August Derleth - The Solar Pons Omnibus Volume 1

by August Derleth

  "I cannot lose it," the Major answered, almost in a whisper. "I have been joined in the action by a person of the highest rank."

  "Names, sir, names!" cried Pons.

  "May I show you the papers, Colonel?"

  "By all means!"

  Major Shaplow rose. "Excuse me, gentlemen," he said, and darted out into the corridor.

  "Pons, what are you up to?" I asked.

  "I am after the money, Parker," he answered, chuckling. "And so is Major Shaplow."

  "Twenty per cent!" I cried. "Small wonder!"

  "Hist," whispered Pons. "He will lose no time."

  In less than a minute Major Shaplow returned, carrying a laden briefcase. He now carefully closed the door of our compartment before sitting down again, this time next to Pons, and opening his briefcase.

  "Pray bear with me, Colonel," he said, as he began to take documents from the case. "I want to show you the papers in the matter so that there cannot be any doubt in your mind."

  "I should warn you, Major," said Pons, "I'm a cautious man."

  "Had I not concluded as much I would not have risked intruding upon you," said the Major.

  Pons grunted eloquently.

  Major Shaplow now drew from among the papers taken out of his briefcase one that he allowed Pons to look upon only briefly.

  Pons gazed down. His eyes widened. His jaw dropped. "His Majesty!" he murmured, awed.

  "No less, Colonel. It appears that the institution in question refused to handle war loans in the recent war, and His Majesty is determined to avenge this insult to our country. He has joined me in the suit."

  Here Pons held up one hand imperiously. "Stay, Major. I do not yet know the basis of the suit."

  "Four years ago the bank dishonoured a cheque of mine drawn upon it. There were funds in the bank to meet it. I inaugurated the suit for damages; understandably, the bank fought it, and with every delay the sum has risen. With His Majesty's entry into the matter, the sum was fixed at its present figure."

  "How long can the bank fight it?" asked Pons.

  "Not more than another year."

  "And you propose that I invest in your claim at a return of twenty per cent?" said Pons.

  "I believe I said it might come to twenty per cent."

  "Twenty per cent," said Pons inexorably.

  "Colonel, let me show you some of the other documents."

  Thereupon he passed them to Pons, one after another, and Pons in turn passed them across to me. They were indeed amazing and impressive, for many of them bore famous signatures, among them those of Lord Sankey, Lord Hewart —the Lord Chief Justice, and many other dignitaries of the Royal Courts of Justice and Somerset House, as well as of the world of banking. One was clearly signed by His Majesty. There were also official paying-in slips of the Bank of England, one for as high as twenty thousand pounds; on several of them was the signature of the chief cashier, long familiar to me, since it appeared on our Treasury notes.

  "I wanted you to understand the magnitude of the suit," said Major Shaplow quietly. "I have exhausted my own funds. I cannot apply to His Majesty, for obvious reasons. So I must appeal to investors — and I am forced, by the exigencies of the matter, to make the appeal privately."

  "These documents appear to be in order," said Pons, impressed.

  "I assure you, Colonel, on my honour, they are. You have seen the signatures and the official seals. They are on record at Somerset House and the Courts of Justice."

  "I am surprised that the bank has not offered to settle," said Pons.

  "Oh, they have —but for a sum far, far below that I asked. They have made a settlement offer several times. At first it was for but a few thousand pounds, but as the principal named in the suit rose, so did their offer. It is now at a hundred thousand pounds."

  "Ah!" cried Pons sharply. "So that even if the suit were not pressed and the settlement offered accepted, an investor could not lose!"

  "No, sir," said Major Shaplow. "That is precisely the point."

  Pons took a deep breath, bestowed a narrow-eyed look of intent calculation upon Major Shaplow, and said again, bluntly: "Twenty per cent."

  "On one condition, then," said the Major, conceding.

  "Name it."

  "That the sum invested be in bank-notes."

  "Agreed," snapped Pons. "How much?"

  "Colonel, I need five thousand pounds."

  Pons took a deep breath and exhaled it slowly.

  "But if you do not have that much to invest, I shall be grateful for whatever you feel you can put into the suit," the Major went on.

  "Three thousand," said Pons.

