The Secret Files of Solar Pons Read online

  "You made no attempt to follow?"

  Grimstone looked at Pons as though he was out of his mind. He shuddered.

  "Not I, Mr. Pons."

  "And once again, this phantom left no trace?"

  Our visitor shook his head.

  "We did not stop to look, Mr. Pons."

  Solar Pons stroked his chin with thin fingers.

  "A pity."

  Grimstone cleared his throat with a harsh rasping noise.

  "My niece and I sat up late that night discussing the matter. She suggested calling the police but for the reasons I have already enumerated I decided against. So I wrote to you yesterday and here I am entreating you to come down to Kent as soon as you can, Mr. Pons. I am not a rich man, but—"

  "Tut," interrupted Solar Pons. "The fee is never the decisive factor in my cases. I had decided long ago that the matter displayed features of great interest. I will come down tomorrow if that will be convenient. Can you get away, Parker?"

  I glanced at Pons with enthusiasm.

  "It will not be difficult, Pons. I have only to telephone my locum."

  "I hope I shall not have to pay for Dr. Parker's presence," said old Grimstone in alarm.

  Pons' features expressed wry amusement as I turned an astonished face toward our miserly client.

  "Do not worry, Mr. Grimstone, I shall come at my own expense."

  Grimstone gave a sigh of relief.

  "The accommodation at the manor is none of the best," he whined.

  "We shall not strain your limited resources, Mr. Grim-stone," said Pons blandly. "You have an inn in the village, no doubt? It should not be difficult to get bed and board in such a place at this time of the year."

  "Dear me, no," said our client, considerably mollified. "Then, if you would be good enough to reserve us two rooms we will be down tomorrow afternoon."

  "Excellent, Mr. Pons. I will let them know at The Harrow." Grimstone rose, wafting toward me once again the odor of stale, mildewed clothing. He glanced at the clock.

  "Good heavens, is that the time? I am usually abed long before this. I have to rise early in the morning, and meet our local mail carrier in front of Charing Cross. He had to come to London today so I have traveled with him to save expense."

  I thought you said you came by train," observed Solar Pons with a wry smile. "You were complaining at the cost of rail fares, if I remember."

  Grimstone turned toward the door in some confusion.

  "You must have been mistaken, Mr. Pons," he murmured.

  "No doubt," said Pons dryly. "Until tomorrow, then."

  "Until tomorrow. You can get a fast train, I believe."

  "You may expect us at about four, Mr. Grimstone. Good evening."

  4

  Solar Pons chuckled intermittently for several minutes after our visitor had left.

  "Well, what do you make of him, Parker?"

  "Of him or the case, Pons?"

  "Both. He has not told me the half of it, I'll be bound."

  I looked at my companion, startled.

  "What on earth do you mean, Pons? You think this figure is a figment of his imagination?"

  Solar Pons made an impatient clicking noise deep in his throat.

  "Of course not, Parker. His niece saw the apparition in the marsh. No, this is a deep business. But I would like to have your views nevertheless."

  "Your flatter me, Pons."

  "Do not underestimate yourself, Parker. Your observations, while not always right, do much to guide me in the right direction."

  "I am glad to hear it," I said. "The man is a miserly curmudgeon, as you so rightly surmised. But as to this bizarre and sinister apparition, it is beyond me."

  "Yet I am convinced that there is a purpose behind it, Parker, if we pursue it to its logical conclusion. That it is supernatural is as ridiculous as to suppose that Grimstone imagined it."

  "Well, you are certainly right, Pons, as Miss Grimstone saw it too. But how do you explain the fact that the figure left no footprints?"

  "Elementary, my dear Parker. Grimstone is not a trained observer, and the marshy ground would tend to eliminate tracks. The case presents a number of intriguing possibilities. Not least being the fact that Miss Grimstone was not in sight the last time this thing made its appearance. I commend that fact to you, my dear fellow."

