"Ah, that doctrine which holds that all events of major significance in a life are presaged by lesser events of the same nature," said Pons. "If the major event is to be malign, then the lesser and preceding events will be malign, also; if benign, then they too will be similar. The Doctrine has been wrongfully attributed to Emanuel Swedenborg."
"Yes, that is it, Mr. Pons. My aunt is a Swedenborgian —of a sort."
"Let us just begin at the beginning, Miss Graham."
"Forgive me. I am upset. When my father died four years ago, my brother and I were left orphaned. My brother Arthur had long before gone to seek his fortune in Africa, and I had no provision for existence, since my father, though a kind and thoughtful man, was a country vicar in Dorset and not given to the accumulation of worldly goods. My brother was still somewhere in Africa, still seeking his fortune, at the time of father's death; he didn't come home and made only a brief acknowledgment of the event; indeed, I lost touch with him altogether almost three years ago. After my father's effects were sold, it was evident that I must find a position somewhere, and it was then that my Aunt Agatha Stowecroft, who lives on a country estate not far from Canterbury on the London road, offered me a position as her companion. I accepted with gratitude.
"My Aunt Agatha and her children are my only living relatives. Uncle Diomede died six years ago, and left his wife and children well provided for. His wealth was close to half a million pounds, Mr. Pons, and all of it went to his wife, who parcels it out to her children as they need it —but sparingly. There were three children. Of these, two remain at home, though both are older than I am. They are my cousins Laurel and Alexander. The third, Courtenay, who was married, lived in Dover with his wife, until two weeks ago, when both of them were tragically killed in an accident when their car went out of control and plunged off the coast road.
"The household is a very strange one. Each of them has indulged himself to the utmost in his vagaries, if I may seem to speak so disrespectfully of them. My aunt, as I have said, calls herself a Swedenborgian. My cousin Laurel is a Spiritualist. My cousin Alex is an extremely erratic follower of a rather horrible man who calls himself the Great Beast."
Pons chuckled. "I fancy that will be Aleister Crowley."
"Yes, Mr. Pons, that is his name. However, I have very little to do with my cousins; my tasks lie with my aunt. I help her with her letters and such other writings as she engages in, particularly divinations. It is part of my task also to read to her, since Aunt Agatha can no longer see as well as once she could. I don't therefore see very much of my cousins, or even the servants, for the house is fully staffed, and so are the grounds, and most of the servants have been with the family for many years."
She paused and glanced swiftly at her watch, after which she went on in more rapid speech.
"About two months ago, Aunt Agatha announced that the Signatures were operating, and disaster impended. After four years in that house, no such announcement could possibly stir me. On innumerable occasions, my cousin Alex has announced that the Great Beast had had a vision and needed a thousand pounds, which my aunt refused to permit Alex to send him; or Miss Laurel has been in communication with someone in the other world and had information about the world of the future or some such thing; or my aunt has gone on about the Doctrines of Correspondences or Signatures. I paid no more attention to that announcement than to any other so common in that house.
"But then, Mr. Pons, strange things began to happen. At first they were only little things —like a broken lamp, a misplaced or lost object —but gradually they became more serious—Bannister, the butler, fell on the stairs and broke his leg; Mrs. Chenoweth, the cook, was run down in the lane approaching the London road, and seriously injured; and at last, the events which Aunt Agatha called the 'Signatures' culminated in the tragic deaths of my cousin Courtenay and his wife, Isobel.
"Yesterday, Mr. Pons, the 'Signatures' began again. Aunt Agatha's will disappeared. Mr. Pons, I don't believe in the Doctrine of Signatures or any other of these fantastic systems of thought or whatever they are. I have a strong Anglican faith, and that is quite enough for me. But just the same, there's something wrong in that house, and Aunt Agatha at least is convinced that the 'Signatures' predict her own death. Would it be possible for you to come to Canterbury and speak with her yourself?"
"I daresay it would. We could present ourselves tomorrow."
