August Derleth - The Solar Pons Omnibus Volume 1

by August Derleth

  So saying, Pons retreated into meditative silence. From time to time, he looked into certain of his reference books; now and then he sawed away at his violin, which was a great trial to anyone within earshot, for whatever his talents, Pons was not a violinist; on occasion he dipped into his files. He was roused by nothing of the immediate mundane world, neither the familiar street sounds nor the ringing of our own telephone when a patient called me.

  He proved correct in his assumption that there would be no further word from his brother, though he did him the courtesy of waiting upon him until noon, when, after a light repast set before us by Mrs. Johnson, he announced his intention of calling upon our client without further delay.

  Our goal proved to be a rather old-fashioned house of two storeys, well-appointed, but clearly a dwelling which belonged to another era. Obviously it had been the home of our client's parents, and had at one time been an imposing residence. Miss Pargeter had been expecting us. She seemed now somewhat more composed than she had been in the morning, but she was still plainly under strain.

  "Oh, I am so glad you've come, Mr. Pons," she cried. "I've been wracking my poor brain to find some explanation, but I'm more puzzled than ever. My poor brother can assuredly not be of interest to anyone. Why, he has been going on to his friends for months, for trying years, about the numbers. . . ."

  "What numbers?" asked Pons sharply.

  "The Rydberg numbers, as I'm sure I told you," she replied.

  "Tell me, Miss Pargeter, has your brother's substitute in any considerable way altered his books and papers?"

  "I fear I would not be able to say. Would you like to see his room?"

  "By all means."

  Our client took us upstairs and ushered us into a spacious room, which bore an appearance of some disorder.

  "My brother is not a tidy person," explained Miss Pargeter.

  Pons went immediately to a large and handsome, but obviously battered desk which was littered with papers in every conceivable disarray. Some of them had overflowed into a capacious wastepaper-basket at one side of the desk; others were piled with comparative neatness at the far side. There was every evidence to show that many of the papers had been removed from the desk drawers, some of which stood open. Books lay carelessly face up or down among the papers, so that, at cursory inspection, the desk bore the look of utter confusion.

  Pons, however, showed none of the bewilderment I felt. He seated himself at the desk and attacked the papers with the utmost caution, careful to disturb none of them. His keen eyes flickered rapidly from one to another, as he turned each over following his scrutiny. Some failed to hold him; indeed, most of them were apparently trivial by nature. But there were a few papers which he put aside.

  Miss Pargeter watched him in perplexity. She looked to me from time to time for some explanation of his conduct, but there was nothing I could reply save to reassure her silently as best I could.

  Pons was at Pargeter's desk for a most wearing hour. Miss Pargeter finally took her leave of us, descending to the floor below, and when Pons completed his perusal of Stanley Pargeter's papers, he bestowed upon the rest of the room only the most superficial of examinations before following our client.

  "Miss Pargeter," he began without preamble, "I have appropriated several of your brother's papers. Since these were in the pile on the left end of the desk, I am quite certain they will not be missed by your brother's substitute, who must be kept free of your suspicion at all costs until we have come upon the track of your brother. Now, you have mentioned Stanley's attendance at social events and especially his propensity for talking of his work. Did you have reference to his employment or his studies at home?"

  "Oh, what he did at home, Mr. Pons. He talked of this interminably."

  "So that anyone attending a party also attended by your brother might have heard him when he spoke of his work?"

  "Mr. Pons, my brother spoke to everyone. I'm afraid he was most trying. He seemed to be unable to gain an ear in quarters associated with his work, since his theories were —I am sure, quite properly — dismissed as untenable, and therefore he felt impelled to speak of them to anyone who would listen, and, I fear, many who would rather not have listened."

  "Could you possibly recall the names of people to whom your brother broached his beliefs?" asked Pons. "I suggest, of course, only those who appeared to be willing listeners, and who gave him time enough in which to understand him."

  Miss Pargeter looked dubious. "I'm afraid it would be very difficult."

