August Derleth - The Solar Pons Omnibus Volume 1

by August Derleth

  nothing; whatever happens, do nothing until I give you the word."

  "If you would give me a hint, Pons. . . ."

  "We shall see devil's work tonight, Parker, unless I am much mistaken."

  He said no more; so I composed myself to snatch as much sleep as possible.

  Some two hours passed in absolute silence, when there came to my ears the faint sound of a whispered voice. It seemed to rise from somewhere in my immediate vicinity, and, as I listened, it increased in volume.

  "Lydia! Lydia!" it cried. "Come to me. Come over. All is pain where you are. Only here will it end in joy again. Lydia! Lydia!"

  A man's voice —or was it a man's voice? It had a hollow, funereal sound, and I felt my skin prickle, as if something of the fog flowing into the room through the open window had penetrated my flesh. It was horrible, it was grotesque, it was damnable.

  Then I heard Pons stir, and in a moment he raised his own voice in a remarkable quavering cry that might have been Mrs. Thornton herself replying, "Frank? Frank? Where are you, Frank?"

  "Come over to me, Lydia. Come. It does not matter how you do it, only come. We can be happy again over here." Then the voice faded as it had come, diminishing altogether in a last whispered, "Lydia!" urgent and compelling.

  Pons waited a few moments before coming quietly to my side and whispering into my ear. "I fancy that is somewhat more than an auditory illusion, is it not, Parker?"

  "Good God! I begin to understand!" I answered. "It is damnable. But why—why?"

  "Wait yet a little. It is far from over."

  In two hours time, everything happened as before, I had dozed off and was awakened by the voice calling once again. This time Pons did not come to my side, though a low clucking sound he made after the voice had ceased assured me he had heard.

  Then all was silence again, and so it remained until dawn.

  It was then that I became conscious of a tremor in the floor of the room where I sat. I was about to call out to Pons when his cluck of warning stopped me. And then the entire floor began to move, slowly, almost imperceptibly. I had hardly time to assimilate this before Pons's urgent whisper reached me. "Keep behind the bathroom door." I crept backward along that weirdly moving floor, revolving slowly, soundlessly, until the dressing-table was indeed before the windows lining the east wall of that room, and the bookcase over before one door. There was now light enough in the room to see it as Mrs. Thornton must have seen it, and it took no imagination to understand how horrified and terrified the poor, stricken lady must have been at this sight, and how much more to come back into the room and find it as it should be.

  As soon as the movement stopped, Pons twitched the folded blanket and pillow from the bed, gave vent to a low sobbing moan, and, hastening across the floor to the door leading into Miss Manahan's room, he opened it and slammed it shut. This accomplished, he raced silently around the room to where I crouched, one hand warningly grasping my shoulder.

  On the instant, the door to the bathroom was cautiously opened, someone looked into the room, and then immediately the door was drawn noiselessly shut once more.

  "So!" whispered Pons. "That is dastardly work indeed, Parker. And one alone could not do it, no!" He peered around one edge of the window nearest us. "Ha! there is the signal. Come along."

  He darted to the open window, crawled out, dropped to the ground, and ran off into the now rising fog. I followed close upon his heels. Without hesitation, he ran to the summer-house and entered it.

  The rustic table had been moved aside, and in the centre of the floor gaped an opening through which light flowed upward. Pons walked cat-like to the edge of the opening and looked down. I peered over his shoulder.

  There below was an extraordinary sight. A man was bent at some kind of great instrument, whose shafts passed into a tunnel leading in the direction of the house we had just left, and before him, attached in some fashion to the machine at which he worked with such quiet persistence, was a perfect miniature, walls and floor, of the room we had just quitted, and, as he worked, the miniature floor slowly shifted its position, righting itself.

  "Good morning, Mr. Wellman Davies," said Pons in a scornful voice. "I fancy you will have no further occasion to carry on your devil's work."