"Tomorrow, then, Mr. Pons," said our client, coming to her feet.
"Do not be hasty, Miss Graham. There are a few questions I would like to ask you. You spoke of Mrs. Stowecroft's will. Did you know the contents of her will?"
"Yes, Mr. Pons. I helped her and her lawyer when it was drawn up."
"In case of her death, who inherits?"
"Her children, of course. In case any one of the three predeceases her —as has now happened —the estate is to be divided among the survivors."
"And if all the children should predecease her?"
"Then to her grandchildren, if any."
"Since there are none, to whom then?"
"To myself."
"No one else is named in the document?"
"No one, Mr. Pons. My Aunt Agatha is now seventy years old, and certainly not long for this world. It is beyond the bounds of probability that all her heirs should predecease her."
"How did Mrs. Stowecroft discover that her will had disappeared?"
"She is accustomed to reading it over from time to time. Usually it is kept in a little wall-safe in the study, but sometimes it is left in a false book on the study table. It was from this book that it had vanished. I should say that my aunt frequently drew up a new will, but the only change of any importance she has ever made was the addition of my own name six months after I came to live with them."
Pons had crossed to his favourite chair, and now sat in an attitude of deep thought, his eyes closed, his feet stretched toward the coal-scuttle, the fingers of one hand lightly stroking his left ear.
"You have mentioned the staff," he said presently, "as having been with the family for many years. Presumably most of them date back to a time when your late uncle still lived?"
"Yes, Mr. Pons. All but two —Bannister replaced the old butler at his death, three and a half years ago. And there's Nicholson, an assistant handyman, who was retained two years ago. But he is principally outside the house, helping Bligh, the gardener."
Pons took out his watch and glanced at it. "Canterbury is two hours from Victoria. You can be home by seven o'clock and still, perhaps, in time for dinner. We will call on you tomorrow after lunch, Miss Graham."
After our client had gone, Pons turned to me, his eyes twinkling. "Was that not a unique matter, Parker?"
"A rigmarole of superstitious nonsense!" I answered sharply.
"Miss Graham, at least, shares your views," observed Pons. "Nothing about her narrative struck you?"
"Only that the poor young woman sorely demonstrates the need for the Anglican church to take immediate steps toward increasing the living of their vicars so that young ladies left in Miss Graham's predicament need not be subjected to such environments."
"Come, come, Parker," said Pons, clucking his disapproval, "are not all things that exist of interest to the inquiring mind? I should be inclined to think so. Did not the family of the late Diomede Stowecroft impress you as decidedly different?"
"So are the occupants of any bedlam," I retorted.
"You are at your most cantankerous," said Pons, imperturbably.
"I submit, nevertheless, that our client was not ill-advised to call at 7B. By Mr. and Mrs. Courtenay Stowecroft's deaths, the little circle of Mrs. Agatha Stowecroft's heirs is appreciably diminished."
"Accidents will increase with the tempo of living in our time. "
"Spoken with appropriate sententiousness, Parker. I suggest there is more here than meets the eye."
"That is an observation which is true in any circumstances."
"Think again of the will Miss Graham ment
ioned. You were not aware of any significant omission?"
I threw up my hands. "My dear Pons!" I cried, "I'm convinced that the household is certifiable, lock, stock, and barrel —the inhabitants for being plainly mad, the servants for being equally touched to endure them and remain there. If there were any omission in the will, it was probably the servants, and no doubt the long list of charities which one might expect of so erratic a household —donations to the Society for Psychical Research, the furtherance of Crowleyism, and possibly a home for retired Swedenborgians."
Pons smiled. "You're in fine fettle today, Parker. I submit, however, that our client was sincere in coming here."
"Undoubtedly."
"And that she, at least, for all that she professes no belief in the Doctrine of Signatures, is convinced that the matter ought to be inquired into."
"Certainly."
"It doesn't strike you that there is one significant detail which stands out in Miss Graham's narrative?"
"It bristles with details, none significant."