  And he said not a word further on the subject until we were en route the following morning. It was a bitterly cold day; colder if anything than the previous and both Pons and I were heavily muffled against the biting air. We left the train in bleak conditions at Gravesend, where we changed to a small branch line.

  There was a chill wind blowing from off the Thames Estuary and as I glanced out of the carriage window at the cheerless acres of mud in which here and there sea-birds blew like spray as they flocked round the hulk of some wrecked barge stranded in the ooze, I felt I had seldom seen a more depressing landscape.

  But Solar Pons merely chuckled as he settled deeper into his raglan overcoat, rubbing his lean fingers briskly together as he shoveled aromatic blue smoke from his pipe.

  "Capital, Parker," he remarked. "This is an admirable atmosphere in which Grimstone's crawling horror operates." I glanced at him in some surprise.

  "You astonish me, Pons. I thought you were not interested in nature as such."

  "Atmosphere, Parker. I was talking of atmosphere," Pons reproved me. "There is a world of difference."

  We had stopped momentarily at some wayside halt and now the door of the carriage was opened, bringing with it gusts of freezing air. A robust, bearded figure entered the carriage, apologizing for the intrusion and we made way for him on the seats, removing our luggage to one side.

  "Thank you, gentlemen," said the intruder in a strong, rough but not uncultured voice.

  He was dressed in tweeds, with a thick check cap with earflaps and his heavy thigh-boots were liberally splashed with mud. He carried a pair of binoculars in a leather case slung by a strap around his neck and a stout canvas bag at his side had the flap partly open, disclosing plant specimens with ice still clinging to their roots.

  His broad, strong face was red and burned with wind about the cheek bones and his deep-set gray eyes looked at us both with interest.

  "Inclement weather," I ventured.

  He gave a hearty laugh.

  "Oh, I think nothing of that, gentlemen. I am something of a naturalist and am used to collecting specimens and bird watching about the marshes in all weathers. A country G.P. in places like this has few other diversions."

  I looked at him with interest.

  "So I should imagine. I am myself a doctor."

  "Indeed?"

  Our companion raised his eyebrows.

  "Parker is the name," I went on. "This is my friend, Mr. Pons."

  "Delighted to meet you both. Dr. Strangeways, formerly of Leeds."

  The big man half-rose from his seat and shook hands with us both.

  "You must be very familiar with the marshes then, doctor," said Solar Pons. "Perhaps you could tell us something about Grimstone. We are bound there."

  The doctor smiled thinly.

  "We shall see something of each other, then. My practice ranges wide but I live at Stavely nearby."

  I nodded.

  "We are staying at The Harrow there for a few days."

  Dr. Strangeways looked at me with narrowed eyes.

  "We are poorly served for inns hereabouts but it is the best in these parts."

  He hesitated, looking from me to Pons and then back again.

  "You will forgive me, doctor, but strangers are few and far between down here and Grimstone Marsh seems a strange destination for two gentlemen like yourselves."

  I looked at Pons.

  "We have some business with Mr. Silas Grimstone," he said shortly.

  The doctor smiled sardonically.

  "Well, then I wish you luck, Mr. Pons. He is one of my patients. My medical bill has not been paid this eighteen months, though he is as rich as Croesus."

  "I am sorry to hear that," I said politely looking from the bearded man opposite to the bleak prospect of marshland held in icy bondage by the weather, which was slowly passing the window.

  "I have heard he is tight-fisted," said Pons. "And I regret to learn he is so tardy with payment. I know you cannot violate medical confidence, but I should be glad to know if you have attended him in recent months."

  Dr. Strangeways looked at my companion sharply. He shook his head.

  "I have no objection to answering your question, Mr. Pons. Ethics do not come into it—rather business morality. I have not attended him for some eight months now. I was blunt and said I would not call again until my account was settled."

  "A perfectly proper attitude, Dr. Strangeways," said Pons approvingly.

  He blew a stream of fragrant blue smoke from his pipe toward the carriage ceiling. He abruptly changed the subject.

  "You get about the marshes a good deal, doctor. You have no doubt seen some strange things in your time."

