August Derleth - The Solar Pons Omnibus Volume 1

by August Derleth

  She opened her purse as she spoke, and, producing the document, thrust it at Pons, who leaned forward from his position at the mantel and took it. With but a cursory glance at it, he laid it on the mantel next to a packet of letters.

  "Mr. Shaplow has left you?"

  "He has, indeed! Taken a room at the George, in Chepstow."

  "Ah, he has not transferred to London?"

  "No, Mr. Pons, he has not."

  "But he continues to come up to London five days a week?"

  "I believe so," she answered. "It's that matter of the suit. And, Mr. Pons, I mean to have my share of that money when the suit is won. The bank is fighting it, naturally —with seven million pounds at stake, I'm not surprised they would." She gave another decided nod and added, "I'd fight, too!"

  "He left you without funds, Mrs. Shaplow?"

  "Oh, no, not that, Mr. Pons. He gave me a bundle of notes."

  "How much, precisely?"

  "Well, I didn't count it," she said carelessly. "But I'd say it was close to a hundred pounds."

  "Ah, then you are temporarily provided for."

  "It's not money I need right now, Mr. Pons," said our client. "I need someone to follow him and find out what he's doing and who he's seeing. And you're the man for it, Mr. Pons. I'm sure of it. I know all about you. They don't call you 'the Sherlock Holmes of Praed Street' for nothing. I brought along a photograph of him. It's three years old, but he looks about the same now."

  The purse next gave up the photograph. This in turn was handed to Pons.

  He scarcely glanced at it before he laid it on top of the document on the mantel.

  "I propose to pay you a little something now, and more when you've found out for me what I want to know," said Mrs. Shaplow. "And then, of course, when I get my share of the money, you shall have a handsome fee."

  "Mrs. Shaplow, I will undertake to make some inquiries in the matter," said Pons gravely, standing now with his hands clasped behind him. "At this point, however, I prefer not to accept a retainer."

  "Well, that's very satisfactory, Mr. Pons," answered our client, bouncing to her feet. "I won't argue with that. All I want is something to hold over his head so that I get what's coming to me."

  "Ah, you don't want Mr. Shaplow back?"

  "With me, Mr. Pons, it's all or nothing. I won't share a man and if Arthur's found someone he fancies more —why, good-bye Mr. Shaplow! That's the way I feel. I was never one to cry over spilt milk. Life's too short for that. Rosie Shaplow never shed tears over anything very long. If it's another woman, she can have him. If it isn't, he'll be around one of these days."

  With a proud flourish of her blonde head, she bade us good-day.

  Listening to her tripping down the stairs to the street, Pons glanced whimsically over to me. "What do you make of that, Parker?" he asked.

  I fear my voice betrayed a certain indignation and pain. "I can only say that I am shocked — there is no word for it —at the fact that you are about to become involved in a vulgar divorce action."

  "Ah, I regret disappointing you, Parker," said Pons, smiling. "But the action, it would seem, has been concluded."

  "Well, its aftermath, then," I said. "A suit for alimony."

  "I do not recall that our client mentioned 'alimony.' "

  "She ran on without end about her 'share of the money.' "

  "Seven million pounds," said Pons reflectively. "It gives one pause. The action instituted by Mr. Shaplow appears to have been directed against a bank. Mrs. Shaplow has lived with its details for three years."

  "But if the action had not been concluded at the time of the divorce," I pointed out, "she is not entitled to any share of the amount awarded, unless, of course, she is a direct party to it. She doesn't seem to be."

  "Let us just have a look at the decree," said Pons.

  So saying, he slipped the document out from under the photograph and opened it. I came up and looked around him. The document was a formal decree of divorce, properly signed by Lord Merivale, the President of the Divorce Division of the High Court. The decree was absolute.

  "There is no provision here for alimony," I said.

  "And no record of a court hearing," said Pons. "An extraordinary document! Are our legal processes now so simplified that a divorce can be obtained so freely?"

  "She may not have contested," I pointed out.

  "True."

  "And evidently no children were involved.

