Pons’ insistent ringing at the bell and stared in disbelief at the bloodstained form of the groaning chauffeur.
“Kindly announce us to your master,” commanded Solar Pons.
As the man still stood there Pons pushed him aside unceremoniously.
“On second thoughts we will announce ourselves. Where is the Colonel?”
“In the drawing room, sir,” the man stammered.
But our dramatic entrance had already been heard and before we were halfway across the luxuriously appointed hallway with its hanging brass lantern, a mahogany door on the far side opened and Colonel Gantley came out, his hair shining silver in the lamplight.
“What is the meaning of this outrageous violation of privacy, sir?”
“It means. Colonel Gantley, that your little charade is over. Unless you wish the entire household to hear, I advise that we adjourn somewhere private to talk.”
The Colonel’s face was suffused with rage as he took in the state of the chauffeur.
“Chang! What have you been up to?”
Then a shock passed across his face. It was cleverly done but I could have sworn he was acting.
“Why, It’s Mr Pons, is it not? We met this morning.”
“You would have a short memory indeed, Colonel, if you had forgotten already.”
The Colonel was leading the way into the drawing room. A tall, dark man who was sitting neat the fireplace with a glass of brandy in his hand made as though to jump to his feet but the Colonel signalled to him with a lowering of the eyelids and he relaxed on to the divan again.
“This is my associate, Mr Belding.”
Solar Pons inclined his head curtly and turned back to our reluctant host.
“You will be pleased to hear that we have found the man responsible for the death of Romane Schneider, colonel. Your chauffeur here.”
Colonel Gantley gasped and took a step toward the big Chinese, who stood with impassive, if pain-wracked features.