  Major Shaplow hesitated only momentarily. Then he nodded.

  "We shall have to have an agreement," said Pons.

  Once more the Major nodded, "Of course. I will draw it up and bring it with me whenever you say."

  "I will have time to go to my bank when we reach London," said Pons, choosing his words carefully. "Make a note of that, Parker. Three thousand pounds for Major Shaplow's action. Meet me tonight at seven, Major. I have a flat in Bayswater. My name is in the directory. Colonel Septimus Barr."

  I found my voice at last. "Perhaps Major Shaplow will permit me to invest a thousand of my own?"

  "And do you, too, insist upon twenty per cent?" asked the Major sadly.

  "Come, come, Major," put in Pons testily, "one can hardly make exceptions between friends."

  "Very well, gentlemen."

  "If I were a drinking man, Major, I'd ask you along to the refreshment car and drink to your millions," said Pons. "Good luck, sir! We'll meet tonight."

  Major Shaplow closed his briefcase on his precious documents, rose, clicked his heels, and bowed. "Until tonight, Colonel Barr — Mr. Parker." Then he let himself out of our compartment.

  "Extraordinary!" I cried. "Small wonder that Mrs. Shaplow wants a share of the proceeds!"

  "I daresay it is safe to venture that she has been living on the anticipation for some time," agreed Pons.

  "Twenty per cent. You drive a hard bargain, Pons."

  "So do you."

  "I followed your example. I am a novice in these matters." I could not help adding, uneasily, "But I confess I do not see how you are acting for Mrs. Shaplow in this."

  "At this point, Parker," said Pons, " — I should have thought it evident —I am not acting in her interests, but in my own." He chuckled. "I have seldom had the pleasure of meeting so engaging a fellow."

  "Yet you were positively churlish."

  "By design, Parker. I venture to say that any association between Rosie Shaplow and us is remote from his thoughts!"

  "An astonishing action," I said. "And the mass of detail in the documents!"

  "These matters demand care," said Pons. "We are nearing London. I fancy we ought to have a witness to tonight's transaction. Perhaps Jamison is off duty and can be persuaded to act for us."

  Once back in our quarters, Pons busied himself for a while on the telephone. Disdaining the luncheon Mrs. Johnson had prepared, he was in and out of 7B, without troubling to remove his disguise — paying a visit to his bank, and another to Colonel Barr's Bayswater flat, to assure himself of the Colonel's acquiescence in our use of his address and his absence from it for the evening.

  Then he sat down and wrote a brief note to our client.

  "Ah," I cried, when I saw the address on the envelope, "I see it all now. You mean her to be here, tonight, and take possession of some of the money after it has changed hands!"

  Pons favoured me with an astonished stare. "This letter could hardly reach Mrs. Shaplow until tomorrow," he said dryly. "There are times, Parker, when you have marked relapses from the level of ratiocination to which you have progressed!"

  "Perhaps I had better get over to the bank," I said then.

  "I fancy a cheque will do. I do not recall Major Shaplow's having insisted upon bank-notes from you."

  "Well, that is a relief," I said. "I will just prepare a cheque."


  By half-past six that evening we were in possession of Colonel Septimus Barr's Bayswater flat. Inspector Jamison, off duty, had met us there, his ruddy face disclosing his perplexity. He made several pointed comments about being asked to witness a transaction for Pons and demanded to know what the matter concerned.

  "I was retained to obtain some money for a lady," said Pons, with a bland smile.

  "Ah, and you need someone with legal standing to witness it," concluded Jamison. "I warn you, Pons —no shadiness, no skirting the law."

  "I defer to no one in my respect for the law," said Pons crisply. "I think, though, that until the matter is concluded to our mutual satisfaction, we shall just keep you in the adjoining room, out of sight. Once money has changed hands, I'll want you to meet Major Shaplow."

  Promptly at seven, Major Shaplow rang. I opened the door to him and he came in —still as dapper and fresh as he had been on the train this morning. He carried his bulging briefcase self- confidently into the room, and, reaching the place where Pons sat in an armchair, clad in the Colonel's dressing-gown, he bowed with a decidedly military air that bespoke his experience in service. His eyes merely flickered to the table nearby, on which Pons had arranged the bank-notes, beside which I had put down my own cheque.

