August Derleth - The Solar Pons Omnibus Volume 1

by August Derleth

  "Capital! Parker. Indeed I am. I am looking for a seven- branched candelabrum. Or perhaps seven lamps. But I rather fancy it will be a seven-branched candelabrum, after all."

  My astonishment did not permit me to reply.

  "Let me see —where are we most likely to find such an ornament? The study, perhaps, or the library. Let us just look around."

  We went down the hall, peering into one room after another, Pons somewhat in the lead.

  "Hm! Surely this looks like it, does it not, Parker?"

  We entered a small library, packed with books on all walls save the wall to our left as we entered; that wall opened on to a fireplace, and, above the mantelpiece, one on each side, were affixed two seven-branched candelabra, wired for electricity. I gazed in amazement, for I knew that Pons had never before entered this house, nor had Harris in any way described it except in the most general terms.

  "I fancy this is the room we want," said Pons tranquilly.

  "How in the devil did you know these candelabra were here?"

  "Oh, I did not know they were in this room, Parker. You credit me with too much knowledge. But it was almost inevitable they were somewhere on this estate; surely that was manifest from the beginning!" He turned to look at the candelabra. "I daresay that switch over there controls the lights. Try it, Parker."

  I did so, and the candelabra glowed with a soft, yellow light.

  "Excellent!" murmured Pons, turning on his heels, his back to the candelabra. "And here on this wall, I fancy, we will find what we are looking for. Let us just examine these books a bit. The light falls here, well above the floor."

  He stood back from the shelves and looked the books over without touching them. The contents of the shelves before us were what one might expect of a manufacturer of Bibles; they were ancient, worn tomes of considerable size, and certainly of great weight, apparently of no especial value save as curios, for they were, on closer examination of their scarcely legible titles, old variations of, and commentaries on the Scriptures. Without further study, Pons moved forward, opened the case, and began to turn over the books, taking them from the shelves until he came to a set of four of the largest books which were especially encased and were among those quaint old books which bore locks.

  "Ha!" he cried. "I fancy we shall want these, Parker. If you will take two of them, I will take the other two."

  I picked them up, and found them as weighty as I had expected. "I am by no means anti-religious, but these Scriptures are as heavy as lead."

  "Spoken like a true sinner, Parker."

  I laughed and carried on.

  Pons carefully locked the door. We got into the cab, and rode back to London, reaching our lodgings before ten o'clock. Pons lost no time in going at once to the telephone and asking our recent client, Sidney Harris, to step around. Then he went calmly to the wireless and turned on the news, to which he listened with unbroken attention for the next half hour, thus effectively keeping me from asking the questions that welled up inside me with insistent urgency.

  In less than an hour, Mr. Sidney Harris arrived. He had cycled over, and he rang our doorbell with an uncertainty that reflected his feelings. Pons stepped to the door, opened it, and called down to invite Harris up. He entered the room with perplexity plainly evident on his features; he was completely at a loss to know why my friend, Solar Pons, had sent for him, and there was manifest also some apprehension, very possibly because he feared Pons had decided after all to ask a fee for his services.

  "Come in, come in, my dear Mr. Harris! I have a little matter that requires your attention. First of all, the key to your late uncle's house. I believe the house would be far more suitable for occupation by your bride and yourself."

  Harris goggled at Pons as he took the key and mechanically attached it once more to his key-ring. "I'm sorry," he managed to say. "We are hoping to sell it."

  "I fancy that will not be necessary." Pons walked with a cat-like agility around the table, took up one of the ponderous tomes he had brought from the Murchison house, slipped it from its case, and pried open the lock. "Pray overlook the liberties I am taking with your property, Mr. Harris, but I believe your uncle intended you to follow this course."

  As he spoke, the book fell open with a dull sound, and there lay revealed not an orthodox book at all, but a cleverly made dummy, into the pages of which had been laid row on row of gold pieces!

  "My Lord in Heaven!" exclaimed Harris, staring open-mouthed.

  "Ah yes, these gold pieces are quite real, believe me, my dear fellow! There are four volumes of them. I discovered them precisely where your late uncle said they would be."