  "Mrs. Shaplow did not impress me as a lady eager to encumber herself with the care of children," I said. I could not help adding, "Pons, why — why did you choose to have any part of this?"

  "It does not strike you that there is something of more than ordinary interest about Mrs. Shaplow's problem?" he countered.

  "It is common, disgusting—nothing but possible adultery and a lust for money! " I cried.

  "I submit there is more here than meets the eye," he said imperturbably. "Indeed, I am even more intrigued than I was by her note, now that I have heard her story."

  "You cannot mean it!"

  "I was never more serious. Let us have a look at the object of Rosie Shaplow's ire."

  He exchanged the divorce decree for the photograph our client had left. It was that of our client and her husband, taken, I deduced, quite possibly on their wedding day, for the background looked suspiciously like a registry office. Our client had assumed a pose I could only call simpering, while her husband gazed out at the world with calm, level eyes, the gaze of a self-assured young man. Moreover, he was dapper in appearance, almost elegantly well dressed, and with what I should have described as a commanding presence which was not in any way diminished by what I took to be a monocle dangling from a cord about his neck. He wore his hair pomaded, and his upper lip was decorated with a closely clipped moustache.

  "He appears to be a man of means," I said.

  "She would seem to have got much the better of this bargain," observed Pons dryly.

  "I don't doubt it."

  "I have a fancy to know the major," said Pons.

  "You need only meet the 12:40 at Paddington tomorrow."

  "Dear me! How unimaginative! I should prefer to be more subtle. What do you say to a week or so in Chepstow?"

  I was astonished. "Why go to Chepstow when he comes to London daily?"

  "I would prefer to have him come to us," said Pons enigmatically.

  "I must admit I don't follow you, Pons."

  "Rely upon your increasing skill at ratiocination, my dear fellow," replied Pons. "Just hand me that Railway Guide, will you?"

  I gathered, from the place to which he turned in the Guide, that he was looking up Chepstow; in a few moments he glanced at the clock on the mantel, and confirmed my deduction.

  "We can take the 3:55 for Chepstow, if you are willing. I have one or two little things to do by way of preparation, while you, if you will, can wire the Beaufort Arms for quarters for the week, and apprise Mrs. Johnson that we will be in for a late luncheon every day, and for no other meal."

  When I returned from these errands, Pons was behind the locked door of his room. I heard his voice from time to time, as if in conversation, and it was presently manifest that my companion intended to play a role not his own in the course of his inquiry. In an hour there emerged from his room a bent, crabbed old fellow who bore no resemblance to Pons, save in the aquilinity of his nose and the piercing glance of his eyes. He wore a thick ulster, and carried a steamer rug and cane, while his face was concealed behind carefully composed lines of age, framed by white sideboards, moustache, and a tuft of neatly trimmed beard.

  "What on earth are you up to?" I cried.

  He made a little bow, clearly enjoying himself. "Colonel Septimus Barr, at your service," he said. "And you, Parker, will serve as my companion. You need not change," he went on, magnanimously.

  "You are so much the gentleman that you will fit into any such role with ease."

  I acknowledged the compliment, but not without a touch of uneasi
ness. "Have I not heard you speak of Colonel Septimus Barr?" I asked.

  "You may well have done so. There is, indeed, such a person, but he will not in the least object to my borrowing his name and personality for the nonce."

  "I know your fondness for disguise," I said, "but I fail utterly to understand the need of it in this matter. Surely the best course would be to watch our client's husband and, since this is clearly beneath a man of your talents, it can be done simply by retaining an agency that specializes in that sort of thing."

  "I daresay I ought to bow to your superior knowledge in marital matters, but I am eccentric enough to prefer my own way," he replied, chuckling. "But you need not burden yourself."

  Pons knew full well that I would not hold back, no matter what his plans, and once I had arranged for a locum to take care of my few patients, we were on our way.

