August Derleth - The Solar Pons Omnibus Volume 1

by August Derleth

  Our client's bewilderment was almost painfully evident, but he interjected no question.

  "To put it bluntly —your brother, with Henry Bresham and George Stoner, was engaged in supplying young girls for the purpose of enforced prostitution —the young women were lured from the country, very probably to Paris, and were abducted from there to be put into the brothels of Africa and the Middle East.''

  Ruthel paled. "Lionel in the white slave traffic!" he cried in a strangled voice.

  "I fear there can be no doubt of it, Mr. Ruthel."

  Pons waited for our client to compose himself.

  "Go on, sir," said Ruthel presently.

  "Seven of these unfortunate women were discovered in a brothel in Marrakesch by the agents of a sinister Oriental who heads a worldwide organization dedicated to eventual domination of the world —a fantastic dream, the dream of a megalomaniac. From these young women he learned how they came to be there. He conceived the idea of blackmailing the men responsible for this hideous traffic —not only in England, but elsewhere on the Continent and in America. His agents rescued the girls who stood for the seven stars of the signature on your brother's levying letters —the seven for whose impressment into prostitution your brother and his partners were responsible —and proceeded to levy his blackmailing demands upon them. The name attached to the letters —'Simon Fance' —was in fact false, but it stood for the name of the organization, 'the Si- Fan'—which, when I recognized it, led me to him.

  "Faced with the threat of exposure, your brother paid the first demand made upon him. He balked at the second. Only a very powerful fear of disgrace — which would certainly have resulted from the exposure of his former activities —could have overcome his natural parsimoniousness, which you pointed out to us. But by the time the second demand was levied upon him, he had begun to recover the assurance he had lost when the first demand came to him out of a past he had thought buried in foreign brothels far from England. Your brother's death —as well as others—was brought about through the agency of men in the Doctor's service — devoted lascars and dacoits especially trained in murder."

  "Monstrous!" cried Ruthel.

  "It is indeed," agreed Pons.

  "Can he and his men be taken?"

  "Possibly. It has been tried before this," answered Pons. "Are you sure you wish it done?"

  Ruthel looked his surprise. "Ought not justice to be served, Mr. Pons?"

  "I submit there are some who would say justice has been served, Mr. Ruthel."

  "It must be done, sir!"

  "Gently, gently, Mr. Ruthel. Pray reflect on this. I am little concerned for your late brother's reputation —but there are the young women to consider. If this matter is disclosed, they too will be discovered, their lives revealed, and their sordid evidence given to all the world. The press knows no mercy, as surely you are aware. Their lives, already badly scarred, will unquestionably be ruined. I do not condone murder—but justice, Mr. Ruthel, has more than one face. The young women are at present in London, and they will shortly be set free —with funds collected from your brother and others —to begin their lives again where and how they wish. If we proceed in this matter, they will hardly be able to do so after the spate of publicity, with their pictures in the papers, that must inevitably result. The choice is yours, Mr. Ruthel."

  Our client bounded to his feet and began to pace the floor in agitation. "I see your point, Mr. Pons," he muttered, passing in one direction. "It will not bring Lionel back to life" —on his return. "I suppose it could not be done without involving them" — passing again. "No, no, hardly," he answered himself, returning. It was as if the demand for traditional justice vied visibly with his sense of fair play. "The whole issue is the demand for Judaeo-Christian justice, in sum," he went on. "But what justice does that ultimately leave these unfortunate women?"

  "Precisely," agreed Pons.

  Our client came abruptly to a stand before Pons, planted his handsome cane hard upon the floor, and cried out, "We have had enough of it. If you will send me an accounting, I will send you a cheque, Mr. Pons. You must do as you see fit. I wash my hands of it."

  After he had gone, I protested. "Pons, you cannot do it."

  "Tut, tut —I can do as I like. Tomorrow I will place the essential facts before Jamison —the scientific knowledge gleaned from an examination of the dust in the Underground carriage, for example — and I will give him enough of what I surmised to put him on the track of the Doctor. But if I know our friend from the Yard, he will laugh at me, and nothing will come of it."

