"I had not overlooked that, Mr Pons," said Mirko gravely. "My Government's cheque for twenty thousand English pounds will be paid into any bank of her choice." "Twenty thousand pounds!"
Helen Helstone's face was incredulous as she gazed from me to Pons.
"The labourer is worthy of his hire, my dear young lady," Solar Pons murmured.
"And it is cheap for the security of the state," Prince Mirko added.
"I hardly know what to say, Mr Pons,"
"Take the money, Miss Helstone. I assume that Mr Basden has been well looked after?"
"You may rely upon it, Mr Pons," said Mirko gravely. "Though an admirable actor he is hardly ideal when called upon to play a part in which reality may intrude at any moment. His behaviour under stress has made him an unstable tool at times. And though we coached him carefully in the language he forgot even those few phrases when under pressure."
Solar Pons returned from telephoning within a few minutes, rubbing his thin hands together.
"Excellent! Superintendent Heathfield is running down with a party of selected officers just as soon as train and motor-car can bring him. In the meantime I think our work here is ended, Parker. No doubt you will wish to come with us, Miss Helstone?"
"If you will just give me a few minutes to pack, Mr Pons."
"Certainly. And I must emphasise that you must exercise the utmost discretion as to what you have heard in this room tonight."
"You have my word, Mr Pons."
Mirko looked on with admiration.
"Mr Pons, you should have been a diplomat."
"I leave all that to my brother, Prince Mirko," said my companion carelessly. "But I think that under the circumstances you would have done better to have taken our Foreign Office into your confidence."
"Perhaps, Mr Pons," said Prince Mirko, studiously examining the glowing red tip of his cigar.
Sir Clifford Ayres rose to his feet and stiffly shook hands.
"A rapid convalescence and a complete recovery to your patient, doctor. And my congratulations."
"Thank you. Good night, Mr Pons. Good night, doctor."
"Good night, Sir Clifford."
We waited in the hall as Miss Helen Helstone descended the stairs, her face still bearing traces of the excitement of the night and of her unexpected good fortune. Prince Mirko took the paper bearing her address and studied it beneath the chandelier in the hallway, his bearded face enigmatic.
"Dresdania is grateful, young lady."
He brushed her hand with his lips and bowed us out. The Princess' car was waiting outside and conveyed us back to the high road.
"A remarkable achievement, Pons," I said, as soon as we were driving back in the direction of Clitherington.
"A case not without its points of interest, my dear fellow," he said with tones of approbation.
He smiled across at our fair client.
"They do things a great deal differently in the Balkans, Parker, but by his own lights Mirko has not done badly by Miss Helstone. By the time she marries — and providing she has handled her funds wisely — she will be a well-propertied woman."
And he lit his pipe with considerable satisfaction.
The Adventure of the Defeated Doctor
1
"Ah, Parker, I see that our old friend Jamison is in difficulties again."
"You have the advantage of me, Pons."
"Naturally. You do not command a very good view of the window from your position at the breakfast table. And the casements opposite are making an excellent reflector for the sunshine, which penetrates even into the interior of the police car."
It was a beautiful morning in early June and my friend Solar Pons was standing smoking a reflective after-breakfast pipe at the window of our sitting-room at 7B Praed Street.
I remained sitting at the table and spread some more marmalade on my second slice of toast.
"He is exploiting your talents, Pons."
"Possibly, Parker, possibly. Though it would not do to underestimate the doggedness of Inspector Jamison. Obtuse he may be occasionally; and plodding certainly; but method and devotion to duty usually get him to his destination in the end."
"You are being unusually generous this morning, Pons."
Solar Pons smiled amiably.
"But then it is such a superb morning and London
has been extremely dull of late. Jamison's arrival may mean action and opportunity. I have been chafing at the bit this last week and our somewhat heavy-footed colleague may unlock the gates for us. You have no objection, I take it?"
"I, Pons? Most certainly not. I am taking a sabbatical today in any case."
"Excellent, Parker. You are usually on your rounds by this time. Ah, here is Mrs Johnson at the door now."
The beaming, well-scrubbed face of our excellent landlady had indeed appeared round the panel and at Pons' crisp summons to enter she ushered in the worried-looking figure of Inspector Jamison. Pons had already thrown off his old grey dressing-gown and donned his jacket and now he strode forward, his face alert and quite transfigured from its languid expression of a few minutes earlier.
"Welcome, Jamison. Will you not have some coffee?" "Thank you, Mr Pons. It has been a week and a half I can tell you."
The Scotland Yard man sank into an armchair indicated by Pons and mopped his brow with a polka-dot handkerchief. His sallow face was beaded with perspiration and his complexion looked grey.
"You need a holiday, Inspector," I suggested.
Jamison gave a wry smile as he put his handkerchief back in his pocket.
"You will have your little joke, doctor."
Mrs Johnson had withdrawn to her own quarters and Pons passed the big cup of black coffee over to Jamison who seized it as though he had not taken nourishment for a fortnight.
"Trouble?"
Inspector Jamison nodded, a gloomy expression on his face.
"Difficulties, Mr Pons. I should be glad of a little help."
"This agency exists to assist the forces of law and order, Jamison. Pray be more specific."
Solar Pons drew up a chair to the table opposite the Inspector and tented his fingers before him, while his penetrating eyes searched our visitor's face.
"It is a crime of capital dimensions; it has happened within the past twenty-four hours; and there is great pressure on you from above."
Jamison's face turned a mottled colour.
"How did you know that, Mr Pons?" he snapped. Solar Pons smiled.
"It is obvious, Jamison. You would not seek my advice unless it were important. Similarly, the same set of criteria apply if you are stuck in your investigations. I estimate it would take you no more than twenty-four hours to conclude that the matter is beyond you. So with pressure on you from above — perhaps from Superintendent Heathfield or even the Commissioner himself — you come to me."
There were dull red patches burning on Jamison's cheeks now.
"You have an unfortunate way of putting it, Mr Pons," he mumbled. "But basically you are correct."
Solar Pons leaned back in his chair, a thin smile on his face.
"What is the problem?"
Jamison put down his coffee cup on the table with a thin clink in the silence.
"Romaine Schneider is dead, Mr Pons."
Pons looked at Jamison in silence, his brows drawn, while my own astonishment must have shown on my face.
"The sculptor, Inspector? The one who has the International Exhibition on in London at the present time?"
"One and the same, Dr Parker. Though I know little of such matters he is described as the greatest sculptor this country has ever produced."
Solar Pons' eyes were sparkling and he looked at our visitor piercingly from beneath the lids.
"How did he die, Jamison?"