"No, no, there is one detail I would call to your attention. None of the events which have gone to bear out the theory of the Signatures is incapable of manufacture."
"Ah, and the motive?"
"An interesting one begs to offer itself. We shall just see. However, in view of your scorn for the idiosyncrasies of the Stowecrofts, perhaps you would prefer to remain here tomorrow?"
"That is a wholly unwarranted assumption," I replied.
We were not destined to visit our client the following day, for in the morning a telegram was delivered asking us to delay our visit. During the night, Miss Laurel Stowecroft had walked out in her sleep, had fallen into a stream which crossed the estate, and had been found drowned.
"So that is the second major event foretold by the Signatures," mused Pons, tossing the form to the table where we were at breakfast. "We are left only with Alexander, among the children. The devotee of the Great Beast. What do you know of Crowleyism, Parker?"
"Nothing at all."
"I believe the Beast holds that his needs, physical, financial, and otherwise, are to be satisfied above all else. That is his supreme credo, and his disciples exist solely but to gratify him."
"A poor, addled lot."
"Beyond question."
"You think it is Alexander, then?"
"I have not said so," he answered, annoyingly.
Four days later, Pons and I took a train and were duly delivered in Canterbury. Pons chose to take lodgings near St. Dunstan's, rather than avail himself of an invitation from Miss Graham to stay at Stowecroft Hall, and then, learning that the Hall was within easy walking distance, he set out for our destination without delay, once we had taken lunch.
Stowecroft Hall was an imposing house in an estate larger than I had assumed it might be. The Hall was Georgian in architecture and rose at the far end of a double drive across a gracious lawn, broken by flower-beds and many little groves of bushes. Behind the Hall rose a yew alley, which led to some further buildings and to an adjoining wood.
Our client awaited us.
"I've explained to Aunt Agatha," she said. "She doesn't look with any confidence on your visit, I should tell you, but then, she is a strange woman, and she is not opposed to it, either. My cousin Laurel's death has shaken her badly."
"Your cousin was in the habit of walking in her sleep?"
"Yes, Mr. Pons."
"Is it not odd, Parker, that she should not have awakened at striking the water?"
"Yes, but it isn't impossible that she should not. Despite all that has been written of somnambulism, not much is known of its compulsions."
"Who discovered her?" asked Pons then.
"Bligh," answered Miss Graham.
She now turned and led the way into the Hall until she came to double doors, before which she paused and tapped gently. "Aunt Agatha?"
"Come, child."
Our client opened the doors and preceded us into the room, where she stood aside to let us pass into the presence of a tall, white-haired old lady, clad in sombre black satin. She sat in a high- backed chair at a long flat table, which appeared to be covered with divination charts and manuscripts.
"Aunt Agatha, these are the gentlemen I spoke to you about," said Miss Graham.
"How do you do, gentlemen," said the old lady. "Won't you be seated? It seems a little early for tea, but. ..." Her voice wandered off expectantly.
"Thank you. We have just had lunch," said Pons.
"Ah, very well. I understand you are interested in the Doctrine of Signatures." Here she turned to Miss Graham, and said, "They have begun again, my child."
"Oh, no!"
"Yes," said the old lady, nodding gravely. "Toby has been found in the well. Dead. My cat," she added to us. "But then, if I understood my niece correctly, you gentlemen do not believe in the Signatures."
"Say rather we have open minds," replied Pons gently.
"I fear, if I read the signs properly, I am not long for this world," continued the old lady. "I have lost a son and a daughter, as well as a daughter-in-law, and still the Signatures indicate a greater tragedy that is yet to come. What could be more final than my own death? I have known the days of my years."
Pons, however, was not listening. His keen eyes darted here and there, and presently he made a sign to our client that he wished the interview to be terminated. Immediately Miss Graham rose, made excuses for us, and showed us out of the room.
"Now I should like to view the spot where Miss Laurel Stowecroft's body was found," he said.
"Certainly, Mr. Pons."