  And so it turned out.

  The Adventure of the Limping Man

  THE CEASELESS activity in which Solar Pons was engaged during the summer and early autumn of the year 1923 brought him at last to a stage where he was forced to choose either absolute rest or a nervous breakdown. Knowing how much Pons loathed the thought of inactivity, I put off broaching the subject of a holiday for as long as possible, but at last, early in October of that year, I suggested that both of us run up to the country estate of a good friend, Sir John Mollines, for a brief stay, which I secretly planned to lengthen as much as I could. Sir John's estate lay in Northumberland, near the Scottish border, in the midst of a well-populated district, though surrounding estates were quite extensive and the houses therefore rather widely separated.

  Pons opposed the suggestion from the start, but sheer persistence on my part, coupled with his knowledge of his own condition, and my assurance that the nearby village of Durward was in easy communication with London, finally overcame his opposition, and he gave in after a week of dubiety and protest.

  By the fifteenth of that month we were comfortably established in Sir John's country-house, which was far more than merely a house, what with its library and its stores. At my suggestion, Sir John had given the servants a fortnight's holiday, excepting only the caretaker, who remained in his lodge at the gate. We had the house to ourselves, therefore, and it devolved upon me to do the work of cook and housekeeper, not in any sense exactly a new experience for me.

  But alas! for plans of mice and men! Pons spent all the first day resting, while I lost myself in a monograph concerning the mental aberrations of men and women of genius; beyond that first day, rest, as I understood it, was not part of Pons's routine. Nothing could keep Pons in the house on the second day. Indeed, he was already gone when I awoke that morning, and he did not turn up until some little time after lunch, and then only ran in with a briefly ironic, "I see you're up!" and left again before I had time even to protest.

  It was not until after dark when he came in to stay. He was begrimed and dusty, as if he had walked a long way. He said not a word as he entered, but walked with singular directness over to a sheaf of his papers, and a volume of his file of cuttings which he had insisted on bringing along from our lodgings in Praed Street. Armed with these, he came to the table and seated himself opposite me, looking at the dinner waiting for him with remarkable disinterest.

  "We have most interesting neighbours to the north, Parker," he said musingly, a thoughtful glint in his eyes.

  "Indeed! Were you resting there?" I asked, eyeing his clothes in studied disapproval.

  He ignored my thrust. "I fancy you've heard of the Melham family?"

  "I must admit I am not a walking directory."

  "Come, Parker," he challenged impatiently. "Surely you can't have forgotten the strange disappearance of Sir Peter Melham! Let me see — " he paused and frowned briefly, as if he had any necessity to recall facts which were doubtless at his fingertips —"that was three years ago, I believe."

  I sighed and settled back, shaking my head in disapproval which did not stem his enthusiasm.

  "He vanished sometime in October, if I recall righdy," he went on blithely. "I brought my notes on the matter up with me, since I rather hoped that Sir John's lodge was near the Melham estate."

  "Certainly you aren't planning to reopen that old matter?"

  "Not unless I am asked to do so."<
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  "Well, there is little danger of that. The case is pretty well closed."

  "Say, rather, it has rested. It is as far from being closed as it ever was. No case is definitely closed until it is solved."

  During this brief exchange, he had been going through his papers, and he had now come to his notes relating to the disappearance of Sir Peter Melham. I felt all my hope for his holiday fading, for I saw in his keen eyes once again all the excitement of the chase. As if he had read my thoughts, he looked up and fixed me with a sharp glance.

  "Perhaps you would rather hear nothing more of the matter, eh?"

  He had me; he knew he had. "I would rather you had forgotten all about it —but now that you've interested yourself, go on."