  "Pray do your best. I shall need also a photograph of your brother. I will expect you to communicate with me in the morning."

  On this note we took our departure.

  Once back at 7B, Pons went straight to his small library of books pertinent to physics and chemistry. He was soon lost in Sir Richard Glazebrook's Dictionary of Applied Physics, so lost, indeed, that he refused dinner, much to Mrs. Johnson's indignation. His table rapidly came to bear an aspect similar to the desk in the room of the missing man, for Pons was studying the papers he had taken from that room in relation to data he assimilated from the books at his command.

  All evening he sat in uncommunicative silence, as if the very walls of the room had ceased to exist for him, together with all else within them save the papers and books at his fingertips. His meditation was profound, and by the hour of my retirement, he had begun to cover sheets of paper with his jottings.

  It was so I found him still at dawn. He had gone without sleep, but he now sat before a table in less disorder than it had been on the previous evening. He had arranged some of his papers and had brewed a pot of tea for himself. His eyes, when he met my reproving glance, were bright.

  "Pray spare me the medical point of view on loss of sleep, Parker," he said crisply. "I have had before me a singular and most tantalizing task, and one, I regret to say, without positive solution. I have been trying to arrive at some conclusion about the subject which occupied Pargeter."

  "I'm afraid you're off on a wild goose chase, Pons," I said. "Everyone —including his sister and your brother —is convinced that

  Pargeter is at best an enthusiast without much to lend credence to his views —at worst, a profound bore."

  "I submit that not quite everyone is so convinced, Parker," replied Pons. "Myself, for one. For another, that gentleman who had sufficient foresight to bring about Pargeter's abduction. I fancy we are all too prone to accept the opinion of the majority; it may be in error. It frequently is. Let us suppose, on the contrary, that Pargeter has hit upon something."

  "The majority," I said with asperity, "are entirely likely to be right."

  Pons smiled tolerantly. "Ah, I should hesitate to commit myself to the mercy of the majority," he answered. "In this case everyone seems to take it for granted that Pargeter's theories, whatever they are, are untenable. You know my methods, Parker. Let us assume that the contrary is true."

  "The experts. ..."

  "With all due respect for science —and none is more fulsome in his praise of the scientific method than I, you must agree —I confess to a profound distrust of 'experts.' "

  At this juncture, Mrs. Johnson knocked and came in with our breakfast on a tray. The good woman had doubled Pons's portions, explaining with an injured air that inasmuch as Pons had not eaten his dinner the previous night, he would need the extra. Pons hailed her appearance volubly, and gently praised her generous breakfast, so that she went out beaming with pleasure.

  "Now, then," said Pons, brusquely pushing his breakfast to one side, "take a look at this. What do you make of it?"

  "These would seem to be formulae," I ventured. "Capital, capital!" exclaimed Pons. "These are Rydberg numbers. N over c is the Rydberg constant, with the numerical value of

  He pushed toward me one of the papers I recognized as among those he had found on Pargeter's desk. On it was written a curious series of figures and letters:

  N as stated. The reference is to the theory of radiation of heat
or light. I fear the matter is too complicated to permit of precise explication, regrettably. Its beginning lies in the measurement of the distinct lines or bands occupying definite positions, which is to say, showing definite wavelengths, given off by gases and vapours heated to incandescence, and visible under spectroscopic examination. J. J. Balmer, as early as 1885, set down the atomic spectrum of hydrogen. The Rydberg constant was pronounced subsequently, following upon which came Planck's quantum theory, and Ritz's principle of combination, which gave us the Rydberg- Ritz Formula. The experiments of Niels Bohr, Paschen, Rutherford and, not long ago, Brackett, have added to our store of information about radiation.

  "Some of the theories which have been advanced are considered revolutionary and radical by scientists the world over. Rutherford's postulate that electrons rotate rapidly about a nucleus, so that outward centrifugal force balances the inward attractive force, for instance —Niels Bohr's suggestion that an electron always moves in a closed orbit, without absorption or emission of radiation, a theory enunciated only a little over a decade ago, were not set forth without encountering very strong opposition."

