The Dossier of Solar Pons Read online

  The Dossier of Solar Pons

  The Game's Afoot . . .

  "The appearance of another volume of reminiscences of my old friend Solar Pons calls, perhaps, for some explanation. It has been on my conscience that a number of uncollected cases of the one whom the late Sultan of Turkey was pleased to describe as 'The Prince of Detectives' have been lying gathering dust in my files.

  "The work of retrieving these, deciphering the rough notes, and putting them into order for publication has taken a considerable time, but I trust those many admirers of Solar Pons will not be disappointed in the results. As a concession to popular request, I have selected only those reminiscences of a longer nature which reveal my friend's preeminent gifts and which occasionally highlight the more humorous facets of his character.

  "The greater length of these cases has enabled me to indulge the reader in the matter of setting, milieu, and atmosphere. The result in The Dossier of Solar Pons will, I trust, enable those enthusiasts for the work of the great detective to revel once again in the thrill of the chase.

  "It is time now to begin. The game's afoot!"

  —LYNDON PARKER, M.D.

  The Solar Pons Series by August Derleth:

  #01 REGARDING SHERLOCK HOLMES

  #02 THE CHRONICLES OF SOLAR PONS

  #03 THE MEMOIRS OF SOLAR PONS

  #04 THE CASEBOOK OF SOLAR PONS

  #05 THE REMINISCENCES OF SOLAR PONS

  #06 THE RETURN OF SOLAR PONS

  #07 MR. FAIRLIE'S FINAL JOURNEY!

  The Solar Pons Series Continued By Basil Copper:

  #08 THE DOSSIER OF SOLAR PONS

  #09 THE FURTHER ADVENTURES OF SOLAR PONS

  #10 THE SECRET FILES OF SOLAR PONS

  #08 THE DOSSIER OF SOLAR PONS

  #09 THE FURTHER ADVENTURES OF SOLAR PONS

  #10 THE SECRET FILES OF SOLAR PONS

  #11 THE UNCOLLECTED CASES OF SOLAR PONS

  #12 THE EXPLOITS OF SOLAR PONS

  #13 THE RECOLLECTIONS OF SOLAR PONS

  #14 SOLAR PONS-THE FINAL CASES

  THE DOSSIER OF

  based on the characters and series created by August Derleth

  PINNACLE BOOKS • LOS ANGELES

  This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental.

  SOLAR PONS: THE DOSSIER OF SOLAR PONS

  Copyright © 1979 by Basil Copper

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form.

  An original Pinnacle Books edition, published for the first time anywhere.

  First printing, January 1979

  ISBN: 0-523-40267-8

  Cover illustration by Ben Stahl

  Printed in the United States of America

  PINNACLE BOOKS, INC. 2029 Century Park East Los Angeles, California 90067

  an ebookman scan

  Contents

  The Dossier of Solar Pons

  Contents

  The Adventure of the Perplexed Photographer

  1 2 3 4 5 6 7

  The Sealed Spire Mystery

  1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10

  The Adventure of the Six Gold Doubloons

  1 2 3 4 5 6 7

  The Adventure of the Ipi Idol

  1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9

  The Adventure of Buffington Old Grange

  1 2 3 4 6 7 8

  The Adventure of the Hammer of Hate

  1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8

  End of The Dossier of Solar Pons

  The Adventure of the Perplexed Photographer

  1

  It was a wild evening in early April and the rain had been tapping icily at the windowpanes of our apartments at 7B Praed Street, when what I later came to call the Adventure of the Perplexed Photographer began. My old friend Solar Pons was in one of those restless, nervous moods that descended on him like a blanket when time hung heavily and he had spent most of the day morosely studying and annotating records in his commonplace book with occasional pacing turns about the room.

  His examination of the rain-sodden street did nothing to improve his temper and it was with something like relief that I was called out to an urgent case in the afternoon. I was again busy in the evening and, the rain having somewhat abated, returned to 7B in time for an early dinner.

  Pons was in a slightly more relaxed mood and allowed himself a thin smile at my sodden and disheveled appearance.