  At the sound of Pons's voice, Davies whipped around. His hand reached out for a spanner which lay nearby, but Pons's hand was quicker; he showed his revolver, and Davies, a short, benevolent- looking man with pale grey eyes and a clipped moustache, whose nose showed signs of eyeglasses having been worn, hesitated, and glared at us in baffled rage.

  "Come up, come up, Mr. Davies. We have yet to take your wife. How did you find your friends in Scotland?"

  "In reality," said Pons in the brougham on our way back to Praed Street through the first morning sun to penetrate the night's dense yellow fog, "the problem offered of no other solution. Indeed, Mrs. Thornton, poor unsuspecting soul, told us all herself. What had Miss Lavinia, her sister-in-law, to say that would upset her? What could it be other than criticism of, and warnings about Mr. and Mrs. Davies? It had to be, for Mrs. Thornton said, you remember, 'If she could only know Wellman and Pauline as I know them.' Alas! poor woman!

  "The fundamental problem was, of course, that of the circular room. Either it was changed, as Mrs. Thornton said, or it was not. Miss Manahan and Mrs. Thornton herself were convinced that it could be nothing but a hallucination. On the contrary, I proceeded from the assumption that something was wrong with that room, and I sought for evidence that it was so. Obviously, the walls were fixed, but the floor did not seem to be. When the space between the moulding along the wall at the floor and the floor itself was manifest, it was clear that in some fashion the floor was constructed on a large turntable. I thought there might be a clue in the basement; but there was no basement beyond that concrete-walled cellar. Hence I sought the summer-house, and it was immediately apparent to my eye that the large stone blocks concealed a trapdoor. The assumption was obvious that that diabolic business was carried on from there. An accomplice was clearly indicated, and who else but Mrs. Davies? It was she who made sure that Mrs. Thornton had fled her room, and signaled her husband in the summer-house so that he could return the room to its normal appearance, which he was enabled to do by means of that small- scale model geared to the original.

  "It was Davies, of course, who imitated her dead husband's voice from the bathroom. Obviously, they did not go to Scotland, but crept back to the house to carry on their fell game, and the reason for that subterfuge seemed inherent in Miss Manahan's story; she told us, you will remember, that Mr. Davies had begun to look at her with apprehension, as if he feared she might leave them; it was just the opposite; he realized that Miss Manahan was not obtuse, and might begin to suspect their involvement in the matter; so he and his wife absented themselves, for this purpose of establishing to Miss Manahan's knowledge that things occurred in their absence, never dreaming that Miss Manahan had already consulted us.

  "And the motive for this horrible plot to drive that poor lady into hopeless insanity was surely obvious, too; Davies had had control of his aunt's money, and he did not want to relinquish that control. She was wealthy; he was not. He had already squandered some of her money on this house, and if he could succeed in so breaking down the poor lady's mental health that she could be confined once more, or in driving her to suicide by that bogus haunting of her with her husband's voice, his squandering might never be uncovered, and he would remain permanently in control of her late husband's estate, for it had been placed in her hands, and she had given it over to Davies to manage. A callous, diabolic business long premeditated. I shall see to it that Mr. and Mrs. Wellman Davies get their just deserts."

  The Adventure of the Purloined Periapt

  WE HAD BEEN talking about the science of deduction that noon hour, when we turned into Praed Street not far from our lodgings, and Pons touched my arm with a gesture designed to direct my attention to a young man walking not far ahead of us
.

  "Now then, Parker, let us see what you make of that fellow going there. You know my methods; apply them."

  "He seems a perfectly ordinary young fellow," I answered at once. "Like thousands of others."

  "Yes, indeed. But do not speak so hastily. Look again."

  I saw that the object of our scrutiny walked along with occasional glances at the numbers, and said that manifestly he was looking up an address.

  "Elementary. Anything more?"

  "He seems to be of modest means; he is not yet thirty years of age; he is obviously English."

  "You see nothing further?"

  "Nothing but the obvious details relative to the colour and make of his clothes." I glanced at him. "I suppose you are about to tell me a host of incredible conclusions to which you have come in these few steps."

