“Well, sir, people hereabouts are inclined to laugh at my stories, but they won’t be inclined to do so much longer.”
Solar Pons looked at him sharply.
“What makes you say that?”
The old man shook his head.
“There are strange things on the marshes, sir. Especially on these bleak winter nights. Spirits of those dead and gone.”
Solar Pons studied our informant silently for a moment over the rim of his glass. The noise in the bar was deafening, everyone appearing to be conversing at the top of their voices. It looked as though the whole population of the marshes had gathered here this evening.
“I am more interested in recent doings than in the ghosts of the past, Jessel. Unless they have a bearing on the present.”
The old man rested his tankard on the polished mahogany top of the counter and looked reflectively at the hurried runnings-about of the potman. He put a withered hand up to the side of his nose.
“Who’s to tell, sir, whether the past does not have a bearing on the present? There are some—and they include me—who believe that they do; that our deeds on this earth, from cradle to grave, cast their shadow before.”
Solar Pons’ eyes twinkled and he cast a penetrating glance from Tobias Jessel to me.
“You are quite a philosopher, Jessel. Dr. Strangeways tells me you saw a weird apparition on the marsh recently.”
“That I did, sir.”
The old man lowered his voice to a hushed and confidential tone, though no one could have overheard us in our snug corner of the bar with all the hubbub going on.
“It was late at night. I had just left here and was walking back along the marsh road. My cottage is about two miles distant. It was a fine, moonlight night, but with a frost and a slight ground-mist coming up over the marshes. I had got almost opposite the causeway of Grimstone Manor when I heard a slight sound.
“What sort of sound?”
“Like a rustling in the reeds, sir.”
“I see. Go on.”
“Well, sir, I naturally turned. I’d had a bit to drink but I was soon sober, I can tell you. There was a ghastly blue figure, all wreathed in fire coming up at the edge of the marsh.”
The old man’s eyes were filled with fear and he again lowered his voice until I had a job to make his words out.
“Like one of those pictures of fiends burning in Hell, it was.”
“Extremely apposite, Jessel,” said Pons drily. “What was it doing?”
“It was my opinion it was making toward Grimstone Manor, sir. I naturally cried out, I was so startled with the sight. At almost the same moment the figure vanished.”
“Vanished?”
“Vanished, sir. Just as though someone had pulled down a blind.”
“Interesting, Parker.”
“Indeed, Pons. An almost exactly parallel experience to that of Mr. Grimstone.”
“I am glad you have seen the connection. Did you go toward the spot where you had seen the figure?”
A look of contempt passed across our informant’s face.
“What do you take me for, sir? A fool?” he exclaimed indignantly. “I wouldn’t have gone across that causeway for a thousand pounds, I can tell you. I took to my heels and didn’t feel myself safe and secure until I was inside my cottage and had the door barred.”
Solar Pons nodded and tamped fresh tobacco into his pipe. When it was drawing to his satisfaction he leaned forward and ordered a refill of Jessel’s tankard. His penetrating eyes seemed to bore right into the old man.
“Now just pay attention, Jessel, as this is extremely important. When first you saw the figure was it down below the level of the road or up the embankment?”
A startled expression passed across the old man’s features.
“Down below the steep bank, sir. I am sure of it.”
Solar Pons nodded, his eyes glinting.
“And was there a wind that evening. Think carefully?”
The old man scratched his head and picked up his tankard with his unoccupied hand.
“Why, a bit of a wind had sprung up, sir. It was gusting and I noticed it was blowing the mist about at the edge of the marsh.”
“Thank you, Jessel. You have been extremely helpful. Here is a guinea for your trouble.”
Waving away the old man’s thanks Solar Pons turned to me. His expression changed.
“Not a word of what we have just been discussing, Parker. Ah, Dr. Strangeways. It is good to see you. Will you not join us? The sherry is excellent.”
“Thank you, Mr. Pons. I would prefer a whisky if it is all the same to you.”
“By all means. Allow me to refill your own glass, Parker.”
The doctor’s bearded face looked chapped and red with cold and he clapped his hands together as he gazed round the crowded bar.
“How is my patient, Dr. Parker?”
I smiled.
“You mean old Mr. Grimstone? We have been out there earlier this evening. I mentioned the matter, but as you have already indicated, I fear it will be a long time before you collect your fees.”
Strangeways smiled grimly.
“There are more ways than one of obtaining satisfaction,” he said levelly. “He may need medical treatment urgently one of these days.”
He chuckled throatily and reached out his hand for the glass Pons was proffering him. I raised my own and found a young man at my elbow. He blinked round at us.
“I am sorry to intrude, gentlemen. My name is Norman Knight. We are fellow guests, I believe.”
“Oh, certainly, Mr. Knight. Do join us. May I get you something?”
“No thank you, Mr. Pons.” The young man shook his head. “I still have the best part of a pint here. It was just that I understood you were a doctor. I do a good deal of walking hereabouts and I have had the misfortune to turn my ankle earlier tonight. I wondered if Dr. Strangeways might take a look at it.”