  "Draw your chair up to the fire, my dear Parker. Mrs. Johnson will be in with our meal in a few moments. I fear I have been a far from amiable companion today."

  I made a grudging acknowledgment of his graciousness and settled myself in my favorite leather armchair in close proximity to the fireplace, the cheery warmth of which soon relaxed both my limbs and my frosty manner.

  The appearance of the beaming, well-scrubbed face of Mrs. Johnson at the threshold, with a heavily laden tray from which ascended wisps of steam and a most agreeable aroma, completely breached my defenses and we set to with a will The table had scarcely been cleared and Pons settled opposite me at the fireplace, with a lit pipe and a glass of whiskey and water at his elbow, than Mrs. Johnson once again appeared, this time with a somewhat flustered manner.

  "There's a gentleman in the hall below, Mr. Pons. He seems rather agitated and says he must see you at once."

  Pons's lean, feral face was transformed immediately. He shot me a triumphant glance from his piercing eye.

  "Show him up at once, Mrs. Johnson. I am always available to those select few who alone bring me problems from among the mundane millions of London. Things have been too quiet of late."

  I gave a sympathetic nod to Mrs. Johnson who quitted the room; I made to withdraw but subsided in my chair as Pons immediately begged me to remain. I shifted my position so that I could get a clear view of the door as the heavy tread of our visitor followed Mrs. Johnson up the staircase from the hall below.

  Mrs. Johnson appeared in the entrance, followed immediately by a tall, heavily bearded man on whose thick- checked ulster raindrops glistened in the light of the room.

  "Mr. Bruce Beresford, gentlemen," she announced and went out with the quickness born of long practice, shutting the door behind her.

  Our visitor advanced blinking toward us, his arm extended, looking from one to the other.

  "Mr. Solar Pons?"

  Pons rose from his chair, indicating me with a casual movement of his hand.

  "I am he, sir. This is my friend and confidant, Dr. Lyndon Parker."

  The bearded man acknowledged my presence with a stiff bow. At Pons's insistence he was already removing his heavy coat, which he laid down on a chair near the fire.

  "You have been recommended to me as one of the most able inquiry agents in London."

  "Indeed, sir," said Pons dryly. "And who may be the others?"

  Beresford paused and looked sharply from Pons to myself and then back to the tall figure of my companion.

  "The work of Mr. Holmes must always appeal . . ." he began.

  "Certainly," interrupted Pons crisply. "And one in your profession would naturally know the major figures in the field. But sit here next to Dr. Parker and I will pour you a whiskey."

  Our visitor did as my companion said, though he cast a puzzled glance at Pons as the latter busied himself with a bottle of Haig and a siphon. He raised his glass in silent salute.

  "You know me, Mr. Pons?"

  Solar Pons shook his head, resuming his seat opposite me.

  "Apart from the fact that you are a New Zealander, a member of the Signet Club, and a photographer, you are a stranger to me."

  Our visitor's astonishment was unfeigned.

&nbs
p; "This is remarkable. How could you possibly....

  "Your accent unmistakably places you as being from New Zealand," said Pons, his eyes dancing. "I have made some little study of the subject of accents. As to the Signet Club, your ring bears the peculiar symbol of that interesting organization. Your hands are stained with chemicals, a condition peculiar to the photographer who carries out his own developing. When I find that combined with a green patch on your left knee, I conclude that is where you always kneel to take photographs. This afternoon you have been kneeling on grass to do so."

  There was a moment of silence as Beresford recovered himself.

  "Well, Mr. Pons," said our visitor. "Just so. For a moment I thought you had done something clever."

  "Pray continue, Mr. Beresford. I understand you have a problem on which you wish to consult me."

  Our visitor stirred in his chair, swilling the amber fluid in his glass.

  "You may think me mad, Mr. Pons. Nothing like this

  has happened to me before. To have one or two plates

  smashed or stolen, yes, that could happen but three times

  is ridiculous. And then this attack on me this evening. . ."

