“He had the ribbon of the Military Cross on his surplice, Parker. He obviously served in the late war and the M.C. does not come up with the rations. If I mistake not the Rev. Isaac Stokesby has seen some heavy trench fighting.”
“A strange vocation for a man of the cloth, Pons. I should have thought he would have been a chaplain.”
“Army chaplains tend the wounded and dying under heavy fire, Parker, and there are many heroic deeds recorded in their annals. But he may have decided to become ordained after the end of the war. It is sometimes so.”
“In revulsion against man’s inhumanity, Pons?”
“Very possibly, my dear fellow. Now I suggest a stroll to the village inn before putting a few more questions to Miss Stuart over supper.”
5
The large oak-timbered lounge bar of The Cresswell Arms was full on this warm, summer evening and Pons and I enjoyed our tankards of cold cider, the scent of jasmine coming in heavy and cloying with the breeze through the open windows. The tall, fair-haired man to whom Miss Stuart had earlier been talking was standing at the bar and had nodded agreeably as we came up to give our order.
Now he made his way to the side-table where we sat and introduced himself.
“Major Alan Kemp, gentlemen. I live just across the green there and am a friend and neighbour of Miss Stuart. I understand you are staying at The Old Rectory.”
“Indeed, Major Kemp.”
Pons rose and introduced me and the Major sat down at Pons’ invitation.
“Allow me to re-fill your glass.”
“That is very kind, Mr Pons. A Scotch and soda if you please.”
The Major chatted amiably as we waited for Pons to return from the bar.
“Your first visit to Grassington, Mr Pons? Your good health, sir.”
Major Kemp raised his glass in a polite toast as Pons and I reached for our second tankards of cider.
“Yes,” I volunteered. “It seems a pleasant spot.”
“It is that,” the Major agreed.
With his sandy moustache, faded blue eyes and fresh cheeks he seemed the very epitome of the retired military man. A red setter slouched on the tiled floor at his feet. Kemp wore a suit of well-cut tweeds, his dark blue shirt, open at the throat, adding an informal touch, while his right hand toyed casually with a leather dog leash as we talked.
“You have known Miss Stuart long?” asked Solar Pons, his deep-set eyes raking round the room.
“Several years, Mr Pons. We are quite good friends. I was so sorry to hear she had been upset.”
“A nasty shock for a lady,” Pons added. “Are there any tramps hereabouts?”
Kemp shrugged.
“We get our share through occasionally. My theory is that the intruder was most likely to have been a gypsy. There are several encampments in the neighbourhood.”
“Indeed.”
Solar Pons’ eyes were thoughtful as he stared at the Major.
“That is a possibility, of course. You mentioned that to Miss Stuart?”
The Major hesitated. He drained his glass and stood up. To my mind his expression had changed in some subtle way. There was a darker red suffusing his cheeks.
“It does not seem as if I am in the lady’s confidence. She has newer friends in whom to place her trust it appears.”
He jerked his head stiffly, with an embarrassed expression.
“Good day, gentlemen.”
And he strode out of the bar. I gazed after him blandly.
“What odd behaviour, Pons. Do you think he can have anything to do with this bizarre business?”
“Possibly, Parker. He certainly seems piqued that we are staying at The Old Rectory.”
“Perhaps he is an admirer of the lady himself, Pons.”
My companion stared at me gravely.
“It is just possible, Parker. She is certainly a very attractive young woman.”
Our conversation passed on to other matters and dusk had fallen when we walked back to our hostess’ house. An excellent cold salad supper had been prepared in the dining room, served by the housekeeper, and during the meal Pons kept up a bantering conversation with Miss Stuart in which all reasons for our being there were avoided. There was a lull as the fruit and coffee were brought in and I chose the interval to remark on our conversation with Kemp.
It was my impression that Miss Stuart coloured a little as she looked from me to Pons.
“Major Kemp? I hope you did not discuss your business here, gentlemen?”
“Certainly not. Miss Stuart,” I ventured. “The Major seemed concerned about you. He volunteered that the man you saw may have been a gypsy.”
A troubled look passed across the fair girl’s face.
“It is possible, Dr Parker. As the Major said, there are a number of camps.”
“Exactly where?” interjected Solar Pons. “Though gypsies are not the problem.”
“Two to my knowledge on the edge of Cresswell woods. Another down at the old quarry, south of the village.”
“I see.”
Solar Pons nodded, his thin fingers tented before him on the oak table top.
“Tell me. Miss Stuart, are you quite alone in the world? Except for your mother, that is?”
Our hostess bit her lip.
“There is no-one to speak of, Mr Pons. My father’s brother Jeremy used to stay here, years ago. Father did not speak much of him. He was the black sheep of the family, I believe.”
She smiled.
“In the classical tradition he emigrated to Australia, I understand.”
“I see. You would have been a child at the time?”
“Indeed, Mr Pons. I remember there was a quarrel between them on one occasion, which was unusual, because my father was a very mild man. After that, Uncle Jeremy no longer came here. I have no doubt my mother would know more.”
“Pray do not bother, Miss Stuart. It is just that I wish to get a complete picture of your household.”
Pons glanced at the cased grandfather clock in the corner of the dining room.
“I have a mind to take a moonlit walk after that excellent supper, Parker. Would it be possible for me have a front door key, Miss Stuart?”
“By all means, Mr Pons.”
Miss Stuart looked a little startled and Pons smiled to reassure her.
“It is not yet nine o’clock. We shall be no more than an hour or two and in any event will be back inside these walls well before midnight.”
The girl passed a hand across her face.
“I should appreciate it, Mr Pons. There are only the two of us here you see and after what has happened…”
Her voice faltered and she stopped. Solar Pons rose from the table and put his hand gently on her arm.
“You are in no danger now, Miss Stuart. Just lock all your doors and windows and leave the front door on the latch. I will securely lock and bolt in on our return. Come, Parker.”
I followed Pons up to his bedroom somewhat bemused and waited while he rummaged in his suitcase. He produced a small electric torch in a Bakelite case and a flat packet tied in oiled silk.
“I think this will do nicely for our little expedition, Parker. You have your revolver?”
“Certainly, Pons.”
“Come along then, my dear fellow.”
I followed him downstairs and cut through the garden with increasing puzzlement. We hurried down the path towards the churchyard.
“But where are we going, Pons?”
“To the church, of course, Parker. The key to the whole situation lies there.”
“You amaze me, Pons.”
Solar Pons chuckled.
“That is only because you have not included Meade Faulkner on your reading list. I will explain later. In case I am wrong.”
“You are seldom wrong, Pons.”
“More often than you think, my dear fellow.”