Strangeways smiled benevolently at the fair-haired young man.
“Save your money, Mr. Knight. Unless there is a bone broken—and I’ll wager you would know it if there were—a cold compress left on all night will do the trick.”
“Thank you, Dr. Strangeways.”
Knight laughed, sipping at his tankard. He tried the weight on his right foot.
“No, I do not think there is anything broken. But it aches infernally and makes me limp.”
“A towel soaked in cold water, then,” said Dr. Strangeways crisply. “Bind it tightly round the ankle and leave it on all night. You will find it greatly improved by morning.”
Strangeways put down his glass.
“And now my dinner is waiting in the dining room yonder, Mr. Pons, if you will excuse me.”
Pons nodded and we watched as the huge form of the doctor threaded its way through the crowd.
“At least the medical profession in this country is not on the make,” said young Knight carelessly, putting down his glass on the bar.
“You have been abroad much, then?” asked Solar Pons.
“Around the world a good deal, Mr. Pons,” said the young man. “And now, if you will excuse me I will say goodnight also. I must put the good doctor’s remedy into practice.”
He shook hands pleasantly and walked over toward the street door which was more clear than the route taken by Strangeways. He was indeed limping heavily on his right foot.
“The sooner that young man gets into bed the better, Pons,” I said. “He has most likely strained a ligament.”
“I have no doubt your diagnosis is correct, Parker,” said Pons.
I looked round in the smoky interior but could see nothing of Tobias Jessel. Solar Pons smiled.
“He left a good ten minutes ago, Parker. I fancy he had no desire for words with Dr. Strangeways again. Reading between the lines it must have been an interesting interview.”
“Superstition versus scientific determinism, Pons,” I said.
My companion looked at me approvingly.
“You may be right, Pons,” I said cautiously. “You must admit the whole thing sounds fantastic. If we had not been consulted by Silas Grimstone and had the testimony of himself and his niece, in addition to that of Jessel, you would have dismissed it out of hand.”
“Perhaps, Parker, perhaps,” admitted Solar Pons smilingly. And he said not a word further on the subject between then and the time we retired to bed.
VII
I woke quite early from a refreshing sleep the following morning to find thick white mist lying damply at the window. I made a quick toilet and descended to the warmth and pleasant atmosphere of the hotel dining room. Early as I was, Pons was already at table. He looked fresh and alert and greeted me cordially.
“We have a good deal before us today, Parker, so I would advise a hearty breakfast.”
He was already halfway through a substantial plate of bacon, kidney and eggs and I lost no time in joining him, my companion pouring the scalding coffee for me from the polished pewter pot. I caught a glimpse of young Knight seated a few tables away and there were several other people, in thick clothing, dotted about at various tables.
“There appears to be a curious influx of visitors, Pons,” I said, surprise evident on my face.
Solar Pons chuckled.
“Does there not, Parker. A walking party, if you please, on the marshes at this time of year. I salute the hardihood of my compatriots.”
“How is our friend’s foot, Pons?” I remarked.
“Still troubling him a little, though it has much eased.”
I reached out for the hot buttered toast brought by the old waiter who had served us the previous day and ordered another pot of coffee for the two of us.
“What are your plans for today, Pons?”
“I have a desire to see something of the marshes, Parker. There is nothing like penetrating to the heart of a mystery.”
“That is all very well, Pons,” said I, my mouth halffull of buttered toast, “but did not the local people say they are extremely dangerous?”
“That is precisely the reason I wish to go,” said Pons. “The sensible man takes wise precautions and I have already procured a largescale Ordnance Survey map of the area, which our worthy landlord sells at the reception desk.”
“I see, Pons. I hope you know what you are doing.”
Solar Pons smiled enigmatically.
“I think I can read a map with some accuracy, Parker; and no doubt your excellent eyesight and your Army experience will provide admirable backing. You have your revolver, I take it?”
I looked at Pons in surprise.
“It is in my valise upstairs.”
“I would suggest that you get it once breakfast is over, my dear fellow.”
“You surely do not expect danger in daylight, Pons. So far as I understand this phantom does not appear except at night.”
“The Bible says something about terror at noonday. I would feel a great deal easier when venturing into the marshes, if you were carrying it.”
“I will certainly bring it, Pons.”
“Excellent,” said Solar Pons, his keen eyes raking the room and particularly the hearty groups of walkers at the adjoining tables. “I notice from the map that there is a solid path which leads into the heart of Grimstone Marsh from a point near old Grimstone’s causeway. I would suggest we make that our objective this morning and perhaps call at the Manor later and see if we can solicit some lunch from our client.”
My gloom at his words must have shown on my face for Pons chuckled again and added, “Come, Parker, it is not so bad. The Manor is on our way, after all, and we can always return here if need be.”
“As you wish, Pons. I am at your disposal.”
Solar Pons nodded.
“Finish your coffee then, and let us be off.”