  "Very well, then. I have a good summary of the case here. Sir Peter took possession of Melham Old Place, as it is called, in late

  May 1920, after selling his London house; he came with his daughter Maureen, his wife having died many years earlier. Melham Old Place has always been the family seat, and it was at that time occupied by Peter's brother Andrew, a paralytic confined to his bed. Sir Peter was engaged in business on the Continent, and Maureen was to remain with her uncle during his absence. His ultimate destination on the Continent was Prague, though the nature of his business was never revealed. He set out on the night of October seventh, 1920, leaving Melham Old Place with two bags and a portfolio. He was known to have purchased a ticket for London at the Durward station, and he was seen to enter the midnight express from Edinburgh shortly after ten o'clock. That was the last seen of him. His punched ticket, with his bags and portfolio —all were found in a first-class carriage compartment at King's Cross.

  "In his deposition, a ticket-inspector stated he had punched Sir Peter's ticket somewhere out of Reveling, which is well away from Durward. Sir Peter had not been in evidence; he had assumed that Sir Peter was either in another compartment or in the lavatory at the other end of the carriage. The ticket lay on the seat; he had punched it and replaced it; at King's Cross he had found the ticket just where he had put it after punching it. The indication, therefore, was that Sir Peter vanished in the vicinity of Reveling."

  "Yes, I remember it now," I said. "Quite extraordinary."

  "Sensational," corrected Pons. "I have some memory of the investigation pursued by Scotland Yard, whose men were sent as far afield as Prague, to discover if possible what was known of Sir Peter there. But nothing was —beyond his two monographs; so that his destination was never revealed, since it was apparently as much of a mystery to his brother and his daughter, as to Scotland Yard. Of course, the usual rumours began to circulate immediately, and ranged all the way from suspicion of murder —for what motive no one ever tried to account —to wilful disappearance."

  "Had Sir Peter anything to gain by vanishing?"

  "Nothing, apparently, and all to lose. Of course, old family history is always a source of great interest to rumour mongers and those who have little to do with their time. But the history of the Melham family offers comparatively little of major interest. The family first came into prominence through the knighting of Sir Mark Melham —born in 1832 —in 1867. The sons, Andrew and Peter, were born in that year, and Lady Melham died shortly thereafter. Not long after, Sir Mark removed to London, and there he stayed until he died in 1911.

  "Young Peter briefly troubled the family in 1887, when, after an affair with a Miss Rose Hadley, he eloped with her. The young lady was the daughter of a woman who had been recommended to Sir Mark as a housekeeper for Melham Old Place. When Peter was next heard from, he turned up with his small daughter, Maureen, saying he had married Rose Hadley, but that she had died shortly after giving birth to the little girl. Sir Mark refused to recognize either his son or his grandchild; he executed a new will in favour of Andrew, cutting Peter off. This was in 1899; Maureen was then three years of age. After this cold reception, Peter entrusted his daughter to her relatives on her mother's side, and returned to London, where he came to some prominence in 1902 by distinguishing himself in the scientific field with two monographs and a minor invention. He supported his daughter and assured her education.

  "Sir Mark died in 1911; Sir Andrew inherited the estate, and Sir Peter, now knighted for scientific service to the Crown, returned to Northumberland to suggest a partition of the estate, to which Sir Andrew did not agree. This time Sir Peter took his daughter back to London with him. There was a period of coolness between the brothers for some years, but early in 1919, after Sir Andrew sustained his paralytic stroke, their coolness was forgotten, and they kept up a warm correspondence up to the time of Sir Peter's final leaving of London."

  Pons looked up from the papers. "Now does that not present a prosaic background for that inexplicable disappearance?"

  "Ah, you consider it inexplicable, then?"

  "No, no, nothing of the sort. You misinterpret me. It has been inexplicable up to this time; beyond that I will not go. You know my methods; you know my confidence; you ought not to tempt me in this fashion, Parker. It is quite possible that I may be drawn into this matter —even against my will."

  "Against your will, indeed!"

  "I fear you are becoming too dogmatic, Parker, especially in regard to your diagnoses. Recreation and rest do not necessarily imply mental and physical stagnation."

