We seemed to have become fixed in our positions like immobile statutes when Pons again consulted his watch. He put his finger to his lips and moved toward the door. I stretched myself and joined him. He noiselessly opened it a crack, letting in a stream of yellow light. He slipped through quickly, beckoning me to follow. He softly closed the door behind me and led the way swiftly, as though he had known the house all his life.
We were in a vast hall with a marble floor; suits of armour stood incongruously about; there were heraldic shields on the walls; and crossed weapons interspersed with the stuffed heads of wild animals. The light was coming from a mock-mediaeval iron lantern suspended from the ceiling rafters by a chain; fortunately, it was the only light in the hall, which was a gloomy place full of shadow. Pons guided me unerringly, leading me up a huge oaken staircase with carved balustrades; we were on thick carpeting here and noiselessly ascended to the first floor.
Worn red drugget stretched along a corridor, as though the opulence glimpsed below were something merely on display to impress guests. Pons crossed the landing and went unhesitatingly up another small stairway on the left-hand side. I knew it could lead only to the upper floors on that side of the house facing the rear garden. There was a thinner carpet here and we had to be careful for the old timbers creaked unexpectedly from time to time. It was dusty and airless as though in a vault and the only light came from a single bulb burning on the first floor landing we had just quitted.
But it was admirable for our purposes and I was glad on arrival at a second, smaller landing, to find a window open, with the gentle night breeze bringing the fresh odours of flowers and hay from the surrounding fields. We were now facing a narrow corridor, which was lined with doors; there were something like six or seven each side. Pons moved down; I had the revolver out now, with the safety-catch on, and followed him as quietly as possible.
My companion seemed to be counting under his breath and he was pacing out the corridor rather meticulously, as though engaged in a mathematical formula. Later, I realised he was working out whether there were one or two windows to a room.
After what seemed an age Pons fixed on the fourth door along the left-hand side and paused in front of it. All the paintwork was shabby here as though this part of the house was little-used. Pons quietly tried the handle; the door appeared to be locked.
He listened intently, his ear against the woodwork. I could now hear what appeared to be two women’s voices in earnest discourse. Pons straightened up, his eyes dancing with excitement. Then he did something so unexpected that it filled me with horror. He simply put his hand up and rapped boldly upon the panels.
-9-
There was a moment’s hesitation and then light footsteps sounded across the carpet. A key turned and the door swung wide. Pons was through the gap like a leopard, his hand firmly over the mouth of the grey-haired woman in the uniform of a nurse. I had the pistol up but the terror on the woman’s face made the threat unnecessary. We were inside the dimly-lit room now and to my relief I saw it appeared to be empty. Pons propelled the nurse gently but firmly across to the far side of the apartment while I lost no time in locking the door behind us.
Pons put his mouth to the woman’s ear.
“I am going to release you now. If you make one sound to bring anyone to this room it will go hard with you.”
The woman, who had an intelligent face, despite her obvious alarm, nodded briefly. Pons cautiously took his hand away while I tried to look as menacing as possible. There was an expression of outrage on the grey-haired woman’s face now.
“This is disgraceful!” she hissed. “I am a professional nurse and I have never seen such goings-on in all my forty years’ experience.”
`There is no time to explain, madam,” said Pons smoothly. “You may be all you say but you can save that for the official police force.”
The nurse’s face registered shock.
“Police?” she said blankly. “I am Miss Gust. What am I to do with the police?”
“That remains to be seen,” said Pons crisply, darting sharp glances round the sparsely furnished bedroom which was lit by one shaded lamp.
“Where is your charge?”
“In the next room asleep,” said Miss Cust. “Where a child of his age should be.”
“I trust no harm has come to him,” I said, though I had little idea what Pons meant.
There was genuine shock on the woman’s face now.
“Harm?” she said. “Why should he come to harm in my charge?”
“You can explain that later,” said Pons, propelling her over toward a second door in the far corner of the gloomy bedroom. The woman wriggled free with an outraged movement of her shoulders and preceded us into a smaller room in which a night-light burned beside a cot. A small figure stirred as we came into its rays.
“Thank God he is unharmed,” said Pons fervently, bending over the child with a solicitous expression on his face.
“Who is he, Pons?” I whispered.
“Why, young Foy, of course,” said Pons, impatience fraying the edges of his voice. “Who else should it be? He is the fulcrum around which this whole case revolves.”
The nurse stared at my companion with a stupefied expression on her face.
“I was informed that the child was feeble-minded!” she said wildly. “I demand an explanation.”
“You shall have one in due course, madam,” said Pons, brushing her aside and listening at the open door. He glanced at his watch briefly and came back to the bed where a bright-faced, fair-haired child was struggling into consciousness.
“Who are you, sir?” he piped, his frightened eyes looking toward the nurse.
“A friend of your father,” said Pons firmly. “You will soon be safe again at home.”
“I would not have thought Hugo Foy capable of such wickedness…” I began hotly when Pons interrupted me somewhat rudely with an imperative gesture.
His keen ears had caught something unheeded by my somewhat denser sensibilities; a faint vibration coming from somewhere below. I looked sharply at the figure of Miss Cust but she was evidently not prepared to move from her dejected position, slumped at the end of the bed. Pons had gone over toward the door of the main bedroom; some moments passed in strained suspense and then I clearly heard the tread of heavy footsteps coming along the corridor outside. There were a few seconds more of silence and then an imperative rapping on the panels of the door.
Pons motioned to me to keep still. The knock was peremptorily repeated and the silence that followed was like a thick, blank wall, oppressive in its tension. Then the door was quietly, almost furtively tried. I think I shall always remember the slow deliberation with which the ornate brass knob of the handle was turned. Heavy pressure was put on the door but it was solid oak; it would have needed something like a sledgehammer to demolish it.
Then the footsteps went away again, somewhat hurriedly this time. There was only one man, then. Pons was back at my side, his eyes dancing with excitement.
“He has gone to get help. We have another three or four minutes.”
He looked at his watch with satisfaction.
“With luck we now have only some eight to ten minutes before friend Jamison arrives in the area. It should not be too difficult to hold them up, Parker, with the assistance of that useful toy there.”
He glanced swiftly about the room.
“We have just time to make our dispositions. Remain here, Miss Cust, and keep the boy calm and quiet. I shall lock you in. Have no fear, for all will be well shortly.”