Mrs Bracegirdle looked as surprised as Balfour at our sudden departure, I thought, but she kept her own counsel. A few moments later the grating of iron-bound wheels in the driveway announced the arrival of Stevens and with the briefest of goodbyes, we were soon whirling effortlessly in the direction of Tidewater.
Stevens kept his thoughts to himself, hunched over the reins and the horse picked its way instinctively through the fog. Pons smoked in silence and I must confess my own thoughts were heavy. We seemed to be hopelessly enmeshed in an evil atmosphere down here on the marshes and I could not possibly see a way clear in the impenetrable morass which surrounded us.
It was quite dark when we reached the outskirts of Tidewater and I was surprised when Pons put his hand on the driver’s shoulder and jumped lithely to the ground.
“This will do nicely, Stevens.”
“Do you not want the station, sir?”
“Our train does not leave for forty minutes,” said Pons carelessly, “And I prefer to walk a while for the exercise, rather than sit about in a draughty waiting room.”
“As you wish, sir. Goodnight.”
He made a little salute in the air with the lash of his whip and jogged on into the murk. To my surprise Pons had turned aside and was walking up an alley lined with elegant small houses of red brick, with neat, white-painted windows.
“Ah, here we are, Parker. Jasmine Cottages. Number six. This is the house, I fancy.”
He turned to me, his lean, feral face alive with urgency beneath the mellow gaslight.
“If you would not mind waiting, Parker, I shall hardly be a minute or so.”
“As you wish, Pons,” I mumbled.
I took a turn up and down the road while Pons was inside the house, completely lost now as to my companion’s motives. He emerged within five minutes, rubbing his thin hands together with barely suppressed excitement.
“Excellent, Parker. Mrs Mackney was most helpful.”
“Mrs Mackney, Pons? The woman whose son lost the air pistol. I hardly see…”
“No doubt, Parker,” said Solar Pons rudely, taking his holdall from me and stepping out at a fast pace. As we turned into the High Street we almost ran into the bearded figure of the toyshop proprietor, McMurdo, who was just putting up the shutters for the night.
“Ah, Mr Pons. Inclement weather, sir.”
He looked sharply at the bags we were carrying.
“I heard you were leaving. Not too successful this time?” “Perhaps, perhaps,” said Pons languidly. “Goodnight to you.”
I stared back over my shoulder as I followed my companion down the street.
“How did he know your name, Pons? And why did he know we were leaving? This all sounds very suspicious to me.” Solar Pons chuckled.
“These things have a habit of getting around small villages, Parker. Stevens, perhaps, or one of the estate workers.”
“I do not know why we are leaving at all, Pons,” I continued. “I thought you had formed some strong conclusions.”
“And so I have, Parker, so I have. Ah, here is the road leading to the station if I mistake not.”
As we gained the gaslit entrance I was astonished to see the sturdy form of Inspector Cunliffe waiting beneath the canopy.
At his side stood Dr Sherlock holding some books and a buff envelope in his hand.
“Good evening, Mr Pons!”
The Inspector raised his hard hat, a beaming smile on his face.
“The fact that we are returning to London seems to have become public knowledge throughout the whole town,” I said somewhat bitterly.
“Indeed,” said Inspector Cunliffe heartily. “Difficult to keep these things secret down here.”
“Just what I was telling Parker,” said Solar Pons smoothly, taking the buff envelope from Dr Sherlock.
“Good of you to remember, doctor.”
“Oh, think nothing of it, Mr Pons,” said Sherlock carelessly. “Glad to have been of assistance. Though I don’t think you’ll find much there.”
Pons drew out the Sainsbury post-mortem report, perused it keenly and passed it to me.
“Death by asphyxiation, of course,” I grunted, passing it back somewhat ungraciously to my companion.
“If you will excuse me I will just purchase our tickets,” said Pons. “I am sure you can make small talk for a few minutes, Parker.”
“I am afraid I must be off,” said Dr Sherlock, raising his hat. “I have a heavy surgery this evening.”
“By all means,” said Pons, shaking hands. “Many thanks for your assistance.”
“A pleasure.”
Sherlock turned to me as Pons went over to the booking office window.
“Good night, doctor. Glad to have met you.”
He bobbed away in the gathering dusk as Cunliffe and I walked through the booking hall to join Pons. We stood at the gate to the platform waiting for the train. Another had just come in from the opposite direction and the engine stood at the far platform, belching smoke and steam while the angry red glow from the firebox illuminated the driver and fireman, so that they looked like figures from a woodcut by Dürer.
A tall bearded figure came through the barrier, smiled briefly and turned aside.
“Good evening, Mr Dass!”
The Indian smiled maliciously.
“Leaving already, Mr Pons?”
“The atmosphere of Tidewater is a little stifling after that of London.”
“Well, I hope you find what you are looking for.”
“I am sure I shall.”
The Indian smiled briefly again, his silent factotum bringing up the rear, as he walked briskly to the cab-rank at the other side of the station fore-court.
“A strange man, that,” said Inspector Cunliffe heavily as he glanced after him sharply.
“But not as strange as some in Essex,” said Solar Pons enigmatically. “Ah, here is our train, Inspector. You will keep alert, of course?”
“Naturally, Mr Pons,” said Cunliffe politely. “You will excuse me for not coming on the platform.”
My companion handed him a slip of paper.
“By all means.”
The Inspector disappeared into the gloom and Pons and I were soon ensconced opposite one another in the comfort of a first-class compartment. Pons chuckled as the train drew out in long, shuddering strides.
“Now I have baited the trap, I think that most of the chief dramatis personae cannot fail to be aware of our intentions.” “What on earth do you mean, Pons?” I said.
“Oh, come, Parker!” said Solar Pons, a slight note of irritation in his tones. “You surely do not think we are leaving young Balfour alone in such a place as Bredewell House and in deadly danger of his life?”
“Then why are we going to London?”
“We are not, Parker. We are getting out at the next station and making our way back to Tidewater.”
“Ah, so you only wished local people to think you were off the case?”
Solar Pons stared at me with an ironic expression in his eyes.
“Sometimes, Parker, I think you are a greater droll than even the world takes you for. Why do you think I was at such pains to let the whole of the Tidewater area know that we were returning to London?”
“I see, Pons. But Inspector Cunliffe is in the know?”
“Naturally, Parker. I am relying on his assistance if all goes as I think it might. We have baited the trap and must now wait for our man to come to us.”
And with that he settled himself in his corner, belching out clouds of impenetrable blue smoke as the train thundered on through the night.
10
“Quickly, Parker!”
Pons led the way across the platform of the halt at a fast pace, so that I was hard put to follow. It was extremely dark now, bitterly cold and the fog was billowing in white swathes before our faces.