  The doctor shrugged and settled himself back against the upholstery.

  "It is a curious corner of the world down here, as you know," he admitted. "Which is probably one of the reasons why Dickens chose it for some of his most effective scenes in Great Expectations."

  "Ah, yes," I put in. "When young Copperfield set out for his walk to Dover."

  "You have got the wrong book," put in Pons reprovingly. "And he would have certainly gone a long way round."

  Dr. Strangeways chuckled.

  "Dr. Parker was no doubt having his little joke," he suggested.

  "No doubt," said Pons disarmingly. "I have heard that the marshes harbor some strange creatures."

  Dr. Strangeways fixed his gray eyes on the ceiling of
the carriage, where swathes of gray-blue smoke clung, as though reluctant to leave the warmth of the compartment.

  "Oh, there are plenty of old wives' tales," he said scoffingly. "There is supposed to be a phantom horseman. And every corner seems to have its complement of drowned smugglers from the eighteenth century."

  "What about blue corpse lights?" asked Solar Pons innocently, his hooded eyes fixed on the smoke clouds.

  The doctor stirred uncomfortably on his seat.

  "You mean marsh lights, the so-called will-o'-the-wisps? One sometimes sees such natural phenomena from time to time. Certainly. The superstitious call them corpse lights."

  "What do they look like?"

  The doctor shrugged.

  "Marsh gas sometimes gives off a bluish light. More often a greenish yellow."

  "At dusk or daylight?"

  Consternation spread over the doctor's bearded features.

  "I have never heard of them in daylight," he said. "Naturally, they would be difficult to see. At dusk, of course. And at night. What is the purpose of these questions?"

  "Idle curiosity," said Solar Pons, stretching himself in his corner by the window. "I have heard of someone who claimed to see a ghostly figure of bluish fire down on the marshes."

  The doctor stared at Pons with incredulity. He cleared his throat.

  "I have read such journalists' tales in the cheaper press," he admitted.

  He laughed deep in his beard.

  "I should be more inclined to put down such apparitions to d.t.'s. Such things are not unknown among my patients. I had a fellow in only last week who claimed to have seen some such thing. Old Tobias Jessel. He is far too frequently in the four ale bar of The Harrow and I told him so."

  He looked out of the window.

  "Ah, this is as far as we go. It has been an agreeable journey, gentlemen, thanks to you. I am going to Stavely now and as I have my motor vehicle at the station allow me to offer you a lift."

  Pons and I accepted with thanks, and descending found ourselves on the bare, windswept platform of one of the most bleak country railway stations I had ever beheld. There was only one staff member visible, a porter-cum-stationmaster and we three seemed to be the only passengers surrendering our tickets.

  We hurried gratefully across the station forecourt and into the doctor's covered Morris and were soon bowling swiftly along the marsh road, the doctor driving with skill and obvious enjoyment. As we sped along the narrow road through the flat, monotonous countryside the dusk was creeping on apace and I could imagine the effect on old Silas Grimstone of seeing the spectral blue figure which pursued him amid this forbidding landscape. Now and again the doctor pointed out the features of the countryside, such as they were. Indeed, I felt they were but poor things, being a ruined windmill, an old round tower and the crumbling remains of a wooden breakwater, to mention only the most notable.

  Even Pons' normally sanguine nature seemed affected by the dreariness of this area of mud flats and marsh with its cloudy scatterings of seabirds and it was with something like relief that we saw the gleam of light ahead and shortly after drove down the main street of a small village.

  "Here you are, Mr. Pons," said Dr. Strangeways, drawing up in front of a cheerful-looking inn of medium size. With its brick walls and gray slate roof it was of no great charm but situated as we were it seemed most welcome with the light shining from its windows and a mellow glow coming from the entrance porch.

  We got down and Pons handed me my baggage while he sought his own. Strangeways jerked his thumb as he indicated a building almost opposite.

  "There is my office, gentlemen. I am to be found there most evenings from six to eight if you need me. You must dine with me one night. My house is in a side street, not three hundred yards from where we are standing."