As we left the dining room we passed quite close to young Knight. He smiled pleasantly and made preparations for quitting his own table. I ascended to my room, dressed myself in some warm clothes suitable to our expedition and with the butt of my pistol making a comforting pressure against my shoulder muscles, descended to the hall of the hotel, where Pons was waiting.
Knight was making his own way back to his room again; he was still limping, though making light of the effort, and I noticed that Pons’ glance rested on him sympathetically as he gained the head of the stairs. A few moments later we were out in the bitter air of the street and, the mist lifting a little, set off along the lonely road that led across the marsh in the direction of Grimstone Manor.
We walked in silence, each occupied with his own thoughts, our feet striking back echoes from the pallid blanket of vapour that edged the road. Once again I was struck with the exceptional melancholy of these cheerless wastes and even Pons seemed more than usually reflective, the streams of blue smoke from his pipe wreathing back over his shoulder.
We had gone about halfway to the causeway linking Silas Grimstone’s manor house with the main road when we heard the sound of hooves on the highway in front of us and the faint murmur of men’s voices. Pons put his hand on my arm and drew me to a halt, his lean, feral face expressing intense concentration.
“Hullo, Parker. Horse and cart. Five men by the sound of it.”
Sure enough, two minutes later spectral figures materialised from the mist like negatives developing in the photographer’s dish. A black horse, eyes wide and staring through the whiteness, drew a rough farm cart whose ironbound wheels made an unpleasant grating noise on the icy road. The men who confronted us were bareheaded and the stiff form beneath the rough tarpaulin on the cart instantly supplied the reason.
I glanced at Pons, noting that there were five men in the group, as he had already indicated. Heavy boots protruded from beneath the tarpaulin, encrusted with ice.
“Good morning, Mr. Pons! I am afraid this is a sad start to the day.”
The massive, bearded form of Dr. Strangeways detached himself from the bareheaded villagers and came toward us.
“Indeed,” said Solar Pons, moving over to stare downward at the sombre burden the cart contained. “A drowning?”
“A drowning, certainly,” said Strangeways brusquely. “Though whether he went into the marsh intentionally is another matter. I would be glad of your opinion, Doctor.”
He bent over the cart and drew back the canvas from the dead face. Ice glistened in among the stiffened fronds of hair and the face was so distorted and cyanosed that I had some difficulty in making out the visage of Tobias Jessel. Pons came to stand at my side and puffed unemotionally at his pipe.
“I fear your money was illspent, Pons,” I said.
“Perhaps, Parker, perhaps,” said my companion absently.
He fixed the doctor with a piercing eye.
“Just what did you mean by saying that Jessel may not have gone into the marsh intentionally, Doctor?”
The big doctor stamped his feet on the ground, an uneasy expression on his face.
“It is only what these people have been saying,” he said defensively. “There has been some ill feeling in the past about this fellow’s drunken habits. He was not short of enemies on the marsh.”
“That is a serious charge, Doctor,” said Solar Pons. “Let us just see what the indications are.”
He pulled back the canvas further, revealing more detail of the old man’s pathetic, stiffened form.
“There are some cuts on the hands, Pons,” I said. “As though he had been defending himself.”
“I have not overlooked them, Parker,” said Solar Pons languidly.
He was busy with his magnifying lens while the four villagers in rough clothing stood awkwardly around the cart. They looked like nothing so much as mourners at a funeral.
“Where was he found?” Pons asked crisply.
“At the foot of a dyke younder, about half a mile back, sir,” said one of the men, turning to poin
t into the white mist in front of us. “Jethro Turner here was on his way to work. The mist happened to part and he saw the body in the ice at the edge of the marsh.”
“That’s right, sir,” said the man referred to soberly. “There was nothing I could do for him, sir, so I set out for the village to rouse Dr. Strangeways here.”
“You have done perfectly correctly, Turner.”
Pons turned back to Strangeways.
“You have reported it to the Coroner, of course?”
Strangeways flushed and there was again a defensive look on his features.
“My surgery boy is on his way there now, Mr. Pons. There is little else we can do until I perform the post mortem.”
“Of course not,” said Pons. “I should be glad of a copy of your findings.”
“I shall never forget the look on his face, sir,” said the man Turner, inclining his lugubrious countenance toward us.
“Death is always a shock,” said Strangeways roughly.
He jerked his head at the two of us.
“We must get on. A pleasant walk to you, gentlemen.”
The man holding the horse’s head urged the beast forward and the sad cortège moved on through the mist. Pons and I walked in silence for a while, my companion smoking furiously, his brows knotted.
“What do you make of it, Parker?” he said at length.
“It is an unpleasant business, Pons,” I replied. “And things look black, particularly in view of this phantom of the marsh tale. Do you think Jessel could have seen something and been pushed in? His murder obviously took place when he was on his way home from the inn last night.”
Solar Pons shook his head. “You have a point, Parker, but it is too early as yet to jump to conclusions. We must just reserve judgement.”
“And there is the matter of the cuts on his hands, Pons. Supposing he were trying to ward off the blows of a knife?”
Solar Pons ejected a plume of fragrant smoke from between his strong teeth.
Dark Detectives Page 19