  "I trust, Colonel, you've not changed your mind," he said.

  "Never change my mind once I make it up," said Pons brusquely. "You've brought the agreement?"

  "I have, sir."

  Major Shaplow opened his briefcase and drew forth four pages, comprising two sets of agreements — one to be signed by Pons, one by myself. He handed one to each of us and settled back to wait upon our reading them.

  I read mine with care. Major Shaplow appeared to have left no detail to chance, for the agreement was plainly and carefully worded and incapable of misconstruction in any particular. It assured the investor of a twenty per cent return on his investment at the expiration of one year from date, or the successful conclusion of the pending suit against the National Shires Bank, whichever came first. Major Shaplow had already signed.

  "This is admirably drawn up, Major," said Pons affably.

  "Colonel, where money and honour are concerned, I prefer to leave nothing to chance —to avoid all possibility of error," said Major Shaplow.

  "A commendable attitude," said Pons.

  Thereupon he signed the agreements in a simulated crabbed hand and at the same time pointed to the money on the table.

  "There is your money, sir. Three thousand pounds. Pray count it."

  The Major went carefully through the bank-notes and examined my cheque as I in turn signed the agreements.

  "Perfectly correct," said he, packing the money away into his briefcase.

  "And the agreements, I believe, are in order," said Pons, folding one and slipping it into the pocket of his dressing-gown.

  Major Shaplow flashed a glance at the paper Pons had handed him. He began to fold it, paused, and opened it again, his eyes glinting suddenly, his face tautening.

  "Why, this is not the signature of Colonel Septimus Barr," he said. "I can hardly make it out."

  "Ah, it is Solar Pons, Major," said Pons amiably. "I think your little game is up." He raised his voice. "Come out, Jamison."

  Major Shaplow stood as if rooted to the spot, still holding the signed agreement in his hands, as Inspector Jamison came from the adjoining room.

  "Inspector, I want you to meet Major Arthur Shaplow, one of the most accomplished confidence artists in all England. Major, this is Inspector Seymour Jamison of Scotland Yard."

  With a single convulsive movement, Major Shaplow dropped both his correct poise and the paper he had been holding, swept up his briefcase, and bolted for the door. Unhappily, I had got up to come closer, and he ran full tilt into me, knocking me to the floor and sprawling on top of me —and with Jamison within seconds on his back.

  By the time I had recovered my breath, both Jamison and Major Shaplow were gone.

  "The sheer magnitude of Shaplow's fraud beggars the imagination," said Pons on our way home. "A suit for seven million pounds against the National Shires Bank —with His Majesty as party to the suit! And the care and detail with which the whole thing was worked out! What a waste of effort! That fellow could have achieved higher goals had he put his mind to it. His extraordinary conception proves again that the more grandiose the tale, the more readily people are taken in by it."

  "But the documents," I protested weakly. "Those stamps and seals were certainly genuine."

  "Ah, yes, Parker —the stamps and seals were, but the signatures were skillful forgeries. The average Englishman does not realize how easy it is to get a document stamped at Somerset House. The forms are for the most part obtainable at any law stationer's; one need but fill them out, hand them in with the amount required for stamps, and the documents are duly notarized or stamped. The documents are seldom read. I'll wager that, if I couched the decree in the appropriate verbiage, I could tomorrow go to Somerset House and present you —as Major Shaplow did his wife —with a decree of divorce from Mrs. Johnson!"

  "Then Mrs. Shaplow is not, after all, divorced?"

  "That was the burden of my note to her."

  "But how did you proceed from her divorce to the Major's colossal fraud?" I asked.

  "Ah, Parker, you will recall my reference to an intriguing little note in Mrs. Shaplow's letter. You failed to observe it. There is not and never has been any such regiment as the Second King's Horse Guards. I was confident that any man who could vaunt himself as a Major in a non-existent regiment must be capable of even more imaginative ventures, and I suspected that 'the money' in the endless suit might be one of them."

  The Adventure of the Innkeepers Clerk

  WE WERE JUST COMING in off the estuary after a morning of sailing that day at St. Mawes, when Pons's keen eyes picked out a grave pair standing motionless on the quay.

  "Is that not our landlord?" he asked. "And with a police constable at his side."