  "No, no, you overrate my poor powers, Parker. I was about to add only that he is unmarried; he lives in the suburbs of London; he cycles to work; he is very probably a bookkeeper; and he is employed in our immediate vicinity. Moreover, he is not imaginative, but rather prosaic; he is precise and methodical, but sparing at the expense of neatness, and he is at the moment doing without his luncheon in an effort to accomplish something which has nothing to do with his work, for he is too conscientious to take time away from his work to pursue an inquiry into what is a purely personal matter."

  For a moment I was too astonished to reply. Then I protested. "Oh, come, Pons —I have every respect for your use of the science of deduction, but I cannot follow you in all that."

  "I assure you it is all extremely simple, my dear fellow. Surely no wife would permit her husband to go to work in such unpressed

  clothes, any more than she would allow him to wear a shirt which carries on the cuff the kind of ink marks commonly found on the cuffs of those engaged in bookkeeping? By the same token, the fellow is sparing at the expense of neatness, for he has not had his suit pressed, nor his shirt washed; yet he dresses rather well, if in singular dreariness of colour, betraying a lack of imagination."

  "He cycles, you said."

  "Surely that mark on his trousers' leg is nothing other than the mark of one of those clips designed to keep the trousers free of the wheel."

  "I missed that. But how, then, do you know he lives in the suburbs?"

  "Because a cycle is the readiest way to work from the suburbs, if one is employed in the heart of the city and is at the same time of such modest means that a certain care in spending money is advisable."

  "Very well, granting that —I fail utterly to understand how you can say with such positive assurance that he is employed in our vicinity."

  "Ah, but surely that follows inevitably. If he cycles to work, obviously he has his cycle at hand. Since he does not use it to look up an address which I fancy will turn out to be our own, certainly it is not too much to deduce that his place of employment is so close to the address he seeks that it would be superfluous to use his cycle!"

  I shook my head. "I am afraid I am destined always to fall short of your kind of observation, Pons."

  "But you have your diagnoses to uphold, Parker, and they should be your primary concern." He smiled. "Ah, see; it is as I thought. He has reached Number Seven; he pauses; he is going in. Now we shall soon learn what it is that troubles him to the extent that he is willing to depart from what is doubtless a long-established routine in order to bring the problem to us."

  As we entered the outer door to our lodgings, we were seen by Mrs. Johnson, who had answered the bell.

  "You're in luck, Mr. Harris. Here they are now." She smiled in our direction and raised her voice a little to say, "Here's a gentleman to see Mr. Pons!" and then vanished discreetly into her own quarters.

  "Come along, Mr. Harris," invited Pons, as we ascended the stairs to our own lodgings on the first floor.

  "Thank you," replied Mr. Harris soberly, and set out after us

  with an expression of intense gravity on his serious young features.

  In this prosaic fashion began one of Solar Pons's favourite adventures, for Mr. Sidney Harris had come to consult Pons about the loss of a jeweled amulet, to which he referred constantly as "my uncle's periapt." He was a young man whose demeanour gave evidence of every deduction Pons had made of him; he readily admitted that he was employed as a bookkeeper for the firm of Chasins and Abramson only three streets away from our lodgings, and he told his story with simple precision.

  "I live with my sister, who keeps house for me, and there are living with me my father, who is in ill health, my brother, who is occasionally employed as a clerk in a tobacconist's shop, and my cousin, Richard Murchison. We live in South Norwood, and I cycle to work every day, since my salary does not permit of unnecessary expense in traveling to and from the place of my employment. About three months ago my uncle died; he was Teale Murchison."

  "Ah, the publisher of religious books."

  "Yes, Mr. Pons. The firm still carries his name, though he was no longer actively associated with it at the time of his death. He was my mother's only brother, and he lived in the country south of London."

  "A wealthy, charitable old man," observed Pons. "How does it come that his son lives with you?"

  "He has a small annuity, and contributes modestly to the household expenses. We do not own the house; I take it by the month. The fact is, Mr. Pons, Mr. Murchison thought his son a wild boy because he had an unfortunate affair with a young lady, and he cut him off with but a modest allowance."

