"Very well, gentlemen, I will take the matter up."
Pons had hardly bowed the two professors from our lodgings before we were on the street ourselves. He hailed a cab at once, and in a few moments we passed our recent visitors walking slowly in the direction of the college. We drove rapidly along Edgware Road, but were halted for a short time at Marble Arch by the increasing traffic along Bayswater Road and Oxford Street. In considerably less than half an hour, however, we drew up before number 27 Slade Street, from the steps of which came a young constable whom I recognized as Meeker, with whom Pons had previously worked. He came down the path to meet us as we crossed from the curb.
"Common sort of house, isn't it, Meeker?" observed Pons in greeting, looking at the ordinary, one-storey stuccoed residence that faced us.
"Like most of the others on this street, Mr. Pons. This one was built by Faversham about three years ago."
"All boarded up, just as the papers had it."
"Yes, for the length of Faversham's leave. A good job, too. He couldn't possibly have got out by any passage but this front door." His intelligent young face clouded in perplexity.
"And he's not in the house?"
"Certainly not, Mr. Pons. We searched it from top to bottom. No tunnels, no secret passages, nothing. We did look, on the theory that we can't afford to neglect any openings, no matter how improbable."
"Dear me!" said Pons with a thin smile. "If Faversham isn't in the house, and couldn't have got out any other way than this front door—then he must have come out the front."
"And that's just what he did not do."
"No?"
"No! Professor von Ruda swears that the door was not lost to his sight for a moment. Not only that, but from the time he gave up Faversham as lost, I was here at the door."
"That is most singular. How did it come about?"
"Von Ruda had been visiting Faversham. When he got ready to leave, Faversham kindly offered to walk to the Strand with him, and to wait there with him until an omnibus came. The two men came out on to the front steps. It was a frightfully foggy and wet night, and Faversham went back into the house to get his raincoat. Von Ruda remained standing on the stoop, waiting for Faversham to return. When he tired at last, he went into the house and directly down the short hall to the alcove where he knew Faversham kept his mackintosh.
"The coat was there, but the professor was not. All this time he had the front door in sight. When von Ruda could not find the professor, he called him and finally came back to the stoop. I w,as passing and, hearing his calls, I came up the walk where von Ruda discovered me and related the incident. I instructed him to wait, which he did, and called Inspector Jamison. The door was therefore not out of our sight for so much as a moment."
Pons gazed reflectively at Meeker, taking out his pipe now and filling it. "You admit that the fellow simply couldn't have vanished into air?"
"Certainly, Mr. Pons. But where did he go? We've ransacked the house even to the extent of digging up the basement floor."
"Well, one of two solutions presents itself. Faversham either went out of this door, or he did not."
"I give you my word that he did not go out of it," said Meeker.
"Then you may take my word that he never went in."
Meeker looked sharply at Pons. "But von Ruda insists that he did. He saw him."
"What about von Ruda?"
"Retired from Bonn in 1921. As far as we know, he has a perfect record. He lectured in philosophy, with part time in law and logic; he has a string of degrees that would put the alphabet to shame. We wired the university immediately."
"Von Ruda is being held, I take it?"
"Jamison insisted on it. He's in a temper by this time, to my way of thinking. He's booked to sail tomorrow, and as it looks now, he won't get away until we find some clue to Faversham's disappearance."
Pons chuckled. "Full marks for Jamison; he has had the good sense to see that there is a serious flaw somewhere in this fabrication, and he's taking no chance of allowing his star witness to escape!"
Meeker threw open the front door, and we found ourselves gazing down a short hall, at the far end of which was the alcove where a raincoat hung in plain sight. Pons stood briefly on the threshold; then he strode rapidly down to the alcove, where he turned and looked speculatively at us.
"He certainly could not miss seeing the door, could he?" he remarked dryly. "Did von Ruda explain why he didn't go through the house?"
