“Good heavens, Pons! But what does this mean? Are Foy and the Paragonians plotting something diabolical…”
Pons seized me firmly by the arm and drew me even farther back into the shadow.
“It means, my dear Parker, that my suppositions were correct. We have little time. Would you be good enough to fetch the car round, avoiding drawing attention to yourself if possible. I should park at least a hundred yards from Foy’s entrance in order to remain inconspicuous. Kindly remain behind the wheel and ready to drive off until I rejoin you.”
“Certainly, Pons. What will you be doing?”
“I shall keep the house under observation until our friend leaves. I wish to know whether he will be alone or whether Foy will accompany him. If the latter it will complicate matters. I can regain the road without being seen while our man turns the car round.”
“Very well, Pons. It will not take me more than five minutes.”
I must say I did an excellent job of keeping in the darkest patches of shadow as I made my way from the garden and less than four minutes had elapsed before I was once more behind the wheel of the Morris. I drove back and parked some way down the road from Foy’s house, beneath some trees, as Pons had requested. I had no sooner switched the engine off before I heard a car start up somewhere behind the thick hedge which led to the shadowy garden. I was wondering what to do when the lean form of Pons appeared at the edge of the pavement. In a few strides he was at the passenger door.
“Gently, Parker. We must not alarm him. Our man — I believe it to be the Ambassador himself — is alone. We must make certain what direction he is taking before he drives off or we shall lose him. And we cannot afford that.”
He slipped into the seat beside me.
“But the Ambassador, Pons! What does it all mean?”
Solar Pons looked at me sternly.
“It must be of vital importance for the Ambassador himself to risk coming here tonight. It is life and death, certainly! Ah, here is our man!”
He put his hand on my arm, preventing me from switching on the ignition, and we waited tensely as the yellow headlamp beams of the Mercedes swept down the drive toward the main road.
Instead of coming toward us, as I had feared, it glided majestically to the right, away from us down the road. Pons’ hand had lifted from my arm now and I switched on the ignition, easing out from the kerb as the rear-lights of the Mercedes disappeared round the corner.
“Side-lights only, Parker,” came Pons’ calm voice. “At least, all the while we are beneath the metropolitan street lamps.”
I had turned the corner now and was relieved to see the Mercedes going away from us at a stately pace so that I was able to keep a fair distance between the two vehicles without losing sight of our quarry.
“If I had known that you needed me for following such a vehicle, Pons,” I said somewhat irritably, “we could have hired a more powerful machine.”
“That is perfectly true,” said my companion equably, “and it is unfortunate that we are ill-matched so far as speed is concerned. However, the question does not arise all the time we are within the built-up areas.”
“But what if he goes into the country, Pons?”
“That is another matter entirely, Parker, but I fancy the gentleman in front of us would not wish to draw attention to himself by excessive speed, unless I very much miss my guess.”
For the first half-hour it was as Pons had predicted; the Mercedes proceeded with almost majestic calm, moving smoothly away from traffic lights and almost idling on its way, though I could truly appreciate the reserves of power beneath the bonnet by the way it drew easily ahead of the more plebeian traffic.
We were travelling almost due south now and we soon struck the Bayswater Road, where the Mercedes turned right and straight on through Holland Park Avenue toward Chiswick. The big machine turned left over Kew Bridge without any hesitation, the Thames like a steel engraving in the moonlight, and went unerringly in the southerly direction, its pace still unhurried.
I had dropped back to allow several other vehicles between us and I was certain the man driving the car in front was too absorbed in his task to realise that he was being followed, the traffic being fairly thick tonight and the lights of headlights and from street-lamps and signs making a raucous symphony of colour. Pons leaned forward and rubbed his thin hands together.
“It will be Surrey, Parker! I was certain it would not be far.” “I am not at all clear, Pons…” I began when he motioned me to silence.
At almost the same moment I noticed that the big machine was turning yet again. We had already skirted Kew Gardens and the Old Deer Park and now, the road through Richmond Park being closed to vehicular traffic at dusk, our quarry was going left again to take Upper Richmond Road before turning sharp right in the direction of Kingston.
Pons sat back with satisfaction, his keen eyes never leaving the opulent motor-car ahead, while his thin fingers were engaged in filling his pipe with tobacco. As soon as he had got it drawing to his satisfaction, the bowl making little fiery stipples on his sharp, ascetic features, he turned to me, the fragrant smoke eddies hanging about his head.
“It would not be far from Central London, Parker. Surrey would do nicely. Accessibility combined with surprising remoteness from the urban centres.”
He seemed to be musing to himself.
“In parts one could almost be in the Highlands of Scotland.”
“It is the pines, Pons,” I said.
“Eigh?”
He looked at me sharply, as though seeing me for the first time.
“You are occasionally surprisingly irrelevant, Parker, but I could not wish for a more ideal companion.”
I kept my eyes fixed on the vehicle ahead. There were two other cars between us still, with a motor lorry just overtaking our own vehicle. I dropped back a little farther, just in case the driver of the Mercedes happened to be looking in his mirror.
“It is good of you to say so, Pons. Ah, he is turning again.”
The Mercedes indeed drew to the right of the junction; he evidently intended to skirt Kingston as we were now going in the direction of Malden.
“I give him another ten minutes, Parker,” Pons breathed. ‘Within easy reach of civilisation and yet remote enough. Let us hope it will not be too far for us to reach a telephone kiosk.”
“For what purpose, Pons?”
My companion turned to me in surprise.
“Why, to summon assistance, Parker, assuming my suppositions are proved correct. Bancroft is standing by and Jamison and a squad of armed police can be out here within the hour.”
I concealed my surprise as we had arrived at the junction now and I was engaged in turning across the traffic. The Mercedes was already well away and I had some little difficulty in drawing within a reasonable distance. We were now in a sparsely populated area of open heathland clad with thick trees and the Mercedes turned left after a few hundred yards, along a secondary lane. I slowed and looked at Pons enquiringly. The headlights of the big machine were clearly visible among the trees as it went steadily away from the main road.
“We shall have to risk it, Parker,” said Pons crisply. “If you can drive on the sidelights without putting us in the ditch so much the better.”
“There is a hotel almost opposite,” I said, indicating a low-built road-house from which a crimson glow shone invitingly. ‘We should be able to telephone from there.”
“Providing the Ambassador intends to stop in this vicinity,” Pons observed. “The lane may go straight through to join up with another road.”
I had pulled off the main thoroughfare, bumping into the narrow entrance and had almost immediately followed Pons’ suggestion, retaining only the sidelights. It was not very difficult following the big car in the bright moonlight as I could still see the glow from its own headlamps but the deep shadow cast by clumps of trees made visibility difficult at times. A cluster of cottages slid by, oil lamps burning in the windows.