“Even now, Mr Pons, though much has been explained I am still not certain why Dr Sherlock would want to murder his best friend and then make an attempt on my own life.”
“Human nature is dark and mysterious,” said Pons. “Events may turn the strongest brain and Dr Sherlock was desperately short of money.”
“That is true, Mr Pons,” said Inspector Cunliffe. “Our investigations have shown that Sherlock had speculated unwisely. He lost not only his own money but that of his partners in his previous practice and he left under a cloud.”
Solar Pons nodded.
“Which is why he came to Tidewater. I should guess that racing was his real downfall.”
Inspector Cunliffe looked sharply at Pons.
“That is correct enough, Mr Pons. He was in for thousands and was desperate for money.”
“I cannot see, Pons…” I began, when my companion gave a short laugh.
“It was merely an inspired guess, Parker. When we met Dr Sherlock at the station that night, he carried some books as well as the medical report. I noticed that one of them was Ruff’s Guide to the Turf. When I learned from Mrs Mackney that Sherlock’s waiting room was filled with sporting and racing magazines I must confess my mind was turned to that direction.”
Pons leaned forward at the table, the library fire on this bitter evening casting strange shadows over his lean, ascetic features.
“Let us just recapitulate, Parker, if you would be so good.”
“Well, Pons,” said I. “We had a rather strange old man, who was abnormally reclusive and worried; who literally bolted himself into his house after receiving threats. He dies after seeing a horrible face which had been haunting the neighbourhood; and his nephew, Mr Balfour here, who asks your help, is the heir to Mr Boldigrew’s considerable fortune.”
“Exactly, Parker. Most succinctly put. I could not have paraphrased it better. It became obvious to me that this was no random haunting of the village; neither was it a joke or even less a genuine phantom. It was clear from early on that Mr Boldigrew was literally scared to death, which left Mr Balfour as the only person between the murderer and a considerable fortune. You may remember, Parker, I was particularly careful to enquire into the circumstances of the other so-called ‘hauntings’ in the village.”
“Why was that, Pons?”
“Because a brief analysis of the circumstances in each case revealed that the phantom was seen only through glass and that all the people who saw it were getting on in life.”
“I am afraid I do not see the significance, Pons.”
“That is because you are not using your ratiocinative powers, my dear fellow. The phantom appeared only outside windows and in the dark and then only very briefly because the hoax would have been obvious without these aids to flight. Similarly the people to whom Sherlock appeared in his disguise were elderly and either too terrified or simply not physically capable of running after him quickly. He needed time and distance to get away. The point being, of course, to establish that there was a ghost in Tidewater, before he struck at Boldigrew.”
“But why not strike at my uncle first, Mr Pons?” said young Balfour, bewilderment on his features.
Solar Pons gently shook his head.
“That would not have done at all, Mr Balfour. It would immediately have thrown a spotlight on the solitary crime. Sherlock wanted to avoid this at all costs. Firstly, by establishing a veritable reign of terror in the neighbourhood. Then, when your uncle died of a heart attack after seeing the face, it would be one of a series of unconnected incidents. The last thing Sherlock wanted was to emphasise the aspect of the will.”
Balfour turned worried eyes upon each of us in turn.
“I am still not sure that I understand, Mr Pons. Surely Sherlock could not go openly to the shop in the village and buy such things as carnival masks.”
“Naturally not, Mr Balfour. That was where his waiting room came in so useful. His patients naturally included young children from time to time. With the craze for carnival masks and other toys in the district, they sometimes brought such items with them to his surgery. We can now never know for certain, Sherlock being dead, but it is obvious that both the carnival mask and air-pistol were abstracted from the waiting room when the young Mackney boy visited there as a patient. His mother told me the circumstances, which was when I found my thoughts on the matter becoming crystallised.”
Solar Pons turned to me.
“You will remember, Parker, that the shopkeeper was at some pains to demonstrate that the green carnival masks were flimsy and did not last. In other words, they tore easily and this Sherlock soon found; having used it on several occasions to spread alarm in the neighbourhood it became worn so he undoubtedly destroyed it. You may remember, Parker, that I drew your attention to the significance of the shopkeeper, McMurdo, running out of the green masks. So Sherlock obviously had to improvise his own.”
“Which accounts for the fiend with the yellow face appearing, Pons!”
My companion turned to me with a reproving look.
“Somewhat picturesquely put, Parker, but basically correct. Sherlock then constructed his own mask, as we have seen. The stage was now set for the murder of your uncle, Mr Balfour, who incidentally had nothing wrong with his heart at all.”
“Nothing wrong, Pons?”
Solar Pons shook his head.
“The exhumation of Mr Boldigrew’s body and the subsequent post-mortem by the County Pathologist, has established that conclusively. It was a fiction conveniently fostered by Dr Sherlock for reasons of his own.”
Balfour passed his hand across his eyes.
“Then Uncle Charles did not die of a heart attack brought on by fright, Mr Pons?”
“Of course not, Mr Balfour. Naturally, no-one was to know this at the time as Dr Sherlock himself performed the original post-mortem and signed the papers so there was no reason to suspect him.”
“And when did you suspect him, Pons?”
Solar Pons turned shrewd eyes to me, ejecting a thin plume of fragrant blue smoke from his pipe. He looked at Mrs Bracegirdle thoughtfully.
“The very evening we reached here, Parker. I felt that the doctor arrived a little too pat upon the scene. He played his part superlatively well, so that I could not be sure, but with my arrival in Tidewater he needed to know exactly what was going on; what my client suspected; and he required to be on the spot himself to obtain his information at first-hand.”
“He did not get very much, Pons,” I interjected. “But if Mr Boldigrew was murdered, Pons, then how on earth was it done?”
“By a very simple but at the same time very clever plan, Parker. You may remember that the young Mackney boy also missed one of his favourite toys, an air pistol, shortly before Mr Boldigrew was murdered. This was one of the last pieces I needed to make the whole scheme clear in my mind. You will recall, Mr Balfour, that I was particularly interested in Mr Boldigrew’s rather strange custom of securing his house from intruders but himself going to the window at night and opening it when particular friends called and tapped upon the glass. It is now obvious that the ruin of the Indian venture and the loss to his partner preyed on his mind and Sherlock took advantage of that, even to the extent of sending him threatening letters.”
“The threatening letters, which Sherlock undoubtedly cunningly timed, had a cumulative effect upon poor Boldigrew. They not only added to his remorse over the suicide of the Indian partner but turned him into a grim, frightened recluse who transformed his house into an almost impenetrable fortress. But, with the strange aberrations to which human nature is vulnerable, he left a loophole which Sherlock immediately seized upon.”