A darker bulk broke through the mist ahead. I think I have seldom seen a more God-forsaken dwelling. A great, gaunt Gothic house with staring windows whose shutters looked like blinkers; the mist weaved in eddies round the eaves, there came the somber drip of water from somewhere and a solitary light burned high up in the mass of the building.
'That is The Priory, gentlemen," the girl said.
"A forbidding place indeed," said Pons, turning to me.
The girl smiled faintly.
"Perhaps so, gentlemen, but I have been used to it since childhood and you will find it cheerful enough in daylight."
"Perhaps," said Pons absently. "Good night, Miss Brentwood. Be of good cheer. We will stay to see you safely in."
The girl shook hands with us, her manner quite transformed from that of the afternoon.
"Good night, gentlemen, and thank you again. Until tomorrow."
"Until tomorrow."
Solar Pons' eyes were fixed on her retreating form. Presently we heard the slam of a heavy door and a short while later light sprang up in the front hall. Pons stood for a while listening intently: all remained quiet. He turned away with a sigh.
"A brave young woman, Parker."
"Indeed, Pons. This is an evil business."
He nodded at me through the mist as we started to walk back.
"Evil enough. And dangerous enough. Though I think the crime has already been committed. It is two-fold and our man hoped to cover his tracks."
I looked at him sharply as we got into the car and I started the engine.
"How do you mean?"
He shook his head, fumbling in his pocket for his pipe, which he re-lit slowly.
"I would rather not speculate without more data. Let us hear your thoughts on the matter."
I shook my head, concentrating on steering through the white wall ahead of us. The lights of the small hamlet of Peas Pleasance showed up briefly and then died behind us.
"My thoughts are entirely jumbled. We have a young girl brought up by a brutal and domineering uncle. A legacy. A lawyer whose corpse appears at her window in the middle of the night, twelve hours before he is found banged in London.
To say nothing of poisoned dogs and rose gardens."
I shrugged my shoulders in bewilderment.
"But surely that suggests something to you?"
"It is a madhouse from my point of view, though my heart goes out to this unfortunate young woman."
"Do not say so, Parker. She is fortunate indeed."
"I don't get your meaning."
"Oh, surely it is plain enough," he said, throwing his spent match out of the partly opened window at his side.
"Miss Brentwood may have lost one fortune but has gained another."
"Another?"
"Her life, Parker, her life!" Solar Pons rapped. "Things could so easily have gone the other way. And very usually do in these cases. Ah, here is The Blue Boar again. I shall be glad of my bed on such a night as this."
5
I was up early the next morning and Pons and I breakfasted in a snug oak-beamed bar. During breakfast Pons had been studying his large-scale folding map and later we drove out to Peas Pleasance intending to try the back lane of which Miss Brentwood had spoken. It was still bitterly cold at half-past nine; the mist lingered, but a watery sun shone through and the day promised to be dry.
Pons was silent as we drove, his pipe emitting intermittent jets of smoke as though my companion were some engine or high-speed pump working at full pressure. His lean face was lost in thought and presently he folded the map, his jaw set in a grim line.
"We must be extremely careful by daylight. If word gets about that strangers are in the vicinity it will make our task doubly difficult. And if our quarry spots us then the game will be up indeed."
I nodded. "Any special instructions?"
He shook his head.
"We must play this as the dice fall. You have your revolver, of course?"
"You insisted on it, Pons," I said, tapping my breast-pocket. He chuckled.
"I fancy you will find its menace a little more practical than wrestling physically with a gentleman built like a Hercules."
"There is that, Pons," I said, drawing the car over into the mouth of a narrow lane, at his sudden rapped admonition.
"This will do nicely, Parker," he breathed as I idled the machine across the grass and behind a screen of heavy trees which shielded it from the road.
We got out and walked back toward the road, our feet making crisp noises in the frosty grass. Through the mist I could see the black mass of The Priory rising before us. As Miss Brentwood had said, it looked a little less menacing by daylight, though it was too solitary by far for my gregarious tastes.
Pons whispered caution as we rounded the curve of the lane where it rejoined the minor road we had taken last night. We walked quietly on the grass at the roadside. There was no one about; indeed, no other houses, which was admirable for our purposes. Nothing was stirring — not even a bird note broke the bleak, dead silence.
We were passing toward the front of the mansion now, a thick, densely grown hedge masking our presence. Pons caught my arm. A moment later I saw the firmly closed shutters across the center, first-floor window.
"We are in luck, Parker. The front door, I think, with no concealment."
I opened the large iron gate which stood ajar and when we were upon the uneven brick path that led between the lawns to the main entrance, Pons stopped suddenly and surveyed the façade of the house.
"I see the shutters of the second-floor window over that of Miss Brentwood's room are also closed, Parker. I commend that to you as being highly significant."
He said no more. A moment later the heavy front door of the house opened and Miss Brentwood flew toward us, animation and relief entirely transforming her features.
"Oh, welcome, gentlemen! I am so pleased to see you! My uncle said nothing last night and completely accepted my explanation of my London trip, just as you said he would. He has gone to town himself today, by an early train and I do not expect him back until late this evening. We have the whole day before us! Have you breakfasted this morning?"
Solar Pons smiled down into the earnest little face that was raised to his.
"We have breakfasted, Miss Brentwood, thank you, but some coffee would not come amiss. Eh, Parker?"
"By all means, Pons," I said, following them into the large, gloomy hall of The Priory where Mrs. Bevan, a tall, angular, middle-aged woman with a good-natured face was waiting to receive us.
"You were never more welcome, gentlemen," she said expressively as she greeted us and it was obvious by the way she looked at our client that she knew a good deal of the story.
However, she said nothing more but bustled off to make the coffee while Miss Brentwood led us into a gloomy, oak-paneled dining room whose somberness was offset to some extent by its large windows which opened onto the rose garden of which she had already spoken.
Solar Pons wandered over to the casement to look out at the misty garden and terrace where frost sparkled in among the roots of the short-cut grass.
"So that is the place?" he said absently.
"Yes, Mr. Pons," said our client. "That is where poor Pip is buried. Will you not come by the fire?"
Solar Pons seated himself on a long wooden bench which jutted out at one side of the brick fireplace while Miss Brentwood and I ensconced ourselves on a more comfortable-looking couch on the other side. A cheerful fire burned but the whole stamp of the place had a hard, masculine feel about it, with but small concession to the girl's taste.