  By nightfall we were ensconced in the Beaufort Arms at Chepstow, on the west bank of the beautiful winding Wye just above that river's junction with the Severn. Our quarters looked toward the ruined castle near the river, in the southeast tower of which Henry Marten, the regicide, was imprisoned for two decades, and beneath which he was buried at his death in 1680. The grim ruins and the derelict slipways of the now-abandoned dockyards, constructed for use in the recent war, dominated that bank of the river, but all else was serene and singularly beautiful, perhaps all the more so in the soft twilight that held the countryside around Chepstow.

  And, as Pons had planned, next morning we were on the 8:17 train, bound for Paddington. We traveled first-class and Pons spent his time poring over the financial pages of the Daily Mail, leaving me to enjoy the most attractive river scenery in England as the train advanced up the Wye, bound for Ross before turning toward Gloucester.

  "What can you hope to accomplish by this?" I asked presently.

  "It is a gambit, no more. It may fail," said Pons. "But I rather doubt it. I submit that our client's husband may be in search of just such passengers as we seem to be. If that assumption is correct, he

  will invariably be attracted by the attention I pay to the financial pages."

  "Assuming that he sees you," I said.

  "I rather doubt that he sits still," said Pons with a self-satisfied smile.

  "Why do you say so?"

  "I am persuaded to believe that Major Shaplow does not report for work in an office in London, particularly not one in which he is subject to the orders of someone else," said Pons.

  "Well, that is certainly plain as a pikestaff," I retorted. "He could hardly take a train that would not bring him into London until after noon, if he had to report for work somewhere."

  "So it follows that the Major is self-employed," continued Pons.

  "Pressing his lawyers to push his suit, most likely," I said.

  "Ah, I wonder," murmured Pons, and resumed his scrutiny of the paper.

  For over four hours thereafter we roared through the countryside; and, after three hours in London, we returned to Chepstow the way we had come. Though I forebore to say so, it seemed a kind of madness to me. Pons devoted himself to the financial columns, though I fancied that from time to time he flashed a bemused glance in my direction. I endured the almost nine hours of traveling in an increasingly crowded train stoically enough, but on our return to Chepstow, I could not restrain my protests.

  "Pons, this is unlike you. I have grown accustomed to more positive action."

  "Ah, well, Parker, as any angler will tell you, different fish respond to different baits," he said blandly.

  "What has fishing got to do with it?" I cried. "Mrs. Shaplow has set forth her case and expects you to act upon it."

  "To obtain for her, if I recall correctly, her 'share' of 'the money,' " prompted Pons. "Surely you will grant me the same ambiguity of which she was guilty? I assure you we will play this gambit no more than a few days."

  "That is a crumb to be grateful for," I said, I fear, ungraciously.

  Pons only smiled in that superior fashion that never failed to nettle me.

  In the morning we were once again on the 8:17. All was as before, save that the day was more cloudless than yesterday. But already I was tiring of the landscape, for all its singular beauty —of the winding Wye, whose surface I scanned from time to time in search of coracles, now fast disappearing from England's rivers —of the Twelve Apostles and Wyndcliff and even Tintern Abbey in its lovely meadow —of Symonds Yat and the Welsh marshes and the Severn Tunnel, so rapidly growing familiar; and I was little drawn to the book I had brought with me to read, perhaps because of the vexation I felt at Pons's oblique course to his end. I began to find the prospect of three more days of such traveling infinitely wearying.

  We had gone past Gloucester on this morning, however, when I was suddenly conscious of someone's having paused in the corridor to look into our compartment — a bemonocled gentleman, expensively dressed, whose glance seemed to be directed first at the object of Pons's scrutiny, and then at Pons himself. He stood so for only a few seconds; then he was gone.

  "Major Shaplow, of the Second King's Horse Guards," murmured Pons dryly.

  "I recognized him," I said. "A trifle older than his photograph."

  "But even more appropriately dressed," observed Pons. "I fancy we have not seen the last of him."

  "I have seldom seen you so confident and for so little reason."