  Harris, who had taken a tentative step or two forward, hesitated once more and stared at Pons with that strange mixture of uncertainty and respect which my friend never failed to command by these casual announcements of his remarkable deductions.

  "My uncle?" he said, passing his tongue over his dry lips.

  "Indeed, yes. He left the word for you as plainly as he could in his determination to tax your ingenuity. I fear he had no very great respect either for your knowledge of Scripture or your imagination. I fancy, too, he had a good time exercising his own ingenuity and wit by setting out to distribute his wealth and ending up by concealing the bulk of it for you to find. Your inheritance was precisely where the late Mr. Murchison wrote that it would be—opposite the seven-branched candelabrum, where the light fell on the north wall of his library."

  Harris sat down nervously. "I am afraid this is quite beyond me, Mr. Pons. I am all a-tremble."

  "Dear me! Pray pull yourself together. You are wealthy, Mr. Harris. No more will you need to cycle to work daily, and no longer will you need to put off your wedding. But, come, let me explain the puzzle to you. Have you your uncle's periapt?"

  Wordlessly, Harris produced the curious object.

  "Herein lies the solution of the matter," continued Pons. "I apprehend neither you nor my estimable companion knows his Scripture well. Attend me: Ask, and it shall be given you: seek, and you shall find: knock, and it shall be opened to you. Numbers: 8, 2." He looked up, his keen eyes narrowed. "Now, then, think: what is the source of that quotation?"

  Harris swallowed and answered uncertainly. "Is it not from the Sermon on the Mount?"

  "Capital! Capital! Of course it is, Mr. Harris. But what then, is it doing in Numbers, which is in the Old Testament?"

  Harris began to look a little foolish, and I have no doubt I too looked as foolish as I felt.

  "There you have it. The quotation is from Matthew: 7.7., the Douay version, which is the version of Scriptures preferred by members of the Roman Catholic faith. Clearly, then, Mr. Murchison meant you to seek and find, and he told you at least initially where to look. Let us turn to Numbers: 8.2."

  As he spoke, he lifted from his shelves the Bible in question, turned over a little more than a hundred pages, and read aloud:

  "Speak to Aaron, and thou shalt say to him: When thou shalt place the seven lamps, let the candlestick be set up on the south side. Give orders therefore that the lamps look over against the north, towards the table of the loaves of proposition, over against that part shall they give light, towards which the candlestick looketh. — Surely that is plain enough!"

  At that, Mr. Sidney Harris found his voice. He came to his feet, seized Pons's hand, and began to shake it in the sudden expression of his joy. "Mr. Pons, I owe you more than I can pay you. You have given me a new life, indeed, you have!"

  "On the contrary, my dear fellow —it is I who owe you a debt of gratitude for bringing to my attention one of the most intriguing problems in many months. And, by the way, if I were you I should not permit natural generosity to make it unnecessary for brother Charles to get himself a suitable position and learn to work."

  The Adventure of the Lost Locomotive

  EARLY ONE MORNING during the fourth year of my residence in the quarters of my friend, Solar Pons, the private inquiry agent, I was startled from sleep by a comm
anding assault on the outer door of No. 7B, Praed Street. I jumped out of bed, groped into my dressing-gown and slippers, and came out of my room hoping to anticipate my companion, for he had sat up late assembling certain facts relative to my notes concerning the dramatic adventure of the Haunted Library.

  But Pons had preceded me. Indeed, he was even now turning from the window, his keen grey eyes alight with expectation. Clad in his purple dressing-gown and velvet slippers, he stood rubbing his hands together in that habit he had, and favoured me with a light smile.

  "Ah, he has wakened you, too, Parker," he said. "I had hoped to prevent his disturbing Mrs. Johnson, but she sleeps like a cat and wakens at the slightest sound. If the matter is commensurate with the to-do which announces it, I fear we shall be asked to look into a formidable problem."

  "It is surely no night to be out," I said. "It is still raining."

  "But the fog, I think, is thinner," answered Pons.

