Mulvane flushed and his voice was a little higher than normal as he replied.
“If you will forgive me saying so, Mr Pons, the matter was slightly different. I was convinced my uncle was going there; he was an old man, who had indicated to me he was in fear of his life. If he could go there safely, so could I. Furthermore, I was convinced he was meeting a second person and I hoped to overhear something of their conversation, which would help explain these odd circumstances. I trust that satisfies you, Mr Pons?”
Pons smiled, taking his pipe-stem out of the comer of his mouth.
“For the moment, Mr Mulvane,” he said politely. “I beg leave to return to the matter at a later time, should circumstances so dictate.”
Mulvane breathed a sigh of relief.
“Now that is cleared up, Mr Pons, I will continue. It was a bitterly cold night, as I have said, and I was pleased to see there was quite a heavy mist coming up, which was admirable for my purposes. I let myself out of the front door, with no attempt at concealment. It was them about half-past ten and my uncle’s butler, Tolpuddle, came out into the hall, considerably surprised. I explained that I had an urgent letter to post in the village and he seemed satisfied with my explanation. The last post goes at eleven o’clock which made the circumstances seem plausible. I told him not to wait up, as I had my key, and he retired.”
“What sort of man is this butler, Mr Mulvane?”
“Extremely reliable and full of common sense, Mr Pons.”
“Did he realise Mr Hardcastle had gone out so late and on such a night?”
Mulvane shook his head.
“It was my impression he did not, Mr Pons. And, of course, I had no direct proof that my uncle had left the Manor, though I was convinced in my heart that he had done so.”
“Based on his flimsy excuse of giving you non-existent work to do on those documents and his furtive observation of you from the doorway.”
“Precisely, Mr Pons. I waited in the porch until I was certain that Tolpuddle had left the hallway. The fog was thickening up nicely and I went off down the drive, out of the circle of lamplight cast by the porch lights, just in case any of the servants were watching from the windows.”
Mulvane paused and took another sip of his drink as though his long narrative had made his throat dry.
“When I was certain that I had not been seen, I circled round, keeping on the grass verge and again passed in front of the house, this time in the shadow of the shrubbery and set off down the side drive which leads to the stables and outhouses and, eventually, to the old family graveyard area.”
“You heard nothing all this time?”
“Nothing, Mr Pons. But then the fog blanketed everything and it was some minutes earlier that my uncle had quitted the house.”
“You were certain he had left by that time?”
“I am convinced he had made sure I was engrossed in my papers and had then set off as fast as he could. For what purpose I did not know but I was determined to find out. I had to observe extreme caution when going through the area of the stables and outbuildings, as outside staff often worked late and I did not wish to risk bumping into anyone there at that time of night.” Solar Pons fingered the lobe of his right ear meditatively. “Surely the same objective would apply to your uncle had he passed that way, Mr Mulvane?”
“No, Mr Pons. There is a small side-lane, thickly screened by foliage, which is more direct and also leads to the side-door giving onto the road. I was convinced my uncle would have gone that way to avoid the stables but I did not wish to follow the same route in case he had stopped for some reason.”
“Your uncle could have used the side-door to gain the village, surely?”
There was a light hesitation in out visitor’s manner.
“He could have, Mr Pons, but I was convinced he had not. If I found no trace of him near the graveyard entrance I intended to use the side-gate and find out whether or not he had gone to the village. As I have said, it was bitterly cold, and I was extremely uncomfortable by the time I had left the area of the outhouses, which were completely deserted as far as I could make out.” “What sort of man was your uncle, Mr Mulvane? Physically, I mean.”
“Tall and well-made, Mr Pons. Extremely active and well preserved for his age. He had often passed for a much younger man. He had a thick black beard, which made him appear younger. It was jet black, actually, though his heavy head of hair was sprinkled with grey.”
“Yet he was well over sixty, I believe.”
“Indeed, Mr Pons. He was reticent about his age, though he might well have passed for fifty. The newspapers have not reported it correctly, or perhaps I should say those few journals which had essayed a figure have got it wrongly.”
“What makes you say that?”
“Because of the dates my uncle had let slip about his experiences in the East. Even allowing for the fact that he had been a young man, he could not have been less than sixty-eight at the time of his death. He was quite a gallant so far as the ladies were concerned. My own friend, Miss Sybil Masterson, commented about it on a number of occasions.”
Pons’ eyes twinkled.
“Ah, so there is a lady in the case, Mr Mulvane?”
The teacher flushed and shifted in his chair.
“Hardly that, Mr Pons. We are great friends, it is true, but there is no question of an understanding or anything of that sort. She teaches languages at the school.”
“I see. So Mr Hardcastle was a strong, vigorous man belying his years and would have made short work of the distance to the graveyard area and the bitterly cold conditions on Wednesday evening; that is to say, two nights ago.”
“That is correct, Mr Pons. I used extreme caution in following my uncle, as may be imagined. He was, as I have said, an extremely strong man, with an almost uncontrollable temper and I had no wish to come upon him unawares in the fog. Furthermore, I did not wish him to know I was spying upon him; and finally, as this seems to be an evening for frankness, I had no wish to leave the comfortable living conditions at the Manor to seek out lodgings in the village or even avail myself of the somewhat austere single masters’ quarters at the College.”
Pons nodded slowly, his eyes intent on our visitor’s face.
“At last, however, Mr Pons, using extreme caution I approached the old graveyard area. It is divided from the estate proper by a gloomy belt of trees and the estate walls take a sort of jink about it, to screen it from the stabling and outhouses. The mist was still thickening and I had no sooner arrived than I realised something out of the usual was taking place.”
“In what way?”
“The main gates of the cemetery were ajar, Mr Pons. To the best of my knowledge they were always kept chained and padlocked. Mr Pons, I am not a brave man and there was no love lost between me and my uncle, but somehow I felt it my duty to go forward. I sensed deadly danger and I felt I had to brave whatever wrath he might feel. There was something inexpressibly sinister about that graveyard and so, after making sure there was no-one about, I crept cautiously forward and went in through the gates.”
“Your laudable sentiments do you great credit, Mr Mulvane. Danger to whom?”
“Not to me, Mr Pons. I felt certain of that. But I had the strangest feeling that some deadly danger threatened my uncle.” “The Ram Dass Society, Pons,” I put in somewhat excitedly. “And may not this whistling be something to do with dangerous snakes? I have heard that these Bombay secret societies use reptiles extensively…”
“Tut, Parker,” said Pons disparagingly, “your romantic disposition is running quite away with you. You have been reading far too much Conan Doyle.”
“Come, Pons,” I rejoined with some asperity. “I am only trying to help.”