  "Ah, it is not confidence, Parker. I submit it is the science of deduction. The Major and I share a common interest at this point. Money. He has seen me poring over the financial columns. In half an hour or so, he will return this way to see whether I am still engrossed in these columns. I will be. He will then presume to introduce himself. Apart from a suspicion natural to my identity, I will not find his intrusion unwelcome. We shall hope to enjoy his company."

  An unpleasant premonition began to take shape in my mind. "Pons, you are surely not planning to part the Major from some of his money by trickery!"

  "Perish the thought!" cried Pons, laughing heartily.

  In the course of the next forty minutes, I observed Major Shaplow passing our compartment twice. When he appeared for the third time he did not pass, but paused diffidently, tapped on the frame of the door, and stepped in.

  Pons looked up indignantly.

  "I trust you will pardon my intrusion, gentlemen," said Major Shaplow rapidly. "I could not help observing your devotion to the financial columns, sir," he went on, speaking directly to Pons, "and it occurred to me that you might be looking for a promising investment."

  "I happen to be doing so," said Pons stiffly.

  The Major took out his card, and with a low bow presented it to Pons, saying, "Permit me, sir."

  Pons took it with ill-concealed suspicion, gazed at it for a moment, and then muttered aloud what he read on it: "Major Arthur Howells Shaplow. The George. Chepstow, Mon." He handed the card across to me.

  "Major," I said, perceiving that Pons meant me to, "this is Colonel Septimus Barr of London. My name is Parker."

  "My pleasure, sir," said the Major, bowing punctiliously.

  "Well, well, sit down," said Pons ungraciously. "You don't seem to be an investment adviser."

  "Colonel Barr is forever looking for a high return on his investments," I put in.

  Pons flashed me a sudden keenly appreciative glance.

  Major Shaplow smiled. "Surely we all are."

  He was indeed a handsome fellow, and I found it easy to believe that the ladies found him irresistibly attractive. He had a youthful appearance that surely belied his age; he appeared to be one of those fortunate men who age very slowly, who maintain the bloom of youth well into middle age. Moreover, his hands were manicured, his hair, though pomaded, was not offensive, his moustache waxed. I detected about him the faint astringency of a cologne or lotion, possibly used after shaving, but a trifle too effeminate for my taste. He had to decide where to sit, and chose to sit next to me.

  Opposite him, Pons favoured him with a searching and still somewha
t hostile stare. "You spoke of investments?" he said finally.

  "You may have heard of me, Colonel," said the Major cautiously.

  "Can't say I have," said Pons curtly.

  "Ah, well, they try to keep matters as quiet as they can," said the Major lightly.

  A gleam of interest shone in Pons's eyes. " 'They,' sir? Who are 'they'?"

  "I should say, Colonel, that this is as yet a highly confidential matter —viewed from both sides of the issue," said the Major with annoying caution.

  "Damme, sir, I don't know what you're talking about," said Pons in well-feigned vexation, his lips and beard atremble with impatience.

  "I refer to the subject of the investment, Colonel," said the Major with simple dignity, "but I prefer not to broach the subject unless I can be certain of your interest."

  "What rate of return?" snapped Pons.

  "It may go as high as twenty per cent," said Major Shaplow level ly.

  "Indeed, indeed," replied Pons with obviously mounting interest. "What is it —utilities, steel, foreign bonds?"

  "Colonel, forgive me —nothing so prosaic," demurred the Major.

  "Come, come, man —we'll be in London before you get around to saying."

  "Colonel, it is unique."

  "Ah, I have heard such words before, sir."

  "You have never heard of an investment like this."

  "What the devil is it?"

  "Colonel, may I bank on your complete confidence? And yours, Mr. Parker?"

  "Of course, of course," said Pons testily.

  "Very well, then. Gentlemen, it is a suit against the National Shires Bank. The sum involved is seven million pounds."

  He said this in a hushed, conspiratorial voice which carried great conviction.

  Pons fell back and sat for a moment open-mouthed. Then, leaning forward eagerly, he asked, "Can you win it?" In a masterly touch that conveyed more than anything else an old man's greed, he ran his tongue avariciously out over his lips.