"Faversham was using only his library, where he had put up a cot for the nights he meant to be in London, since he didn't want to open a bedroom. The door immediately to the right of this front entrance leads directly into his library, and Faversham was not there when von Ruda looked into it as he came back to the front steps."
"And the other doors? What about them?"
"All locked, Mr. Pons. I tried them at once before I called Jamison."
Pons nodded and came briskly toward the library door. "Well, then, let us just have a look at the library."
The library was a low, dimly lit room. Meeker turned on the lights as we entered, and revealed that every wall, to the jambs of the doors and the one window, was lined with high shelves, and every shelf filled with books. In the centre of the room stood an old- fashioned desk-table. On it were a few scattered papers and two books —one closed, with a projecting slip of paper to mark a place, the other turned face down at a point to which Faversham must have got when von Ruda came to visit him. Against the shelves to the left of the table was a cot, which gave evidence of having recently been slept in, for the sheets were partly thrown back and rumpled.
Pons went directly to the bed and came to his knees the better to examine it. He pulled back the sheets gingerly, and spent some moments scrutinizing the impression in the bed. That he had discovered something when he rose, I saw at a glance, but I forebore to question him, knowing that if his discovery should ultimately fit into the pattern of his solution, he would reveal it in good time. Then he went to the library table and proceeded to examine the books and papers on it. One paper he passed over to Meeker; it was Professor Faversham's passport, dated for the following day.
Pons next gave his attention to the books on the shelves, passing from one shelf to another and drawing books from their places to leaf through them. He crossed and re-crossed the room, and finally returned to his starting point. Contrary to our expectations, he did not stop his examination of the books, but started all over, taking each book as he came to it, skipping only those he remembered having looked into before.
"You might take Parker over the house, Meeker," he said, turning to the constable. "It will take me some time to finish here."
Meeker agreed reluctantly.
When we returned to the library, we found Pons engrossed in a volume of German prose written, as the printing on its cover gave evidence, by Dr. Hans von Ruda. He looked up at our entrance.
"Will you want to look over the rest of the house, Mr. Pons?" asked Meeker.
"I think not. My little examination has been most valuable, and I doubt whether anything found in the other rooms could contribute much more. I'm taking this book with me, by the way. It's a text on philosophy by Dr. von Ruda, a presentation copy from the author to Faversham —a gift, I take it, since the inscription is Christmas, 1921."
"Was it on the shelves?"
"No —in one of the drawers of the desk."
We left the house, Meeker walking down the path with us. At the pavement, Meeker asked, "Have you any suggestion that might help us, Mr. Pons?"
"I might suggest only that you examine the books in the library. It may lead you to something. Then, you might look into the drawers, if you have not already done so. By the way, you've looked up the hotel at which Dr. von Ruda stayed?"
"Of course. It is the Adelphi."
"Indeed! Well, I may call them." Pons half turned, then hesitated. "And, Meeker, you might give that bed a closer scrutiny. You'll find, I think, that it's been slept in onl
y once; it looks rather as if it had been used with the intention of giving that impression. Faversham, however, has been in London five days. Dr. Dunnel, who lives just across the street in that white, railed-in house, informs me that Faversham did not spend his nights here."
"What do you make of it?"
"I think it would be wise to discover where Faversham spent his nights, eh, Meeker?"
"Yes, it might be," agreed Meeker, now deeply puzzled.
"When are you relieved here?"
"At seven-thirty this evening. Then I report to the station before being released for the night."
"Well, if it is not too inconvenient, try to get over to 7 Praed Street before midnight. I may have something for you."
It was already dark when we ascended to our lodgings in Praed Street. Under the green-shaded table-lamp in our study, Pons took the German book from his pocket and handed it to me.
"Take a look at it, Parker. It's rather interesting."
