“Where are we, Pons?”
“About midway between the farm buildings and the main gate of Bredewell House, Parker. If it were not for this fog you would find us almost opposite the study window.”
“Ah, then we are on the small side-drive which loops round to rejoin the main carriage-way near the front door?”
“Exactly, Parker. I do not know whether he will be approaching from the farm or from the village. This way we should be able to cut him off if young Balfour is in danger.”
“It is by no means certain he will come, Pons.”
Solar Pons smiled thinly, his face dimly visible through the fog though he was only a foot or two away from me.
“You are becoming quite a philosopher, Parker. As you point out, nothing is certain in life. But as I have already indicated, I am convinced that our man is desperate and that he will strike soon. And this is the best method; to bring him to us and catch him in the act. So we must be on the alert, despite these inclement conditions.”
I said nothing further but finished my al fresco supper and composed myself with what patience I could muster to sit out the hours. It seemed an inordinately long time, strained as my nerves were. The bitter cold; the fog; the strange surroundings and the bizarre errand which had sent us to this bleak, lonely spot in Essex all combined to arouse a darkness in my own mind; and the cramped conditions, for we could take no exercise without signalling our presence, made me miserable indeed.
It seemed as though the long night itself must have worn away though in reality only some two hours had passed, when Pons stirred at my side and put his finger to my lips.
“Have your revolver ready, Parker,” he whispered. “Unless I am much mistaken someone is approaching.”
I roused myself, a thin finger of ice tracing out my spine. A moment later I caught the sound which had attracted his attention. The faint, almost imperceptible echo of footsteps on the drive.
“Be extremely careful, Parker. Absolutely no noise.”
Pons stood up under the shadow of the tree and I joined him, almost falling because of the cramp in my limbs. He caught me by the arm and steadied me. The sounds, though unpleasantly furtive, were now more audible. Then they ceased altogether.
“He has crossed the grass, Parker. Unless anything unforeseen occurs, we have him.”
I took my revolver from my overcoat pocket and eased off the safety catch. I held it before me, muzzle pointed at the ground, as we went forward, step by step in order to make no sound.
We were on the verge at the edge of the drive now, our progress muffled by the mat of frozen grass stems. There was a sudden lightening of the mist ahead.
“That will be the study window, Parker,” said Solar Pons exultantly. “And our friend has not passed on, so this is no late straggler from the farm using the drive as a short-cut.”
As he spoke there came a low, urgent rapping noise from within the blanket of mist. In three paces we were across the drive; I paused by Pons, my heart thudding in my throat.
“What is it, Pons?”
“He is tapping on the window to attract attention, just as he did in the case of Boldigrew.”
Almost as he spoke the blanket of mist was broken by a pale lozenge of yellow light.
“He is following instructions perfectly, Parker. Young Balfour has drawn back the window curtain. Ah! Now we have him.”
As he spoke I saw what his keen eye had already picked out. The silhouette of a thin, muffled form, outlined against the whiteness of the mist. It was joined by a second figure which could only have been Balfour at the window. There was the sound of the casement being raised as we crept closer. Then the figure outside the window disappeared and when it rose from below the edge there was another silhouette in the right hand which could only have been a pistol.
“Quickly, Parker! Fire into the air!”
There was such urgency in Pons’ tones that my reaction was instinctive; as the explosion, magnified tremendously by the mist, split the silence, the furtive figure turned with great rapidity. We were up to the window now and Balfour gave a cry of fear, staggering back in bewilderment. I saw a hideous yellow face which was so close that it seemed thrust into my own and then the thing had disappeared into the darkness and the fog.
“What was it, Pons?” I stammered as I became aware of other noises; dogs barking; a cry of alarm from the housekeeper; and Balfour asking incoherent questions of my companion.
“All in good time, Mr Balfour,” said Pons incisively. “There is nothing further to be feared. Quickly, Parker! Before he gets away.”
He set off running into the mist and I had difficulty in keeping up with him. Pons led the way without hesitation, back in the direction from which we had come. We crossed the fields, the breath sobbing in my throat and in a remarkably short while came to the lane we had traversed earlier. We had not gone far along it when Pons gave a sudden exclamation.
“We are in time, Parker. There is no hurry now.”
The hooded form of a motor vehicle loomed from out of the mist; Pons glanced in at the driver’s door. The interior was empty and he busied himself near the ground, peering intently at the licence plate.
“I think we will re-trace our route, Parker. Unless I miss my guess he has hidden among the farm buildings until things quieten down. He will have to come across these fields to regain his car and I do not think he will want to hang about here any longer than need be.”
“Why is that, Pons?”
Solar Pons glanced at me with grim amusement.
“Because he has been badly frightened, Parker. And also because he would fear an organised search.”
He glanced at his watch.
“I am certain of his identity now but I would prefer to catch him on the ground.”
We had crossed the second field and were passing a small copse when Solar Pons caught me by the arm. The mist was thinning a little and a moment later I saw the dark, recumbent figure on the grass. In two strides I had reached it and turned it over. Dark trousers and a thick jersey of black wool enclosed the legs and body. I was prepared for It but the face gave me a shock; the same leering yellow monstrosity I had glimpsed earlier.
It was not until Pons had leaned forward to rip it from the features that I saw it was knitted yellow wool, embellished with details taken from a carnival mask similar to those I had seen at the shop in Tidewater. I gasped as the blue, cyanosed face came into view.
“Dr Sherlock! It seems impossible, Pons.”
Solar Pons shook his head.
“There is your phantom, Parker. When a medical man goes wrong he can go very wrong indeed. But I fear from the rictus and the set of the features that he is beyond human justice.”
I swiftly felt the region of the heart and then the pulse. “You are right, Pons. It appears to me as though he has suffered a fatal heart seizure.”
Solar Pons smiled grimly as he stood up. He held a gleaming silver gun in his hand.
“Young Mackney’s air pistol if I am not much mistaken. The biter bit, Parker. Ironic, is it not, in view of his findings on young Balfour’s uncle?”
He glanced round swiftly.
“There is no time for explanations now. We must get back to Bredewell House and then telephone Inspector Cunliffe. This matter must be handled discreetly and there has been sensation enough for one night.”
11
“Yes Mrs Bracegirdle, I will have another cup of coffee, thank you.”
Solar Pons chuckled and looked bright-eyed round the room. Michael Balfour sat opposite us at the circular table with Inspector Cunliffe next to him. I sat on Pons’ right and at our insistence Mrs Bracegirdle sat between my companion and her employer, where she presided at the coffee pot. A week had passed since the terrifying events of the night on which Sherlock met his death and much had happened since. Young Balfour passed a hand through his rumpled hair.