  His beard was bristling with indignation and Pons had a tight smile on his lips as he lifted his hand to halt our visitor's flow of words.

  "Come, Mr. Beresford, all in good time. Just drink your whiskey calmly and put the events in order."

  Our visitor gulped at his glass and flushed.

  "Forgive me, Mr. Pons. I am a person ordinarily of a phlegmatic and prosaic nature, but I confess the events of the past twenty-four hours would be enough to upset anyone. Perplexing, most perplexing."

  Pons rubbed his thin hands together.

  "Do go on, Mr. Beresford. This agency exists to unravel perplexing problems. Eh, Parker?"

  "Certainly, Pons," I agreed.

  Beresford leaned forward in his chair and cupped his hands round his tumbler to conceal the slight trembling which ran through his robust frame.

  "I run a small photographic business off the Strand, Mr. Pons. You may have heard of us. Nothing very fancy. Myself as principal, with two other photographers and my darkroom staff. Though I trust we are not unknown in the larger world."

  "Quite so," I said. "I have often seen your work in the sporting press."

  Beresford turned a look of approbation on me before proceeding.

  "I've been at the game a long time, Mr. Pons, but as the principal I cannot leave it alone. So I often take to the field myself, as it were, picking and choosing the assignments that most interest me. As it happens we have had a rush of work the past few weeks, and the flu epidemic has made things difficult this winter. Both my men were down and one of the darkroom staff."

  "I am indeed sorry to hear it," Pons rejoined. "And you yourself have had to take to the field again? Pray continue."

  "Well, Mr. Pons," Beresford went on, "only the past twenty-four hours need concern us. As you gathered, I have been taking portraits and action poses of footballers these past two days. Yesterday I was at the Chelsea ground. When I got back to my studio, I found that a whole section of the plates in my leather plateholder had been smashed. Quite wanton damage, I can assure you. I had left them on the grass near the stadium and noticed nothing amiss at the time. Fortunately, they were unexposed and so no harm was done."

  Pons's form had undergone a slight change at our visitor's narrative and now every line of his body expressed intense interest. His keen eyes never left Beresford's face.

  "This is quite unique, I take it?"

  Beresford nodded.

  'It has never happened in my life before. Sheer vandalism, sir. I had one or two calls at private houses yesterday—you may remember the weather was fine in the afternoon—and I took a bus back to my studio. I met an acquaintance on the bus and was busy talking. Judge my surprise when I checked later to find another section of slides missing from their place in my leather case."

  Pons's eyes were positively twinkling now.

  "Excellent, Mr. Beresford. This becomes more intriguing by the minute. Do go on."

  "Well," said Beresford, giving Pons an indignant look. "That's as may be but it's a serious matter to one in my profession. I had only put the case down on the seat for a few minutes and had stepped across the aisle to talk to my friend."

  "So someone sitting nearby could have taken this material?"

  Beresford nodded.

  "Exactly. Apart from my placing the bag down at Chelsea it hadn't been out of my sight the rest of the day."

  The indignation and frustrated rage in Beresford's voice was deepening now.

  "This was only the beginning. Mr. Pons! At lunchtime 7

  today I came back into my premises to find the front door smashed."

  "In what manner?"

  "The glass panel had been broken and the catch pushed back. I found my darkroom in disorder and several negatives which were drying had been broken in the manner of the plates at the football ground. I had reason to believe I had disturbed the intruder for the back door into the alley was half-open."

  "So that the person who wishes you harm might not have had time to see what he was destroying, Mr. Beresford?" said Pons.

  Beresford looked puzzled.

  "Eh, Mr. Pons? I don't think I quite understand ..."

  "No matter," rejoined Pons briskly. "You have more to tell me, I take it?"

  "I most certainly have," Beresford went on grimly. "Not an hour ago I was coming through a small alley in the Soho area when I was set upon from behind. My hat was jammed over my eyes so that I couldn't see; I was kicked and tripped; and the plates in my holdall were tipped onto the cobbles and trampled on!"