  "Was there a car below?" I asked. "I saw you looking out."

  "A limousine. But there are two people on the stairs, and one, unless I am grievously in error, is our old friend Jamison."

  The door was tapped upon, and, at Pons's reply, thrown open.

  Inspector Jamison loomed behind a portly figure of considerable presence. Our client was a man of perhaps sixty summers, with closely-cropped greying hair, keen dark eyes, and a square, impressive jaw dominated by a wide, thick-lipped mouth. His appearance, however, was that of a man who had undergone but recently events of a most upsetting nature. Without waiting for Inspector Jamison's introduction, he strode toward Pons.

  "Mr. Solar Pons," he said, extending his hand gravely.

  "Sir Ernest McVeagh, I believe," replied Pons. "Director of the Great Northern Railway, as well as of several other corporations of considerable importance to the Empire."

  "I trust you can forgive this unseemly and untimely interruption of your rest. ..."

  "Think nothing of it, sir. I observe you, too, were aroused from your own bed by the events which have brought you here. Pray allow me, sir —your waistcoat is buttoned askew."

  "It is of no consequence, Mr. Pons. Let us waste no time in coming to the point," said our visitor in some agitation. "One of our locomotives has vanished."

  The light quickened in my companion's eyes. "From the roundhouse or the line?"

  "From the line!"

  Pons's eyes fairly danced. "The details?"

  "At ten-thirty last evening, a gentleman who gave his name as James H. Mason appeared at our district manager's office; he represented himself as having but recently arrived at Croydon from New York. He stated that it was urgently necessary for him to be in Sheffield at the earliest possible moment, preferably before dawn, certainly not later than ten o'clock. All air travel had been canceled because of heavy weather; he had been unable to hire a car to take him so far from London; he had missed the fast train to Sheffield; so he had come as a last resort to implore our arrangement of a special train or locomotive to transport him to Sheffield. Money was apparently no object. Since he carried but a dispatch case, we were naturally curious to know something more about him. He was unusually reticent, but he disclosed that he had registered at Bohn's; inquiry soon corroborated his statement. He had remained in his room only long enough to deposit a bag, which Scotland Yard has impounded."

  Inspector Jamison's rubicund face managed a smile and he nodded gravely. "Nothing in it," he said. "That is, nothing that would tell us much about him, except that he appeared to be in the legal profession."

  Our client continued. "His request was a most unusual one. It was not impossible for us to transport him to Sheffield, however costly the operation might be. As he made clear, he did not quibble at the cost of a special, nor did he object when he was informed that it might be impossible to make up a special at such short notice, but that a locomotive and carriage was available for his use as soon as we could find a driver and fireman to man it. It would take at least an hour to clear the line and make the necessary arrangements; he chafed at this delay, but did not stir from the office while arrangements were being made.

  "As a matter of record, our registry number 177 left Euston Station at eleven-thirty-seven; it had to run on a very close schedule, of course; for at least part of the way a slow passenger train followed, and the line had been cleared only for the time necessary to make the special run. Each station, therefore, had been informed of the approximate hour of Number 177's passing, with instructions to wire the central office as soon as it had gone by, so that we might be fully informed in regard to its keeping on schedule. Wires accordingly came in at the expected intervals, with Number 177 running on time, until the locomotive had passed Girton, which is approximately seventy miles from London. The next station on the line is Kendon-on-Lea; it is just fourteen miles beyond Girton. Since the special was traveling at about seventy miles an hour, it should have passed through Kendon-on-Lea in ten minutes or so after it had gone through Girton.

  "But there was no wire from the station-master at Kendon-on- Lea. There was no further announcement of the special's passing whatsoever. The central office immediately dispatched an inquiry to Kendon-on-Lea; Jeffries, the station-master there, replied by wire that the special had not yet passed. Within half an hour came another wire from Jeffries reporting the passing, on schedule, of the slow train which had been following the special. Naturally, since there had been no report of an accident, the superintendent thought that there had been remissness or an error somewhere along the line; at least the special might have left the rails sufficiently far to have escaped the notice of the engineer of the following train.