I took the book and began to examine it, while he occupied himself on the telephone. The book was bound in black cloth, and the printing on its cover was large. The gold-leaf lettering of the title read, Die Philosophie. It was a ponderous volume of some nine hundred pages. The title page was inscribed: Mit Freundlichen Gruss, Hans von Ruda—Weinachten, 1921. The text was printed in large type and easy to read, though the pages were uncommonly thin. I turned the book over and over in my hands, and leafed through it in the hope of discovering what Pons seemed to have found. But when he turned from the telephone at last I knew no more than when he had handed me the book.
"Well, what do you make of it?" asked Pons.
"At first glance, I'd say the book was little used," I ventured.
"Elementary —but still of some significance in view of the fact that von Ruda and Faversham are warm friends, and since Faversham has had the book since 1921, with ample time to go through it. Yet several pages are still uncut. You noticed nothing else?"
"Nothing. Why?"
"No matter. I'll come back to the book later." He put the book away. "You went through the house, Parker. What did you see?"
"Enough to assure me that Faversham couldn't have got out of any window or either back or side door; everything is securely boarded up, and no one could go through without leaving telltale marks. There are none. Moreover, Meeker systematically tapped the walls. There just isn't room in the small proportions of the building for anything in the nature of a secret passage —but that would impute a criminal motive to Faversham himself, rather than to some outsider."
Pons shrugged. "Not necessarily. But I hardly expected to discover any secret passages."
"Well, there's certainly a flaw somewhere — the professor simply didn't walk into his house and vanish."
"Well, that is the story, Parker," said Pons, chuckling. "But perhaps the flaw is not in the story. We shall see. I have just called the police and asked to have Professor von Ruda sent up with Meeker when he comes. Until then, let us forget about the matter."
We had not long to wait, for in something like two hours the bell rang. The ringing of the bell was followed by Meeker, who trailed in his wake a shabby, bent old man, who bore all the obvious earmarks of a professor. He was not thin, yet his features gave the impression of being wizened and drawn. His eyes were hidden behind old-fashioned green spectacles. On his scant hair he wore an equally old-fashioned beaver hat, and a long black cape-coat reached below his knees. To cap this almost ridiculous outfit, the German professor carried firmly in one hand a bulging umbrella of indeterminate age.
"Well, sir," he addressed Pons in a high, shrill voice, "I hope you have found what has become of my esteemed colleague; it is certainly not to my liking to be detained much longer."
"Especially since your boat leaves tomorrow, eh, Doctor?" asked Pons quietly.
"Exactly. I don't want to miss it. But come, sir, tell us —you've discovered something?"
"Yes, I may say I have," replied Pons in that unfailingly calm manner in which he was accustomed to make the most important announcements. "I look forward to producing the lost Mr. Faversham before the night is over."
Surprise stilled the room, following Pons's statement. Meeker flashed a glance of perplexity at me; I returned it. Only von Ruda remained unmoved; he did not ask, as I expected him to, whether Faversham would be found alive or dead, but only said that he hoped Pons was right, and that he would then be able to sail after all.
"To begin with," said Pons, "I should like to hear your story, Doctor."
"Again?" snapped the professor curtly. He shrugged. "I suppose I must go through with it. Must you have all of it?" "All."
Von Ruda shrugged his shapeless shoulders again and began. "As you no doubt know, I have been visiting in London; I was in Paris and had arranged to meet my good friend and colleague, Professor Faversham, at his home directly on his return from Scotland. That was five days ago. I came to London, registered at the Adelphi, and that evening went to Faversham's home. He had just got in, and we spent some hours together. It was late when I returned to the hotel, as perhaps the clerks will tell you, if you care to inquire."
"Quite so. I have already done so. I am informed also that you left the hotel regularly each day some time before dawn. I take it you spent every day with Professor Faversham?"
"Yes. We were working together. That is, up to last night. I spent yesterday with Faversham. When I rose to go close to midnight, he volunteered to walk with me to the thoroughfare —the Strand, I believe it is called —where I could take a conveyance. We came out together to the front steps. There Faversham left me to get his raincoat, which was not far down the hall from the front door. I stood on the stoop to wait for him."
