“Let us just have the benefit of your commonsense approach in this matter, Parker. You are an admirable touchstone.”
“It seems very dark, Pons, but there must be an obvious explanation. The person who threatens your client’s life evidently lives in London. He has been frustrated once but he most likely will strike again at the opening of the new play. As for suspects, there must be many people in Carstairs’ professional career.”
The puzzled frown remained on Solar Pons’ face. He shook his head.
“That is all very well so far as it goes, Parker, but it does not take us much farther.”
I looked at my companion.
“I do not quite follow you, Pons.”
“Motive, Parker. Motive.”
Solar Pons stabbed the air with the stem of his pipe to emphasise his points.
“There has to be an extremely strong motive in all this. So far it eludes me. The skilful wax models: the obvious time and trouble they took to create; the familiarity with the threatened man’s life-style and movements; the threats and the differing mode of execution; the failure of the police to uncover the murderer when Stanwell was struck down; even the foreknowledge of the forthcoming plays.”
“An ardent playgoer, Pons?”
“Perhaps, Parker, perhaps.”
Solar Pons paused and put his hand on my arm. We had skirted the lake, still walking on the grass, and had come opposite a small wooden summerhouse which stood on the bank. It faced the water and naturally the open side was away from us but I now heard what Pons’ sharp ears had already caught; the sound of voices, speaking urgently but in high altercation.
“I tell you, Dolly, I cannot do as you ask in the matter!”
“Cannot, or will not, Cedric?”
There was no difficulty in recognising Carstairs’ voice as the first but the second was a woman’s; a cultured voice which denoted a proud and imperious nature. It was raised in tones of passionate anger and I saw by Pons’ furrowed brow and the flash of his eye that he attached great importance to the conversation. I was about to move away but again Pons’ hand was on my arm restraining me, his lips curved in a half- smile.
“There is nothing between you. Nothing, it is long overdue — we must regularise the situation!”
“You are reading far too much into it, my dear.”
There was a pause and the two actors in the drama had evidently moved to another part of the summer-house for when their voices came again they were farther away and more muffled.
“I must warn you, Cedric, that things cannot go on in this manner. I do not wish to threaten…”
“By God. you had better not do so, Dolly!”
There was black anger in Carstairs’ voice and the wooden wall of the summer- house echoed to a tremendous crash as though he had dashed his fist against it. A moment later there came the crunching of his boots in the gravel and the huge form of Carstairs strode savagely away in the dusk, taking the path that led from us round the other side of the lake. Pons watched until he had faded from view and then led me back to re-join the path some way down.
“The butterflies on the Sussex Downs are gravely threatened this year. I understand, Parker,” he said smoothly.
I looked at him in astonishment. Our feet gritted on the gravel path and I almost made a loud exclamation as my companion pinched my forearm.
“Indeed. Pons,” I said loudly, clearing my throat.
We were almost level with the front of the summer-house when an imperious woman in furs burst from it. She came straight toward us with no attempt at concealment. I had an impression of icy beauty; of upswept blonde hair: and a manner close to tears beneath the anger.
The fur-coat and the expensive toque were utterly out of place in this country park and her blue eyes blazed as she swept past us. Pons doffed his hat and she acknowledged the courteous gesture with the faintest lowering of her eye-lids. A few moments later she had gone. Pons looked after her with a quizzical expression in his face.
“Dolly Richmond has quite a temper,” he remarked mildly. “I should not be surprised if Carstairs has to keep his eyes open on two fronts during the run of this new play.”
“The famous actress, Pons!” I exclaimed. “There is motive enough for murder in what we have just heard.”
“Is there not, Parker. Unless I am much mistaken Miss Richmond is cast opposite our client in Death Comes to Thornfield.”
He drew out a slip of paper from his overcoat pocket and flicked his eyes across it. A sardonic smile curved his lips.
“As I expected, Miss Richmond is not on the short list of Mr Carstairs’
conquests. As you so sagely imply, Parker, this is a situation which merits watching.”
And without referring to the matter again he retraced his steps in the direction of our host’s stately home. Pons was busy on some inquiry of his own on our return and it was not until dinner that we met again. We ate in a luxuriously appointed dining room panelled in oak, and lit by antique chandeliers. The room had two fireplaces, one at each end, and the roaring flames of the liberally banked fires cast a pleasing glow across the china and silver and crystal on the table. There were just the five of us; myself and Pons; Carstairs and his wife; and the secretary, Abrahams.
The food and wine were of excellent quality and the meal passed agreeably, served smoothly and efficiently by maids supervised by the butler who had first greeted us on arrival. Obviously, Pons said nothing of the incident at the summer house and I had only to look at his intent face and his tightly compressed lips when I mentioned our walk in the grounds to see that he felt I might inadvertently refer to it.
After the meal Pons and Carstairs and I adjourned to a small smoking room where we took coffee and liqueurs; later, Abrahams joined us at the request of our host and sat silent, looking from one to the other of us, as though he were secretly terrified of his employer. But Pons appeared in his element. We might merely have been week-end guests staying with old friends.
At dinner my friend had been an agreeable raconteur, keeping the table absorbed with his recitals of his extensive travels and now he discoursed knowledgeably on the theatre and the differing techniques employed by stage and cinema actors. As well as I knew Pons, I was considerably surprised at his knowledge and Carstairs, his troubles temporarily forgotten, obviously warmed to him.
Pons had included Abrahams in the conversation and the young man, his tongue perhaps loosened to some extent by the wine he had imbibed at dinner, grew more relaxed and confident in his manner. He was a good-looking, personable young man who might have made an excellent actor himself and I had noticed that Carstairs kept him working hard, often running about unnecessarily on quite trivial errands. It was one of his less likeable traits and I must confess I was pleased to see that he was inclined now, at the end of the day, to allow him some brief peace.
At length there was a pause in the conversation and Pons leaned forward, clouds of aromatic blue smoke from his pipe wavering toward the ceiling.
“You have not yet favoured us with your opinions, Mr Abrahams?”
“My opinions, Mr Pons?”
The secretary looked startled.
“On this strange threat which hangs over Mr Carstairs?”
“Oh, that.”
Abrahams gave a somewhat placatory glance toward his employer, as though he might have some objection to the answer, but Carstairs merely cleared his throat, an encouraging expression on his face.
“I am completely baffled, Mr Pons. It is a dreadful business, of course, but I so not know what Mr Carstairs could possibly have done to merit such enmity. Perhaps it is someone mentally deranged.”
“Perhaps,” said Solar Pons carelessly. “Though the case has all the hallmarks of an eminently sane mind.”