Solar Pons-The Final Cases Read online

  Solar Pons-The Final Cases

  Basil Copper (b. 1924) is a former journalist and newspaper editor and the creator of the Mike Faraday detective thrillers (52 novels between 1966 and 1988). He has also published a number of gothic and macabre novels and story collections, including Not After Nightfall (1967), From Evil’s Pillow (1973), The Great White Space (1974), When Footsteps Echo (1975), And Afterward, The Dark (1977), Here Be Daemons (1978), Voices of Doom and Necropolis (both 1980), The House of the Wolf (1983 and 2003), The Black Death (1991), Whispers in the Night (1999) and Cold Hand on My Shoulder (2002).

  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

  #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

  SOLAR PONS-THE FINAL CASES

  BASIL COPPER

  SAROB PRESS 2005

  Published 2005 by SAROB PRESS

  (Robert Morgan)

  Ty Newydd, Four Roads, Kidwelly,

  Carmarthenshire, SA17 4SF, Wales, U.K.

  ISBN’S:

  1 902309 57 X (Limited - 220 copies)

  1 902309 58 8 (Deluxe - 55 copies)

  SOLAR PONS-THE FINAL CASES

  copyright © Basil Copper 1977/2005

  Cover art copyright © Les Edwards 2005

  This is a work entirely of fiction. All the names, characters, countries, organisations, events and places portrayed are either fictitious or are represented entirely fictitiously.

  Typesetting & Design by SAROB PRESS

  Printed and bound in Great Britain by

  ANTONY ROWE LTD

  an ebookman scan

  Acknowledgements

  Sarob Press (Robert Morgan) would like to thank the following for their kind assistance with this volume:

  Basil Copper

  Les Edwards

  Sara Morgan

  Foreword by the Author

  It should be noted that the entire canon of my own Solar Pons stories following the series written by the late August Derleth was commissioned and authorised by Arkham House USA back in the mid 1970s but for various reasons were withheld from publication and are only now appearing in their original form after some 30 years in limbo. Over the decades a number of editions with altered and mutilated texts have appeared. The definitive texts of the remainder of my canon can be found in the following:

  The Further Adventures of Solar Pons (Academy Chicago, 1987 pbk)

  The Dossier of Solar Pons (Academy Chicago. 1987 pbk)

  The Exploits of Solar Pons (Fedogan and Bremer, USA, 1993 hbk)

  The Recollections of Solar Pons (Fedogan and Bremer, USA. 1995 hbk)

  Solar Pons Versus The Devil’s Claw (Sarob Press, Wales, UK, 2004 deluxe & limited edition, both hbk)

  The Adventure of the Persecuted Painter in the present volume appeared in The Mammoth Book of New Sherlock Holmes Adventures, edited by Mike Ashley (Robinson Books, UK 1997 and Carroll and Graf, New York, USA. both pbk)

  Basil Copper. 2005.

  Contents

  Solar Pons-The Final Cases

  Foreword by the Author

  Contents

  The Adventure of the Haunted Rectory

  1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9

  The Adventure of the Ignored Idols

  1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8

  The Adventure of the Horrified Heiress

  1 2 3 4 5 6 7

  The Adventure of the Baffled Baron

  1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8

  The Adventure of the Anguished Actor

  1 2 3 4 5 6

  The Adventure of the Persecuted Painter (Sherlock Holmes)

  1 2 3 4 5 6 7

  End of Solar Pons-The Final Cases

  The Adventure of the Haunted Rectory

  1

  “A BEAUTIFUL DAY, Parker!”

  “Indeed, Pons!”

  My friend Solar Pons and I were strolling down Regent Street and the sunlight sparkling on the glittering displays in the elegant windows of the shops had prompted my companion’s apposite remark. It was indeed a perfect day in early June and as it was my locum’s turn to take my rounds and evening surgery I had readily agreed to a morning stroll from our lodgings at 7B Praed Street.

  “A never-ending source of fascination; the study of mankind in the raw, Parker.”

  “Perfectly true, Pons.”

  “For example, take that gentleman staggering toward us on the opposite pavement. What do you make of him?”

  I frowned across the road toward the source of Pons” interest.

  “Strange indeed. Pons.”

  “Is it not. Parker. Let us just have a small display of that ratiocinative power you have been cultivating of late.”

  “You do me too much honour. Pons.”

  I frowned again at the man who was dancing about in such an extraordinary manner. He was a little, peppery, red-faced man in formal clothes and with a silk cravat. He carried a stick and from the opening and closing movements of his mouth, he appeared to be muttering imprecations of some sort. He made savage slashing gestures in the air with his stick and his whole manner was so strange and eccentric that the passers-by on his side of the street were giving him a wide berth.

  “Some sort of lunatic, Pons?”

  “Perhaps, Parker. Let us rather say a man under stress.”

  “That much is obvious, Pons.”

  Solar Pons smiled wryly.

  “Touché, Parker. The pupil will soon be outstripping the master. But just look more closely. Does not the solution rapidly present itself?”