  "There is no good in your stirring up this old mystery, and surely no one will invite your services at this late date."

  "You forget there is Miss Maureen Melham, who must certainly be interested in the fate of her father. She is now twenty-seven, and decidedly attractive, I should say, judging by the glimpse of her I got through my glasses this afternoon." He smiled ruminatively. "I daresay it is no surprise to you that it has come to her ears that I am in the neighbourhood."

  "Impossible!" I cried. "I have maintained the strictest secrecy!"

  "Dear me! How reprehensible of you! Now I, on the contrary, immediately noised my coming about. Our lodge-keeper carried the information over to Melham Old Place with commendable dispatch."

  "I think it most unwise. . . ."

  "I may as well tell you, Parker, I expect Miss Maureen Melham to call on me not later than eight o'clock tonight. And now, I think we had better do justice to the meal you have had waiting here all this while."

  There was nothing more for me to say.

  It was almost eight o'clock, and only a few moments after Pons came in that evening, when a faint rap sounded on the heavy oaken panels of the outer door. I rose at once and admitted a young woman whose attractiveness had not been done justice by Pons's comment at dinner. She wore no hat, and her hair was lightly but agreeably disarranged, as if the wind had blown into it and not fully escaped; it was dark, ashen hair, complementing the grey of her eyes. She was dressed in a neat tweed walking-suit, the jacket of which was unbuttoned, since the night was warm. In her right hand she carried a stick, which she tapped almost with impatience against her shoes as she stood looking from one to the other of us. Her eyes, however, with true woman's instinct, fixed on Pons even before he spoke.

  "Miss Maureen Melham, I take it," said Pons, placing a chair for her and courteously inviting her to be seated, so that her face was illuminated by the lamp on the table, and so betrayed a distinct uneasiness. Her lips parted twice, but no words came. She flashed a glance at me, looked to the windows, looked back at Pons.

  "Pray be at ease, Miss Melham," said Pons. "I observe you are carrying a heavy stick, obviously for protection; you may safely discard it here. Manifestly, you consider the stick necessary. Why?"

  "In the light of past happenings, Mr. Pons, I cannot help but feel that I am in physical danger."

  "Yes, I observed you were followed here tonight."

  She started. "How could you know that?"

  "Ah, I was behind you all the way from Melham Old Place. Apart from myself, whom I modestly assume to have been invisible, there were two people interested in your actions. I understood that your young man was the one, and had no
difficulty concluding that he is not in favour at your home, for he met you some distance from it. But the other follower—I found him quite interesting."

  "There was another? Besides yourself?" She was plainly frightened.

  "Oh, yes. A short man, quite old, I should say; he walks with a slight limp."

  Miss Melham's expression was briefly of fear before she controlled herself; nevertheless, she half-rose from her chair, and her hand clenched around the heavy stick. "It is he!" she cried. "The limping man. The man I came to see you about tonight."

  "No, Miss Melham, forgive me," replied Pons calmly. "The man who followed you tonight carried no cane; I understand the apparition you have seen of recent weeks is in the habit of carrying one."

  The girl nodded and looked at Pons in some perplexity. It was as apparent to her as it now was to me that Pons had withheld something from me at dinner, that he knew something more of the immediate background for Miss Melham's visit than he had cared to tell me.

  "The man who followed you tonight bears a close resemblance to the man I saw about the premises of Melham Old Place once or twice this afternoon. Indeed, I should say the two men are one and the same. His left hand, I could not help seeing, is or seems crippled. Who is he?"

  "He is Jasper Bayne, my uncle's valet and secretary."

  "And presumably he has a reason for following you?"

  "Yes. My uncle, Sir Andrew, is opposed to Hugh —my 'young man,' as you call him, whom I hope to make my fiance —and it is very likely that he sent Jasper to follow me and find out whether I met Hugh."

  "Surely your uncle can have no valid opposition to a family as good as the Bettertons?"