Pons was sitting at his table near the window absorbed in scattered sheets of paper while several bulky volumes formed a sort of rampart around the cleared space in the middle. His eyes were bright and clear and his lean, feral features bore an absorbed expression which I had come to know well.
“Ah, Parker,” he greeted me. “We progress!”
I put down my bag on my armchair and gratefully enjoyed the cool breeze which was coming in at the open windows.
“You mean the Foy case, Pons?”
“Naturally, Parker. If one can call it that at the moment.” I stared at my companion thoughtfully.
“I do not know what else you can call it, Pons. If all Colonel Mortimer says is true Hugo Foy is badly in need of help, medical or otherwise. He cannot go on in this insane manner.”
Pons lit his pipe, the flame of the match making little fiery stipples on his cheeks.
“As usual, Parker, your sturdy commonsense has hit upon the nub of the matter. But we must approach our object of study with care. I fancy we may bring about a meeting in a circuitous fashion. There is nothing so innocent and the object of enthusiasm as a man’s hobbies and he may often be taken off his guard when approached by a stranger on such an errand.”
“I do not follow you, Pons.”
“Do you not, Parker?”
There was a twinkle in Solar Pons’ eye now and he rubbed his thin fingers together with satisfaction.
“Steam yachts, Parker! Model railways!”
I turned a somewhat bewildered face to him.
“Model railways, Pons!”
“Indeed, Parker. I understand Foy is an authority on the 15-inch gauge. You will have to polish up your childhood enthusiasms.”
“I, Pons?”
Solar Pons chuckled and gave me an affirmative nod.
“You will, in fact, Parker, be one of England’s leading railway modellers. I fancy that will draw friend Foy out. And if I accompany you in your new guise, I fancy I may read much from such a man’s attitude when he is at home and off guard.” “I still do not understand you, Pons.”
“All will be made clear shortly, Parker. Ah, here is Mrs. Johnson with an excellent high tea. We are promised an exemplary ham salad followed by apple-pie and custard this evening.”
It was not until we had finished the meal that Pons again broke the heavy silence that had fallen between us. Mrs. Johnson had long cleared the things and I was sitting replete and content, studying an intriguing medical article in The Times, while a fresh and agreeable breeze came in through the half-open window, billowing the curtains and bringing with it an astonishing perfume — for Praed Street — of honeysuckle.
Pons put down the heavy, leather-bound volume he had been studying and looked at me with eyes in which enthusiasm was mingled with irony.
“If you could spare me a few minutes, my dear fellow, I would be obliged.”
I laid aside my newspaper.
“Of course, Pons.”
He moved over and brought one of the light dining-table chairs to my side.
“Here, Parker, is one of Foy’s more noted publications in the somewhat esoteric world of railway modelling. And I fancy you will find this Bassett-Lowke brochure instructive.”
I looked at my companion helplessly.
“But what am I to do with them, Pons?”
Solar Pons put his hand on my arm and said in a soothing voice, “Study them, Parker. You need only the merest gloss for my purposes. If you would be good enough to immerse yourself in them this evening in order to acquire a veneer of knowledge in the field, that will be sufficient.”
I opened the elaborate, coloured brochure, my heart sinking as I glanced at the illustrations.
“There is no getting round you, Pons,” I grumbled. “Very well, but do not blame me if this hare-brained interview comes to disaster. I promise to do my part but my mind is not so keen and adaptable as yours. I am afraid I cannot tell a fish-plate from a signal-box and if I get stuck you only have yourself to blame.”
Pons smiled again.
“You do yourself an injustice, my dear fellow.”
I went over toward the window and gazed down idly toward the street.
“But how do you know he will be there tomorrow morning, Pons?”
“Because the Colonel telephoned me this afternoon. He pointed out that Foy would be working on some books with his chief accountant earlier in the morning and that he always spent the whole day at home when thus engaged. Apparently, it is his practice to break from midday until three P.M. on these occasions. He has some sort of railway in the garden, it appears, and in summer occasionally spends an hour or so after lunch operating it.”
“Very well, Pons,” I said somewhat stiffly. “It appears that I must resign myself to this calvary.”
He looked at me sharply.
“Not a calvary, surely. You have been at my side in much more difficult not to mention dangerous situations.”
I walked back toward him and sat down again in my old chair.
“I am sorry, Pons. I am not myself this evening. I have been somewhat overworked of late and I must confess that the prospect of settling down to these wretched railway catalogues fills me with dismay.”
He nodded sympathetically.
“I am sure you will not find it difficult, Parker. And I would deeply appreciate your valuable assistance.”
“Well, if you put it like that, Pons.”
I sat down and drew the volumes toward me.
“But I know nothing of model steam locomotives, Pons. Foy will discover my ignorance in the matter in a moment.”
“I think not, Parker,” said Pons blandly. “I need the merest few minutes in the house with him. That should be sufficient for my purpose.”
I stared at my companion round-eyed.
“Then you intend to visit his home?”
“Of course. If you can spare the time. I thought just before lunch tomorrow if you can manage it.”
“It will be convenient enough for my purposes, Pons, but I cannot see the point. What do you hope to discover?”
“A little of his household arrangements. A close glimpse of the man himself.”
“But will he not think it peculiar that a fellow railway-modeller should seek him out in his own home?”
Pons pulled reflectively at the lobe of his right ear.
“I think not, Parker. It is my experience that enthusiasts, in whatever field they operate, seek one another out in their mutual interest. He might be a little surprised that you should call unannounced, but when he learns that you have some startling new innovation in the field to impart, I am sure you will be welcomed with open arms.”
I felt my exasperation rising but put the feeling aside.
“Come, Pons,” I protested. “What possible innovation could I devise for such an expert as Foy between now and tomorrow morning?”
“You under-estimate your powers, my dear Parker,” said Pons with maddening imperturbability. “Some new system of colour light signalling, shall we say? You will read Foy’s own views of the matter between pages 85 and 103 in his own published study yonder.”
I turned over the pages listlessly and stared uncomprehendingly at the elaborate line drawings that punctuated the text.
`That is all very well, Pons,” said I. “But how am I to explain your presence? He will be even less enthusiastic at receiving two strangers instead of one, surely.”
Solar Pons laid a lean forefinger alongside his nose, his eyes twinkling with mischief.
“A point, Parker. A palpable point. But I shall introduce you as one of Europe’s foremost collectors of ‘0’ gauge steam trains which will, I think, allay his suspicions for the moment.”