  Pons's interest kindled. "To whom, then, did Mr. Murchison leave his wealth?"

  "To charity, Mr. Pons."

  "His house?"

  "I am his heir, in accordance with the terms of his will. Unfortunately, the house has been put up for sale; it is a large, rambling structure, and there is simply not enough left from my uncle's estate to enable me to keep the house up. We had no knowledge of my uncle's doings. Mr. Murchison was a very religious man, but he was also a very crotchety one, with a ready temper and a sharp tongue, which he regretted many times thereafter. I felt very badly about his action in regard to his son, for Richard is not wild in the sense his father had it, and he did not deserve the treatment he received. Mr. Murchison had always had a fondness for me; he believed that I was a 'steady' young man." He said this with an apologetic grimace, which made him instantly more likable.

  "I had hoped to be married on some part of my uncle's wealth, but now I shall have to put that off until after the house is sold, for, of course, I intend that my cousin Richard shall share whatever can be realized on the sale of the house. I had intended, as soon as I learned of the terms of the will, that Richard should share with me. However, when we went to my uncle's bank after the will was read, we discovered that he had only two months previous to his death converted all his cash reserve, all his stocks and bonds, into gold pieces, and had then gone about London bestowing his wealth upon various charities. We traced some of it, but naturally made no attempt to trace it all, since my uncle had constantly spoken of giving everything he owned to charity, and it was, finally, no surprise to learn that he had done so. However, he thought very well of me, as his only sister's first child, and he left his house and furnishings to me. Among the possessions he bestowed upon me was a valuable little periapt of beaten gold, set with four emeralds and a single ruby. I have no idea as to its worth, but it was set apart in the will as mine, with my uncle's instructions that I follow his precept and carry it more or less as he did, in the nature of a good-luck piece. I accepted my uncle's periapt, and have carried it ever since."

  "How large was this amulet?"

  "About two inches in diameter. I believe it was handmade, except for the settings."

  "A plain gold piece set with jewels?"

  "Not quite, Mr. Pons. My uncle had had some religious verses inscribed into the back of it."

  "Let us come now to the incident of its loss."

  "That took place this morning. I did not have to reach my desk this morning until eleven o'clock
, since I had worked overtime last night. As a result, I departed from my usual custom of taking a steam-bath near my place of work, and took a bath at home. As far as I know, I was alone in the house, except for my sister, who rapped on the bathroom door while I was in the tub, to say that she was going shopping. Since I meant to change clothes, I had emptied the pockets of my suit, and had ranged their contents on my bureau. Among them was my uncle's periapt. About ten minutes after my sister had gone out, I came out of the bathroom and went into my own room. Almost instantly I discovered that my uncle's periapt was missing. I thought I had mislaid it, or that it had fallen from the bureau; but it did not reappear. In my agitation, I forgot to put on the fresh clothes I had laid out, and came away again in my old suit, as you see me. I thought the matter over in the hour before my luncheon, and determined to put the problem before you."

  "The door was not locked?"

  "Neither back nor front door, Mr. Pons. My sister had not gone far away; I was in the house; I suppose she did not consider it necessary to lock the doors."

  "So that anyone could have walked into the house and taken the periapt?"

  "I am afraid so."

  "Did very many people know of your having this trinket apart from the members of your household?"

  "Not more than half a dozen or so in the neighbourhood, and perhaps one or two people in the office."

  "Yet a child, who had no previous knowledge of it, could have walked into your room and made off with it."

  "I am afraid that is the case, Mr. Pons. Perhaps the problem affords nothing in the way of evidence, but I hesitated to go to the police and have the pawnshops watched, because I do not really know that my uncle's periapt has as much actual value as it has intrinsic value to me. It is rather a matter of sentiment than of actual monetary worth. I would like to have it recovered, and, while I cannot afford much additional expense, I am sure we could come to some agreement about your fee."

  Manifestly Pons had made up his mind to find the purloined periapt, for he smiled and suggested, "Perhaps we ought just to run out to your home and look around a little in the hope of discovering the lost amulet."