  "Surely this is all in textbooks," I interrupted. "I acknowledge it is out of my depth."

  "Yes, it can be found in Glazebrook."

  "In that case, what would Pargeter have to offer which could not be more readily ascertained than by abducting him?"

  Pons smiled enigmatically. "It does not occur to you that Pargeter may just possibly have gone beyond the lines of thought suggested by the developments outlined by Messrs. Balmer, Rydberg, Bohr, et al.?"

  "Pray inform me where such developments could lead?"

  "Ah, Parker, I fear I am incapable of doing so. At best I have certain tenuous suspicions, little more. But is it not tantalizing to consider that scientific thought in regard to certain fundamentals may be in error and these radical gentlemen may be right?"

  "Oh, that's the dream of every dabbler in physics and chemistry," I retorted. "And Pargeter is surely no more than that."

  "Is he? I wonder."

  "You have certain tenuous suspicions. What are they?"

  "Well, suppose that further experiments lend support to the radical theories thus far outlined and lead some scientists to con- elude that certain of our fundamental scientific laws are not, after all, unalterable."

  "For example?"

  "The law regarding the fissionability of the atom."

  "My dear Pons!" I protested. "Here we are a quarter of the way into the twentieth century. For decades, our greatest authorities, living as well as dead, have held to the unshakable belief in the indivisibility of the atom. This is not my field; neither is it yours."

  "No, it is Pargeter's," said Pons dryly.

  At this moment the outer bell rang, and in a few moments Mrs. Johnson trudged into the room with a letter for Pons, which had just arrived by special messenger.

  Pons tore open the envelope and glanced at the single sheet of paper it contained, ignoring for the moment the photograph of our quarry which fell to the table. "Ah!" he cried, "here is a list of names from Miss Pargeter." His eye went down the paper. "Sir Hilary Saunders —no, of course not. Nelson Warrender—no, it cannot be he." He read for a few moments in silence. "Aha! Crandall Barrington. I fancy that is our man."

  "Why do you say so? Is he not the actor?"

  Pons nodded, as he drew his breakfast toward him at last.

  "What would a minor actor know of such abstruse scientific matters?"

  "One of Barrington's closest friends during the past twelvemonth has been Karl Heinrichs, who is on the staff of the German Embassy," answered Pons.

  "You are surely not suggesting that the German ambassador is implicated in Pargeter's disappearance!" I protested.

  "There is only one man in London who conceivably has the imagination to suspect that Pargeter may have got on to the track of something, and at the same time the determination to find out what it is and the skill and ingenuity necessary to have accomplished his abduction in the manner in which it was done. He is not in any obvious way connected with the German Embassy. Yet he is an espionage agent employed by the German government. He moves freely in social circles and lives near Putney, in a somewhat secluded house where he entertains lavishly now and then. I refer to Baron Manfred von und zu Grafenstein."

  "A notoriously fanciful dilettante who poses as a patron of the arts," I said, unable to conceal my dubiety.

  "And a consummate actor. Heinrichs is his friend. I do not doubt that Barrington spoke of Pargeter and his theories to Heinrichs, and Heinrichs in turn carried information to von Grafenstein, whose imagination is not bound by the traditional acceptance of scientific fundamentals."

  "But what could he gain from Pargeter?"

  "The direction of Pargeter's theories and/or experiments, if any have been made, which I am inclined to doubt, knowing the stuffiness of departmental heads. These can be transmitted to scientists in Germany, who may be more open to suggestion than our own men."

  "He could hardly hope to get Pargeter out of the country."