  It was difficult to mistake that pear-shaped figure. "That is certainly Mr. Penworthy," I said.

  Pons's eyes lit up. "I should not be surprised if our little holiday is about to be enhanced. A taxing problem after three and a half days of sailing will certainly not come amiss. Let us make haste."

  As we came closer, Pons added, "Something serious has certainly taken place. I have seldom seen so grim a pair!"

  The two men hurried toward us as we reached our mooring.

  "Mr. Pons," cried our landlord before he had quite come up to us, "we've been waiting this half hour. This is Constable Liskeard. A terrible thing has happened. My night porter, Saul Krayle —" He caught himself, short of breath, and started again. "He's dead, Mr. Pons."

  "Strangled," added the Constable.

  "We found him an hour ago."

  "At about half-past nine," said the Constable.

  "Strangled in his bed. A maid saw his door ajar, and that was so unusual she looked in. Oh, he was afraid of something ever since the ring came," Mr. Penworthy went on.

  We had now begun to walk back to the Seaman's Berth, the quiet inn at which we had chosen to take quarters during the brief holiday I had persuaded Pons to enjoy after closing the extraordinary matter of the Solitary Walker. The morning was gay with colour; the estuary was filled with boats, and across, on the Falmouth side, visitors to that part of Cornwall were already making their way aboard two well-known training ships upon payment of a small fee. Yachts had put out from shore, flags flying, and the scene was dominated, as always, by the cloverleaf castle of Henry VIII, on the northwest bank of the estuary. The thought of death was alien to the setting. But Mr. Penworthy, hustling along with some effort, red of face and breathing heavily, and the taciturn Constable at his side, bespoke crime.

  "He was a quiet fellow," said the landlord jerkily. "Never said much. Kept to himself. Never told us much about himself. He drifted in one day and asked for the job—wasn't concerned about the wages —and they're not high, you kn
ow how small the place is. Said, 'Anything'll do!' And he got along on it, better'n most. I hardly knew he was there. He stayed in his room quite a lot. And then one evening, when he came in to work —he was out that afternoon on the water —he had a little package waiting for him. I was there when he opened it. It was just a plain gold ring with some initials on it, that's all —but he stared at it and went all white."

  Mr. Penworthy took a few rapid steps in a burst of speed and turned to look anxiously up into Pons's face, as if to seek there some clue to the solution of his puzzle. Pons's features were inscrutable, and he fell back again, resuming his narrative.

  "Next morning he gave notice. 'Is it the wage, Mr. Krayle?' I asked. He said it wasn't. 'If it is, I'll raise it,' I said. He just shook his head. 'Don't you feel well?' I asked. He said he was all right. But I could tell he was scared. Scared stiff, he was. 'Is it anything I can help about?' I asked then. 'Nothing,' he said. 'It's nothing. Don't trouble yourself, Mr. Penworthy,' he said. Well, sir, next evening I took to watching him a bit, and he that was accustomed to getting on with his work and looking after the guests' keys was all eyes and ears."

  "Ears, Mr. Penworthy?" asked Pons.

  "Aye. He listened. "

  "For what?"

  "I had no chance to ask. But I stood next to him, and I saw how he listened, and once he grabbed my arm and asked, 'Was that a dragging sound?' I said I hadn't heard it. 'What sort?' I asked. 'Like a man dragging his foot,' he said, and I saw how the beads of sweat had come on to his temples. And it's cool these October nights."

  Here Mr. Penworthy pushed himself forward once more and looked hopefully into Pons's face, scanning it. Disappointed, he fell back again, and resumed his narrative.

  "And that's how he was from that day to this. Two weeks' notice he gave, and his time would've been up day after tomorrow. Now all his time's up. He's dead."

  "Strangled," put in the Constable as if he had not said it before.

  "He had a fever in his mind," Mr. Penworthy went on. "That dragging sound, now. Came out it was Mrs. Ruthven he hears. A widow lady on the second floor. Poor lady has a clubfoot. She's been at the hotel for six, seven months now, and Saul heard her walk all that time and never turned a hair. But after he got that ring, everything that sounded like a man dragging his foot or walking with a bad limp shook him up —bad, bad, Mr. Pons. What do you make of that, sir?"