  I looked again at the peppery little man dancing about on the opposite pavement. A dark-coated person had appeared at the doorway of a shop on the far side of the way and appeared to be wringing his hands.

  “I give up, Pons. I find it quite impossible to find any logical reason for such goings-on.”

  Solar Pons’ eyes twinkled as he stood regarding the small knot of spectators and the little red-faced man.

  “It is a fairly common occurrence, Parker. The Duke of Porchester has been having a little altercation with his tailor. There is nothing like sartorial disagreement to provoke anger among certain members of the haut monde, my dear fellow. And when I see such an ill-fitting jacket on an otherwise impeccably groomed gentleman, his rage becomes understandable.”

  I gazed at Pons open-mouthed.

  “How on earth can you tell all this from a cursory glance across the street. Pons?”

  “By using my eyes, Parker, and drawing the correct conclusion from the data so presented to me. It is not so very difficult but one needs to relate the circumstances to their background. I also have the advantage of knowing something of the relationships involved.”

  “Relationships, Pons? And how could you know this angry gentleman is the Duke of Porchester?”

  “Well, Parker, if you will kindly direct your glance to the adjacent kerb you will see a very palatial vehicle known as an Isotta-Fraschini. The irate gentleman was certainly on his way towards it, for the chauffeur was opening the door for him when the Duke changed his mind.”

  “How do you know he is the Duke, Pons?”

  “For
the simple reason that his coat of arms is emblazoned on the door panel. It is extremely distinctive and unmistakable even at this distance. I have made something of a study of such heraldic emblems and the three griffons and the pomegranate are unique in heraldry. My attention was then directed to the gentleman himself and I recognised him from the recent photographs in the newspapers.”

  “Newspapers, Pons?”

  Solar Pons smiled benevolently at the red-faced gentleman, who was now dancing angrily halfway between the car and dark-coated man in the doorway.

  “There has been some controversy in Savile Row, Parker.”

  “I must confess I am all at sea, Pons. What has Savile Row to do with Regent Street? And what is that tailor’s shop doing there, for that matter?”

  “Ah, there you have unwittingly hit the crux of the affair, Parker. The Duke is a sharp if eccentric dresser and he had quarrelled with every tailor in Savile Row. The only tailor to suit him was Barker of Barker and Fromset. In the end the Duke persuaded this old and distinguished firm to move their principal premises into Regent Street. From what I gather he has provided the money himself. But it has apparently not taken long for him to fall out with his new partner. Ah, there is Mr Barker extending the olive branch.”

  As he spoke the dark-coated man advanced from the doorway of the tailor’s establishment, making placatory gestures. The Duke shrugged and the other made some adjustments to his jacket. A few seconds later, the two men disappeared into the shop, the chauffeur slammed the door of the sumptuous motor vehicle and Regent Street resumed its normal placid appearance, the flow of pedestrians going smoothly forward.

  “A grotesque little drama, Parker, not without elements of French farce,” said Solar Pons reflectively. “And certainly enlivening our walk. A microcosm of the human comedy, one might say.”

  “There is no getting round you. Pons,” I said. “If anyone other than you had sketched such a story for me, I should have been highly sceptical.”

  “You are at liberty to check the facts. Parker, if you wish. We have only to step over the way, as the Duke is not unknown to me.”

  I smilingly declined the offer.

  “I have no doubt everything you said is correct, Pons. It is only that I occasionally find your infallibility somewhat galling.”

  Solar Pons gazed at me sombrely from his deep-set eyes and shook his head.

  “Hardly infallible, Parker. I have had my share of failure. It is just that I seldom venture an opinion until I am absolutely sure of my ground.”

  We were both silent until we had reached the lower end of Regent Street and were skirting Piccadilly Circus. Pons glanced at his watch as we turned down into Hay market.

  “Such a promenade is a great stimulator of the appetite, Parker. What do you say to a spot of lunch at Simpson’s?”

  “The idea is an admirable one, Pons.”

  “Is it not, Parker. Simpson’s it is. Then I really must return to Praed Street as I have a client coming to see me at three o’clock. Are you free this afternoon? If so, I would like you to be present.”

  “Nothing would give me greater pleasure, Pons. Something interesting?”

  “I have high hopes, Parker, high hopes.”

  And he said nothing further on the matter until we had returned to 7B.

  2

  It was just a quarter-past three and Pons was showing signs of impatience when Mrs Johnson, our amiable landlady, announced my companion’s visitor. The tall, pale young woman she ushered in bore a marked look of suffering on her features. She would have been extremely attractive otherwise, with her tawny yellow hair that fell over her shoulders, her full lips and white, perfect teeth. As it was, she had a drawn expression about the face and a lurking fear in her hazel eyes, which glanced quickly about her as though half-afraid of what she might see.

  “I fancy the young lady could do with some tea, Mrs Johnson,” said Pons, looking at our visitor sympathetically and ushering her over to a comfortable chair.

  “I will see about it at once, Mr Pons,” said our landlady, bustling out.

  “It was good of you to see me, Mr Pons,” said the young lady in a low, cultured voice, sitting down and taking off her long white gloves. She was plainly but well dressed in a high-busted suit, fashionably cut, of some light material appropriate to the weather, and appeared more at her ease by the minute.