  "Not without exposing his hand. No," Pons shook his head, "if indeed he has taken Pargeter, he will have him imprisoned at his home. Consider the advantages of von Grafenstein's gambit. Not only would Pargeter be unable to say just where he had been kept, but he would not even be able to prove he had been abducted, since a dozen people could testify that he had been at home and at work with unfailing regularity. Pargeter can be kept away from work indefinitely; von Grafenstein has no reason to suspect that Pargeter's absence has been noticed. If Miss Lillian Pargeter were to betray alarm, her brother's double could immediately notify his employer, and Pargeter could be returned. If, that is, there is any thought of returning him," Pons added darkly.

  "What is your next step, then?"

  "I fear it is one I cannot take. It is one the government will not take. Moreover, the tribulations and ramifications of going to Scotland Yard are insufferably delaying. No, I fancy this is a matter for the boys. It is Guy Fawkes's Night; the time could not be more ideal. I shall send for Alfred Peake."

  By Pons's reference to "the boys" I understood that he meant the group of gamins he called his Praed Street Irregulars. They were a little army of street urchins, ranging in age from eight or nine years to fifteen, alert and venturesome lads who would do anything within reason for a shilling or two. Alfred Peake was their acknowledged leader; it was through him that Pons was accustomed to dispatching his assignments.

  Promptly within an hour, Alfred presented himself. Pons's message had found him in school, he had obtained an excuse, and here he was. He was a bright-eyed boy of about thirteen, though small for his age, and he stood before Pons now with his arms akimbo and his eyes alight with anticipation.

  "Alfred, my lad, I have a little task for you," said Pons. "I shall need a dozen to a score of dependable boys. Can you find them?"

  "I think so, Mr. Pons."

  "Capital! Today is Guy Fawkes's. How many of the boys, do you think, will have masks, guys, and enough fireworks?"

  Alfred looked dubious. "I don't think many will, sir."

  "Very well, then. I shall entrust you with five pounds with which to equip yourselves. Now, then, take a look at this photograph."

  Alfred obediently bent over the photograph of Stanley Pargeter which his sister had sent to Pons. He studied it carefully.

  "Do you think you could recognize this man if you saw him?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "Let us suppose, as is not unlikely, that you encounter him in bed, with his face bandaged."

  Alfred looked dismayed.

  "If I told you it was necessary to do so, could you bring yourself to tear off the bandages to see whether it was he?"

  Alfred grinned and nodded.

  "Ah, willing lad! Now, then, look here."

  Pons spread before him a map of the London area folded to show the section covering Putney. "Can you find Waverton Street?"

  "Yes, sir," said
Alfred, after but a few moments, and put his finger on it.

  "Good! Now there is a certain house on that street, Number Twelve. I believe the man we want is in that house. He is being held a prisoner there against his will. He may be locked in a room. He may be abed under guard. He may be under a sedative."

  "Doped, sir?"

  Pons smiled. "Doped, Alfred. We want this man. I may say, Alfred, our government wants him."

  "What do you want us to do, Mr. Pons?"

  "Between nine and ten o'clock, I suggest that you boys venture down Waverton Street in masks and with your guys and make a nuisance of yourselves. At Number Twelve, however, I shall expect you to invade the house. I'm afraid you may have to be quite rough. Can you find yourselves some sandbags?"

  "I think so, sir."

  "Capital! Don't hesitate to use them. I'm afraid they must be used on all the occupants of the house. I cannot say how many men may be there. Perhaps as many as five, perhaps but two. Our quarry is in all likelihood among them. I need hardly say you are not to use

  the bags on him. Proceed with discretion, my lad, and caution. I shouldn't like any one of you to be shot."

  Alfred's eyes widened, but not with apprehension.

  "This man is to be found. The house must be searched from top to bottom. They will not suspect an army of roistering children until it is too late. Once you find him, bring him with you. We will be waiting in a Daimler limousine just around the corner from Waverton Street. As soon as you've delivered him, abandon your masks and the guys and scatter. Are you willing to undertake the assignment, Alfred?"

  "Yes, sir," responded the lad eagerly.

  "Very well. You may promise the boys a guinea each. Whether you succeed or fail, you may present yourself here tomorrow for your reward. Take the photograph with you, so there may be no mistake. Now be off with you."