  Beresford's calm had so deserted him that his voice rose to tones of sobbing rage as he described the indignities which had been thrust upon him. There was silence in the room for a moment. Pons sat with his lean, febrile fingers tented before him in an attitude of deep thought.

  "My brother-in-law lives nearby," Beresford continued after an interval. "I visited him and cleaned myself up. He advised me to call upon you."

  "You have done wisely, Mr. Beresford," said Pons. "This is a most absorbing business which intrigues me greatly."

  He glanced at me keenly.

  "I would be happy to take up your case, Mr. Beresford. Some private photographs, a football team, and a large number of smashed negatives. What do you make of it, Parker?"

  "Vandalism, perhaps?" I suggested. "The whole thing seems pointless." "Exactly, Parker," Pons chuckled. "Which is exactly why there has to be method behind it."

  He lapsed into thought.

  "Have you a list of your appointments for the past two days, Mr. Beresford? I think we can ignore events before that since these incidents began only in the last forty-eight hours. You did not, of course, glimpse your assailant this evening?"

  Beresford shook his head.

  "Unfortunately not, Mr. Pons. By the time I came to my senses all I could hear was the noise of running feet along the alley."

  "No matter," said Pons. "I confess I have not been so taken by a problem for a long time."

  He got up and went over to his bureau, returning with a note pad and pen.

  "If you would be good enough to jot down your engagements together with any other relevant data, Mr. Beresford, I shall be glad to look into the matter. I will step around to your studio in the morning at about ten o'clock."

  "I am most grateful, Mr. Pons," muttered our visitor, scribbling furiously, as though the barrel of the pen were the neck of the man who had assaulted him. I could not forbear a quiet smile at his vehemence, though on reflection I had to admit that I should have been twice as indignant had I been in his position.

  "Here you are, Mr. Pons."

  Beresford moved to Pons's side and passed him the sheet. My companion glanced at it swiftly, his brow corrugated.

  "That will do admirably, Mr. Beresford. I see you visited Chelsea again today."

  H
e looked at the almost invisible patch of green on the left leg of our visitor's trousers.

  "I take it you had no trouble on this occasion?"

  The tall, bearded man drew himself up, reaching for his now dry ulster from the chair.

  "I made sure of that, Mr. Pons. I took my bag of plates out into the center of the field with me. Fortunately, the negatives were not among those destroyed this evening."

  He inclined his head stiffly.

  "Until tomorrow, Mr. Pons. And thank you."

  "Until tomorrow, Mr. Beresford."

  Beresford buttoned his coat and strode toward the door.

  "Good night, Doctor."

  We listened to his heavy tread descending the stairs. Pons threw himself into his armchair, his eyes dancing with mischief. He gave a dry chuckle and rubbed his hands together.

  "A pretty problem indeed. Continue with your analysis, Parker."

  "A hoax, perhaps. Or a business rival who is out to ruin Beresford's reputation?"

  Pons shook his head.

  "You will have to do better than that, Parker. I commend to you the incident of the abstraction of the photographic plates on the omnibus."

  I gave a faint snort of irritation.

  "Perfectly simple, Pons. The thief could not smash them because it was a public place and he was surrounded by passengers. So he took them to break at his leisure."

  Pons's eyes were fixed, somewhere up on the ceiling beyond my gaze to where the firelight made a brindled pattern on the white plaster.

  "There is that," he admitted. "But as to whether he would smash them is another matter."

  And to this maddeningly cryptic remark he would add nothing. I had opened my mouth to draw him out further when there was the sound of a car drawing up outside. Pons crossed noiselessly to the curtains. He came back to stand by the table.

  "We are exceedingly popular this evening, Parker. If I am not mistaken the stolid form of Inspector Jamison has just descended from the police car at the curb outside."

  A few moments later we heard the loud, insistent ringing of the bell, the murmur of conversation as Mrs. Johnson opened the door, and then the familiar tread of the inspector. Pons was already opening the door to admit the Scotland Yard man, who wore a gloomy and worried expression.