  “From your letter it seemed that your problem was so grave it could brook no delay,” said Solar Pons. “Miss Stuart, this is my very good friend and colleague, Dr Lyndon Parker. Miss Elizabeth Stuart of Grassington, Parker.”

  I came forward to shake the young lady’s hand. We waited a few minutes. Pons talking of trivial matters, obviously to put the girl at ease. When Mrs Johnson had brought the tea-things and withdrawn. Pons passed a cup to our client and seated himself in his favourite chair. His deep-set eyes never left her face.

  “For the benefit of Dr Parker, Miss Stuart, it might be as well to recapitulate the contents of your letter. I shall need a great many more details before being able to come to any definite conclusions but it would appear a problem which presents unusual points of interest.”

  Miss Stuart sipped her tea, a frown furrowing the smoothness of the brow.

  “It is rather more than that, Mr Pons,” she said.

  Solar Pons smiled wryly, tenting his lean fingers before him.

  “Pray take no offence, Miss Stuart. I speak purely from the viewpoint of the private consulting detective. It is obvious that you have been through a good deal.”

  “Indeed, Miss Stuart,” I added. “You have our sympathy.”

  The girl smiled shyly. The shadows seemed to lift from her face.

  “I am sure of that, Dr Parker. Oh, gentlemen, if only you knew how I have suffered these past months.”

  “Pray tell us about it in your own words,” Solar Pons invited.

  He leaned back in the chair, the sunlight at the window turning his alert, aquiline features to bronze.

  “Well, gentlemen,” the girl began hesitantly, “as I indicated in my letter, I live in a small village near Haslemere in Surrey, where my father was Rector.”

  “Was, Miss Stuart?”

  The girl nodded, the sadness returning to her face.

  “Father died suddenly, under tragic circumstances, about two years ago. Fortunately, the house in which we live belonged to my parents and was not part of the living or I do not know what Mother and I would have done. Father had small means and had contributed to a pension fund and we have contrived to manage, with my teaching work.”

  “I am glad to hear that, Miss Stuart,” I commented. “It is very often difficult when the head of the family dies under such circumstances.”

  “What were the circumstances?” interjected Solar Pons crisply.

  The girl looked momentarily startled.

  “I do not quite understand, Mr Pons.”

  “Of your father’s death, Miss Stuart.”

  “There was a crash one evening, during the winter-time. Mother ran in, Father was in the study, consulting some old books. He was lying near the bookcase, quite dead by the time Mother got to him, a Bible open at his feet. She swore he had been frightened by something, there was such a look of terror on his face.”

  “I see.”

  Solar Pons’ face was sombre as he stared at the girl.

  “What was the medical opinion?”

  “Our family doctor said it was a heart attack. Mr Pons. Such an expression was common in angina cases, he said.”

  “That is perfectly true,” I interposed. “Though I can imagine your mother’s distress.”

  “It was a difficult time, Dr Parker,” the girl said quietly. “But it was not of that I

  wished to speak. You have my letter there, Mr Pons?”

  “Indeed,” said my companion, producing a pale blue envelope from his inside pocket and opening it. “You speak here of terrifying, inexplicable events which have afflicted you and your mother. Pray tell us about
them.”

  “They began back in the winter,” the girl continued. “On a dark day of wind and driving rain. Our house, though a pleasant Georgian edifice, is quite near to the churchyard and from some windows, particularly the study, looks out on a sombre view of ancient trees and tombstones with the church beyond.”

  She paused as though the recollection of something too deep for words had disturbed her. I took the opportunity of rising in the brief interval to pour her another cup of tea. Miss Stuart sipped gratefully for a few moments before resuming.

  “I had heard a tapping sound some while before but had thought little of it, because of the noise of the wind. Mother was lying down upstairs before dinner. Hannah, our housekeeper, was in the kitchen. It was a little after dark and I had been reading by the fire in the parlour. I suddenly heard a loud cracking noise. It was somehow connected with the tapping sounds and appeared to come from my father’s study.

  “I ran in, conscious of wind and flapping curtains. A great shadow seemed to sweep across the room. I put on the electric light and was startled to see that the French window was open and banging in the wind. I secured it and drew the curtains. It was only then that I became aware that some books, tumbled possibly by the wind, were lying on the carpet. I replaced them on the shelves and tidied up.”

  Solar Pons had sat intent during this recital, his eyes never leaving Miss Stuart’s face.

  “You saw no-one, Miss Stuart?”

  The girl shook her head.

  “Not on this occasion, Mr Pons. But from the latter incidents, it now seems evident that someone had slipped the catch of the study window. I thought at the time that it had been left unsecured.”

  “I see. Pray continue.”

  “Well, Mr Pons, I thought little of the incident at the time. Two days passed and again I was reading in the parlour. It had been dark for an hour or so and I had reached the end of my book and decided to seek another from the library in the study. As I neared the door, however, I heard the same tapping as on the previous occasion. I refrained from switching on the light and walked into the room. Then there was a scratching noise from the direction of the window.