  "At the superintendent's instructions, therefore, a party of inquiry was sent back along the line to Girton. Mr. Pons, despite the most diligent search, no trace of the locomotive could be found. The only certain facts were that the special had gone through Girton but had not reached Kendon-on-Lea. Subsequently, however, the fireman, Stanley Meybreck, was found wandering in a dazed condition in the vicinity of Chadwick, the station before Girton on the up-run; and only twenty minutes before we set out for your address, the engine-driver telephoned from Chisborough; he had found a telegram announcing the collapse and imminent death of his father waiting for him at Chadwick, together with a substitute driver, and had gone rushing off only to discover that nothing had happened to his parent. It would seem that some premeditation is thus indicated, though it is puzzling to believe, and even more perplexing to explain.

  "That, Mr. Pons, is the sum and substance of this extraordinary affair. We communicated at once with Scotland Yard, and Inspector Jamison has been working diligently since that time. Though he has not been on the scene, the tracks between Girton and Kendon- on-Lea have been examined with the most minute care, and so have the branch-lines, though only two of them are any longer in use."

  "How many are there?" asked Pons.

  "Three. One leads to a colliery, another to a mine, the third to a goods-yard owned by the line but abandoned some time ago to a salvage company."

  Pons glanced toward Jamison. "You have had reports on the branch-lines?"

  "Of course," said Jamison with self-assurance. "The colliery line is clear; there is nothing on it, and the staff at the colliery report no disturbance on the line. The line to the mine ends in buffer-stops; that has not been disturbed; it too is clear. The other branch is no longer even connected to the main line; the tracks for a short distance from the points were taken up two years ago."

  Pons sat for some moments in deep silence, his head sunk upon his chest, the fingers of his left hand toying with his ear.

  "A locomotive can hardly vanish into thin air," he observed presently.

  "Elementary, my dear Pons," said Jamison heavily.

  Pons smiled.

  "The fact is," continued Jamison, "that is exactly what it did do. It passed Girton; it did not reach Kendon-on-Lea. It did not return through Girton; it did not go forward through Kendon-on-Lea. The through train whi
ch followed met no obstacle on the line between Girton and Kendon-on-Lea. I believe it was you who once said that if the possible explanations are shown to be inadequate, then the only remaining explanation, however untenable, must be true. The locomotive has disappeared as completely as if the earth had opened and swallowed it up."

  "Let me see. There are no tarns, canals, lakes along the line," mused Pons.

  Jamison smiled with an annoyingly superior air. "My dear fellow, that was the first thing we thought of. We are not amateurs."

  " 'Pity 'tis, 'tis true,' " murmured Pons. "But the locomotive is not in London; so a visit to the scene of the crime is indicated."

  "We can arrange for a special for you, Mr. Pons," said our client.

  "I hardly think it will be necessary. There is surely some train on its regular run that will convey us to Girton. From there, we shall enlist such services as you may direct your staff at that station to lend us. We shall need a light engine and carriage to go out over the line."

  "The next train leaves Euston in scarcely half an hour, Mr. Pons," said Sir Ernest with some anxiety.

  "We shall be on it," promised Pons.

  Our client was somewhat uncertain, but in his anxiety he could not afford to disregard any proposal Pons might put forth. An examination of the ground was inevitable in the circumstances; that Pons intended no delay could not but please Sir Ernest McVeagh. If Inspector Jamison was dubious, he masked his dubiety well; still, there lingered in his eyes an almost triumphant smile, as if to say that this time, certainly, my companion's much-vaunted powers would not help him.

  "We shall give you every assistance in our power, Mr. Pons," said Sir Ernest.

  After our client and the portly Inspector Jamison had taken their leave, Pons threw himself into the feverish activity attendant upon our departure for the north. Throughout our rapid preparations, Pons said not a word. Yet he made ready with the keenest anticipation; the problem Sir Ernest McVeagh had brought him was one which intrigued him, and even the prospect of going out into so unpleasant a night did not dismay him. Not until we were safely ensconced in the compartment of the train which was to take us to the north did Pons speak.