  "That is most kind of you, doctor," I said, shaking hands. Strangeways smiled deep in his beard. He pointed to the village street, which wound away in front of us.

  "Grimstone Manor is about a mile from here, south along the marsh road yonder. The road is straight all the way and you cannot miss the causeway. I would run you there myself but I have to prepare for surgery and visit patients beforehand."

  "We are in your debt already," said Solar Pons. "The walk will do us good, eh, Parker. And if we step it out we should be at the manor before darkness falls. It is just a quarter past three."

  We watched as the doctor drove off down the street with a salute on the horn. Then we turned into The Harrow. The landlord, a welcoming, jovial man of about forty, was expecting us and after we had registered, showed us to two plain but clean and comfortable rooms on the first floor.

  "We serve dinner from eight o'clock onward, gentlemen. Breakfast is from seven A.M. until nine."

  "That will do admirably," Pons told him. "We expect to be out and about the marsh a great deal."

  The landlord, whose name was Plackett, nodded.

  "It is a quiet time of the year, sir, but we will do our best to make you comfortable. There is good walking hereabouts, if you don't mind the wind off the sea."

  I had just time to wash my hands, tidy myself and unpack my few necessaries, before Pons was knocking at my door and shortly afterward we were walking out of Stavely, the wind in our faces, bound for Grimstone Manor.

  5

  It was, as old Grimstone had indicated, a lonely road and with darkness falling apace, a somber one. Within a very few minutes the small hamlet of not more than five streets had dropped away and to all intents and appearances we were alone in the illimitable landscape. Pons strode along in silence, his heavy coat drawn snugly about him, his pipe shoveling streamers of blue smoke behind him.

  The road ran straight as an arrow across the marsh, ice glinting like steel in the irrigation ditches at either side. The sky was dark and lowering, though a little light from the dying sun stained the distant bar of the sea and turned the wetlands into scattered pools of blood. My thoughts were as melancholy as the lonely cries of the sea-birds that fluttered dark-etched against the sunset and here and there the bones of some wrecked craft or a dark patch of mud stood out as a black silhouette.

  The wind was gusting now and our footsteps echoed grittily behind us. There was not one human figure in all that space; not one vehicle in the long stretch of road that reached to the horizon in either direction. Pons abruptly broke the silence, stabbing with his pipe stem to emphasize his points.

  "Ideal is it not, Parker?"

  I was startled.

  "I do not know what you mean, Pons."

  "Why, for purposes of elimination, of course. The landscape limits the phantom's activities."

  He chuckled wryly. For some reason his attitude irritated me. I threw up my hands to emphasize the bleakness of the marsh all around us.

  "I see nothing humorous in all this, Pons."

  "You are quite right, Parker. It is a deadly serious affair whose purpose as yet eludes me. Yet the landscape is a vital factor. If this burning specter which haunts old Silas Grimstone is a figure of flesh and blood, as I believe him to be, he is playing a deep and dangerous game. But the atmosphere, as I indicated on our journey down, plays a big part. While it may favor the menace which hangs over our client, it also acts in our favor."

  I glanced sideways at the clear-minted, feral features of my companion.

  "How do you mean, Pons?"

  "The matter is self-evident, Parker. Let us take the points in this creature's credit account. The marsh is vast and impenetrable to the stranger. Ergo, he knows it well. He can appear and disappear without trace. He materialized only at dusk so far; darkness and fog are also helpful for his purposes."

  "I follow you so far, Pons."

  Solar Pons chuckled again.

  "But the marsh can also act against him. True, it masks his appearance and his movements, for any traces of his passage would be eliminated by the ooze. But the bog is just as dangerous for him as for any other man. One false step and he is trapped as surely as any sheep or cow which wanders in. Mud may also leave traces of his passage. And his appearance is limited to the marsh. For if he ventures onto the high road or any other inhabited place, then we have him."

  I looked at my companion in surprise.

  "You almost sound as though you are pleased, Pons."