"You astonish me, Pons."
I accelerated out of the station yard and drove in the direction of the hotel. But before we got there Solar Pons laid his hand on my arm.
"I think we will drive straight to The Priory. This is too good an opportunity to miss. If Roseacre is still in London we might well clean up this business tonight."
I gave him a look in which my incredulity must have shown for he said at once, "I have never been more serious, my dear fellow."
"What have you been up to, Pons?"
"I have been to Lincoln's Inn; to Marcus' old house; to the London Mortuary buildings at Islington; have spoken with Inspector Jamison; and have interviewed half a dozen of the longest old fellows in the law that you have ever laid eyes on."
"Good heavens, Pons! But to what purpose?"
"The achievement of justice, Parker. And during the pursuit of that elusive ideal I have uncovered murder and fraud." "How does Jamison come into it?"
Solar Pons chuckled.
"The good inspector is improving, Parker. He was reading the post mortem report when he noticed mention of cuts on the body. He was at the mortuary when I arrived there."
"Cuts on the body?"
"Of course. It is obvious, is it not?"
And he said nothing more until we arrived at Peas Pleasance, wrapped in mist and darkness. When we had parked the car I saw to my satisfaction and Pons' also that the shutters were still folded blankly across Miss Brentwood's bedroom window.
"Ah, Parker. There is still time. Even if Roseacre returns it will not matter so long as he does not come into the garden." He consulted his watch.
"We need one uninterrupted hour. And I must first give Miss Brentwood some instructions and borrow some tools from her."
"Tools?"
My companion smiled at my mystified expression.
"A pick and a shovel should do nicely. After all, I have sent many scoundrels to do similar labor on the work farms; why should I not do penance in my turn?"
"You are in a curious mood tonight, Pons," I grumbled as he knocked at the front door of The Priory.
"Am I not, Parker? Ah, Miss Brentwood, we shall not be long now in clearing this matter up. If I could just have a word."
He disappeared in the dimness of the hallway and I heard their muttered conversation. When Pons rejoined me, buttoning his coat against the bitter cold, he carried an oil lamp.
"The implements are in a tool shed at the back of the house. We will go there first."
I followed on behind as he led the way at a fast pace. The moon was rising, clearly visible beyond the mist which now extended only to treetop height.
Without a word Pons selected a pick and handed me a spade. I trailed behind him numbly as he led the way. I looked on appalled as Pons removed his overcoat and laid it down on the garden bench. He squared his shoulders and powerfully brought the pickaxe down into the packed earth.
"Good heavens, Pons!" I cried. "You are surely not going to dig up the rose garden. What if Roseacre comes back?"
"I expect him to," said Pons calmly. "We shall have ample warning as Miss Brentwood will switch on the dining room lights if he should appear."
"That is all very well, Pons," I grumbled. "But what do you expect to find? And how are we going to explain?"
Solar Pons leaned on the pick and smiled at me through the mist.
"Regarding the first question, Parker, I should have thought the answer obvious. As to the second, the answer to the first will render the latter superfluous."
I gave up and watched in a sort of numb despair as he dug down about two feet.
"You might give a hand, my dear fellow," he said reproachfully. "Just shovel the earth up on to the terrace there for the time being."
I did as he bade and in the next few minutes of unwonted exercise forgot the biting cold of the night. I shall never forget the strangeness of the scene; the dim light of the lantern Pons had borrowed from our client, the darkness of the night, the loneliness of the situation; the drifting mist; Pons' lean figure bent to its exertions; and, above all, the knowledge that we were here clandestinely, engaged in illegal activities.
In another quarter of an hour Pons had enlarged the hole he had made and had taken up the central section of terrace. I was engaged in shoveling the half-frozen earth away and when I had banked it up clear of the scene of operations I turned back to be greeted by my companion's admonition.
"Careful, now. We should be coming to something soon."
I felt the hairs at the nape of my neck begin to rise at his words but I bent forward as he scraped carefully at the disturbed earth, behind us the dim black bulk of The Priory completely without lights on this side. Something appeared wrapped in sacking and Pons gave an exclamation of satisfaction.
"What do you make of that, Parker?"
"Bones of a small dog," I said shortly.
"Pip, yes."
Solar Pons looked at me grimly.
"We must go deeper yet, Parker. Time is short and we must hurry."
7
It was eleven o'clock and still there was no sign of Roseacre. Pons and I sat in the darkened dining room, the kitchen door at our back, my own mind filled with horror and somber knowledge. We had cleaned up and eaten since our sinister excursion in the rose garden and to every question from Miss Brentwood and Mrs. Bevan, Pons had returned a tight-lipped silence.
Now, understandably puzzled, our client had retired to her room, fully dressed to await the events of the evening. Mrs. Bevan, barred from the kitchen, whose access door at her end was locked, sat in her pantry awaiting the return of her employer. Pons had smoked in silence, the glow from the roseate bowl of his pipe making it appear as though his ascetic features hung suspended in the gloom before me. At last I broke the silence.
"You think he will come, Pons?"
"I am convinced of it, Parker. He would need to go to London today to glean what news he could of the impending inquest and the circumstances surrounding Marcus' suicide. Oh, he will come, Parker, make no mistake about it."
He had hardly finished talking before the hard, hurried sound of footsteps came to us over the frozen ground in the crisp night outside. I tightened my grip on the butt of the revolver as a thunderous knocking sounded at the front door. A few moments later we heard the progress of Mrs. Bevan across the hall and then a coarse, loud voice.
"Food, woman, food! I am half-starved after my freezing journey."
The door of the dining room was flung open to admit a shaft of yellow light and the massive, bull-like form of Rose-acre lurched in. He had not seen us for we sat in high-backed chairs near the glowing embers of the fire but we could see his silhouette swaying in the doorway and beyond him, the calm face of Mrs. Bevan. Though she knew we were there I again saluted her as a brave woman.
"Food, woman, food!" Roseacre reiterated, smashing one huge fist down on to the dining table. Mrs. Bevan disappeared and Roseacre moved forward, swearing under his breath. He lit the gas at the third attempt and the room was flooded with yellow light. A moment later, as his muddled vision cleared, Roseacre started back with a hoarse scream of pure terror, his trembling legs hardly able to support him.
"Who is there?" he called, shading his eyes against the lustrous glow of the chandelier.
"Nemesis, Mr. Roseacre," said Pons evenly. "No, it is not a ghost, though only a guilty conscience could turn your features to putty like that."
"Pons!"
This time a bellow of rage and the half-drunken brute with coarse, reddened features started forward menacingly, only to be brought up abruptly as I leveled the revolver at him.
"Do not hesitate to shoot, Parker, should it be necessary," said Solar Pons equably. "The world will be well-rid of this scoundrel, and no court in the land would convict you."