"How long did you wait?"
"I should say not quite ten minutes. Then I entered the house and looked for him. I had the open front door within sight at all times. He was not in the alcove, his raincoat had not been taken from its hook, he was not in the library, and finally, he was not on the stoop when I returned there. I called him, and my calls attracted the attention of the constable who brought me here tonight. Doubtless you already know his story."
"You say you glanced into the library. Could Dr. Faversham have been hiding in that room?"
"That is impossible, sir. If you have seen the room you will realize that the walls present even expanses of book-lined shelves. The only object at all large enough to conceal someone is the desk, and that is so placed that from the door fully three sides of it are visible."
Pons nodded. "There is a door leading from the library into an inner room. Could Professor Faversham have passed through this?"
A mirthless smile crossed the German professor's face. "No, no, my dear sir," he replied in an irritated voice. "That door was securely locked. Had you taken the trouble to investigate further, you would have seen that it leads into a narrow cupboard."
Pons paid no attention to von Ruda's caustic reply. "Of course, my dear Doctor, you realize that there is a flaw of some magnitude in the problem as it is being presented to us?"
"Indeed, Mr. Pons? Perhaps you would like to suggest that I myself made some magic to bring about my friend's disappearance without trace?"
"Nothing so crude, my dear Doctor, nothing so crude," replied Pons, chuckling. "But consider the logic of your statements. You say you had the door in sight every moment; this door is the only available mode of exit from the house. Yet, after having seen Professor Faversham enter the house, and having kept the only usable entrance under observation, you continue to hold that Faversham did not leave this house, in the face of the fact that Faversham is not now in it."
"Overlooking your rambling way of putting it, that is what I maintain."
"Did you look behind the raincoat?" asked Pons suddenly.
"Yes, I did."
"Suppose we wish to assume that Faversham had a reason to disappear. Suppose he were hiding behind the library door when you walked down to the alcove. If this were true, could he have stepped from
the house at the moment when you looked behind the mackintosh?"
The professor's features underwent an almost ludicrous change. "If—I say, if that were true, yes, he could."
"Good! Very good!" exclaimed Pons. "We seem to be getting somewhere." He reached over now and picked up Die Philosophie. "Do you recognize this volume, Professor?"
"I do. I gave the book to Dr. Faversham as a Christmas gift in 1921."
"I gathered as much from the inscription." As he replaced the book, Pons asked, "At about what date did you dispatch this gift to Faversham?"
"I think it was sometime in the first week of December 1921."
Nodding, Pons rose from his chair. "I think that is all, Professor von Ruda."
"And Professor Faversham?" queried the German in his sharp, shrill voice.
"I am ready to produce him," said Pons tranquilly.
With these words he leaned forward easily and with one movement snatched the green spectacles from the face of the German scholar at the same time that he brought away most of the skillfully drawn lines on one side of the face. The fellow was up at a bound, and upon Pons, but Meeker collared him from behind.
"Professor Faversham —at our service," said Pons. To Meeker he added, "You may arrest him on the charge of attempting the embezzlement of ten thousand pounds of the funds of Merk College."
Faversham said nothing, but his eyes were steady in their in- tentness upon Pons. Pons sat down and drew out his pipe as casually as if he had done nothing unusual.
"My good Faversham," said Pons, "your scheme was too perfect. Your mind worked two paces ahead of the plan. You made your first mistake in this book — " he tapped Die Philosophie—"when you dated a second edition printed in April 1922, as of Christmas, 1921. Your second error was in the matter of your books. When a man's library is stripped of all books possessing any intrinsic personal value —gift books, books with other pleasant associations such as a professor is in a position to receive —it is a safe guess to assume that all such books have been permanently shipped away. Certainly a professor on his leave would not take them along. Where, then, were they, and why were they gone?
August Derleth - The Solar Pons Omnibus Volume 1 Page 76
