“Shall we be in time, Pons?” I asked anxiously as we hurried through the station barrier and swung to the left, on to the narrow road that must take us back to Tidewater. Behind us the glowing lights of the train we had just left were already swallowed in the murk and we could only hear its progress as it left the platform.
“If my estimation is correct we shall have ample time,” said my companion imperturbably, “but I wish to be in position and survey the ground well before he comes.”
“Why are you so positive it will be tonight, Pons?”
“Several reasons, Parker. Principally because he now knows we are no longer on the ground, but safely on our way to London. He thus has two clear days in which to strike. He will feel safer tonight because there is always a possibility that we might return some time tomorrow afternoon. Thirdly, the weather conditions are perfect this evening for what he has in mind. This fog is ideal for concealing his movements.”
“And what has he in mind, Pons?
“Cold, calculated murder, Parker!” said Solar Pons grimly, his chin hunched down into the collar of his overcoat, his pipe throwing a bright chain of sparks through the darkness as he strode along vigorously at my side. There was no traffic on the road, probably because of the bleak conditions and I was glad I had a bag to carry because the exercise and its weight engendered warmth.
“You do not mean it, Pons!”
“I wish I did not, my dear fellow. But this killer has already taken two lives that stood between him and a fortune. He needs only to put young Balfour out of the way to inherit old Boldigrew’s estate.”
“Ah, then, the will is at the bottom of it, Pons?”
“It is the key to everything, Parker. That is why the unfortunate Sainsbury was murdered and his records destroyed. He undoubtedly suspected someone and wished to inform me of something important when he was struck down.”
I must confess I felt my scalp crawling at his words, uttered as they were in such hard and determined tones amid such bleak surroundings. Every step we took in this wilderness seemed to lead us deeper into the heart of an impenetrable mystery; impenetrable to me at any rate, as I had little idea of the complex thoughts that were chasing themselves through my companion’s mind.
“But whom do you suspect, Pons?”
Solar Pons shook his head, a wry expression on this thin, sensitive lips.
“I would prefer not to speculate at this stage, Parker. I have nothing to go on at all but the theory I have formed. One broken or misread link in the chain could disprove my reasoning. Better to wait now and put it to the test. You should know the answer within an hour or two, my dear fellow.”
I stared at my companion without speaking. He put his hand on my arm.
“You really are most invaluable in my little investigations, Parker. I do not know what I should do without your companionship and presence in the many crises through which we have passed.”
He had never been so forthcoming before and I flushed with pleasure.
“Glad to do what I can, Pons,” I stammered.
We had been walking for some ten minutes now and the exercise on the iron-bound surface of the road was beginning to dispel the deadly cold and engender some bodily warmth. Solar Pons smiled as though he could read my thoughts.
“It may be a long vigil tonight, Parker. I have taken the precaution of bringing some whisky in a flask in my pocket here. You have brought your revolver?”
“You insisted on it, Pons.”
My companion nodded.
“Excellent. We may have need of it before the night is over.”
He said nothing further and another twenty minutes had passed before I sensed that we were nearing our destination. My companion slackened his pace a little and touched me on the arm.
“I think we will diverge from the road here, Parker. We do not want to forewarn our man.”
“What are we to do then, Pons?”
“Take to the fields, my dear fellow. Just give me a moment to check my bearings.”
I did not see how he was to do so as the fog had now thickened considerably. The night was freezing too and there was an air-frost which made my ears and cheeks tingle. Pons cast about for a moment and then led the way forward without hesitation.
“Ah! I thought I was not mistaken.”
He had turned into a small lane on the right; in reality it was only a cart-track whose deeply rutted surface was now bound in the iron grip of frost. Pons put his lips against my ear.
“We must be extremely careful now, Parker. We are only a few hundred yards off the farm buildings. Sound carries a long way under these conditions. And be careful how you place your feet as one may easily turn one’s ankle in the dark.”
“I will be careful, Pons.”
My companion went on, pausing only occasionally to check his bearings. After a few minutes he opened a gate on the left that led to an open field. We walked slowly across the rough, undulating turf, the mist cold and clammy against our faces. I looked at my watch. It was so dark I had to hold my eyes only an inch or two from the dial to make out the time. It was already almost eight o’clock.
Pons only grunted when I told him and enjoined caution by putting his fingers to his lips. A moment or two later we came out on the banks of a small stream, now frozen and powdered with hoar frost. A few yards farther there was a rough wooden bridge, evidently used for cattle crossing, guarded only by simple wooden palings. We crept quietly across it and traversing the next field, the mist seemingly thicker than ever, suddenly saw lights beginning to prick the darkness.
“That is the farm, Parker,” said Pons softly. “The house is occupied by the tenant farmer and he has the yard lights on this evening. That is excellent for our purpose. We must swing heavily to the left to come level with Bredewell House.”
We passed the next quarter of an hour working our way round the farm and apart from a solitary dog whose barking caused us some anxiety, there was no indication that anyone knew of our presence. When Pons was satisfied he became brisker in his movements and a wicket fence, its palings looking black and sinister in the whiteness of the fog, loomed up before us. Pons found a gate and opened it carefully. We stepped through and I waited while my companion closed it behind us.
“We are only a few yards from the drive which leads from the farm area to the house,” he whispered. “We must now find a sheltered spot which will command the scene of operations while affording us some concealment. I have already marked such a place but we must be extremely careful as to noise. Follow me and keep your wits about you.”
We crept silently forward through the fog; it was now so thick that we were only a matter of yards away before we saw light from one of the upper windows of Bredewell House.
“Ah, this is the place, Parker,” Pons whispered.
He led the way into a thicket of evergreens, the icy-cold of the leaves making a harsh noise as we crept through them, they were so brittle with the frost. Pons stopped at last and I was left looking at the gloomy fog-bank.
“I am afraid this is the best we can do,” said Pons. “At least we should be able to hear our friend if he comes.”
I pulled my coat-collar more tightly about my neck.
“How long are we likely to be here, Pons?”
“Oh, at least two hours,” my companion rejoined casually. “Do take some whisky for inner warmth. And you will find these sandwiches excellent.”
We made a simple supper crouched in the lee of a large yew tree whose trunk afforded shelter, and I must say things began to seem a little better once the warmth of the raw spirit began to permeate my system. I shifted my position, biting into a fresh sandwich.