She did not question his motives, but led the way outside and around the house to where a broad brook flowed toward the highway and beyond. A couple of dogs started up from the outbuildings and followed us, looking curiously on. Miss Graham paused and showed us the place where the body had been found; much trampling of the turf and the brook's edge was still in evidence.
Pons, however, spent but a few moments at the place. He gazed back toward the house, which was in plain sight. Then he crouched and began systematically to examine the ground, moving in small half circles over outward and back toward the house, not in the way we had come, but along a row of tall bushes paralleling our path. He darted in and out among the bushes, first on one side, then on another. Along the near side, finally, he paused and dropped to his knees.
"Someone has been carrying something heavy along here," he said. "There is depth to these prints, Parker."
"Is that not elementary, Pons?" I could not help asking. "This is the way that unfortunate woman's body was taken back to the house."
Pons favoured me with a glance akin to scorn, at which I smiled, knowing his vanity had been touched.
Miss Graham, meanwhile, had watched him in perplexity. As he came to his feet, Pons suggested to her that, since he wished to speak to Bligh, she might return to the house, whither we would soon follow.
Accordingly, she took her departure.
With her going, the dogs became less friendly and followed us, barking, to the stables and out-buildings, among which stood a trim, neat greenhouse. It was to this that Pons made his way.
The first person we encountered was a short, stocky man in his early forties. He was heavily bearded, with dark, curly hair reaching well up his cheeks. His dark little eyes looked at us suspiciously.
"Bligh?" asked Pons.
"No, sir. The name is Nicholson. Bligh's inside." He touched his cap respectfully.
Pons pushed past him and confronted a tall, dour individual, who looked at us as suspiciously as his assistant had done.
"Miss Graham directed us here, Bligh," said Pons disarmingly. "We understood you discovered Miss Laurel Stowecroft's body."
"Yes, sir."
"Tell me, you were in the grounds on the night of the accident?"
"I was, sir. I make my quarters in the rear of this building."
"Did you at any time during the night of Miss Laurel's death hear any sort of d
isturbance?"
"No, sir, I did not." He rubbed his chin reflectively. "I'm a sound enough sleeper, but I'd have heard anything that was to be heard. I'm trained for that, sir."
Pons thanked him and returned to the house where Miss Graham waited. She watched him come toward her, anxiously.
"Is my aunt in any danger, Mr. Pons?" she asked as he came up.
"Let me assure you that, for the time being, Mrs. Stowecroft is in not the slightest danger," he answered.
"Thank you, Mr. Pons, I am relieved to know it."
"I shall return presently to London, but I may very probably be back in the vicinity in the near future," Pons went on. "However, before I go, there are a few further questions I should like to ask. About Mr. Alexander Stowecroft, for one. How does he occupy his time?"
"Why, he is ever about his support for Crowley," said Miss Graham disapprovingly. "He reads, writes long letters, tries to get money for the Beast."
"And fails, no doubt," said Pons, smiling. "Does he have any normal pursuits? Does he play darts, go to the pub, fish?"
"No, Mr. Pons. But he shoots. He has the shooting rights over the woods and the adjoining country."
"Ah. And does he have any special day for that?"
"Yes, Mr. Pons. Thursday. The shooting is perhaps the only regular occupation of his life. He goes out at two o'clock in the afternoon and returns at five. They say he is a good shot."
"Does he use a beater?"
"Sometimes Bligh or Nicholson or one of the men from the stables—Jepson, usually—goes along."
"If anything untoward occurs, pray do not fail to notify me, Miss Graham," said Pons then. "Though Mrs. Stowecroft is in no immediate danger, I do not doubt that someone bent on diabolical mischief is acting against the family."
On the way back to London, Pons sat in our compartment with his arms folded across his chest, and his head sunk down, his eyes closed. His silence annoyed me, I confess, and presently I could endure it no longer.
"I've witnessed some astonishing feats of deduction on your part before this time, Pons, but I am completely at a loss to understand this latest," I said.
August Derleth - The Solar Pons Omnibus Volume 1 Page 48