Dark Detectives

by Stephen Jones

  “Nevertheless, he drowned, Parker,” he said enigmatically. “He was not stabbed to death. Ah, unless I am mistaken, here comes the first of the sun!”

  Rays of light were beginning to penetrate the mist and in a quarter of an hour it started to disperse, revealing the flat and desolate landscape I had already come to detest. We were almost at the causeway of Grimstone Manor by now and Pons paused to consult his largescale map.

  “The path should be about here, Parker,” he said, leaving the road and leading me down toward the edge of the marsh.

  “Be careful, Pons,” I called, following him more gingerly.

  He smiled briefly, glancing sharply about him as he led the way without hesitation among the tussocks as the mist cleared, though a faint haze still hung over the surface of the reeds.

  “Just follow me closely, Parker. I fancy I shall not lead you astray.”

  “I am not so sure about that, Pons,” I said wryly, as I followed him among the rustling reed-stems with some apprehension.

  Pons ignored my remark as he was concentrating on the map, his sharp eyes stabbing about him. Undoubtedly he could read signs which were invisible to me but my confidence grew as we proceeded. Not once did my companion appear to put a foot wrong and within a few minutes the causeway and the roof of Grimstone Manor were completely out of sight.

  “You will note, Parker,” said Solar Pons, pausing briefly to relight his pipe, “that the marsh proper is of a far deeper and greener texture than that of the path. And you will see, if you look yonder, that the reed-stems are encased in ice, proving that water covers them normally.”

  “You are right, Pons,” I said, after careful observation. “I thought you had done something clever.”

  Solar Pons looked up from his map with a wry smile.

  “The Master himself was not immune to such criticism. It is always a mistake to explain one’s reasoning processes to the layman.”

  “You do me an injustice, Pons.”

  “Perhaps, Parker, perhaps. But I must confess there is an occasional sting in your otherwise innocuous remarks. You are improving considerably.”

  He took another glance at the map and then led the way unhesitatingly forward.

  “If we keep our direction by the sun here, I do not think we shall go far wrong. But dusk or nightfall would be a different matter indeed.”

  “But what do you expect to find, Pons?”

  “Evidence, Parker. Or at least some trace, however subtle, of human foot before us.”

  I followed cautiously in his tracks, pausing now and again to look round at our misty surroundings with a misgiving I could not suppress.

  “I must say, Pons, I do not care for these marshes. They are bleak and inhospitable in the extreme.”

  “And yet people make their living here, Parker, and seem reasonably content to do so.”

  “Except for Strangeways.”

  Solar Pons turned and gave me a penetrating look from his piercing eyes.

  “Ah, you have noticed that? A talented man dissatisfied with the sphere in which circumstances have placed him. At least, that is my reading.”

  “There is more to the doctor than appears on the surface, Pons.”

  “We shall see,” he replied equably.

  He led the way forward ever deeper into the marsh, our movements occasionally cloaked by thick undergrowth which grew on exposed humps of land which thrust themselves above the surrounding bog. A thin mist still hovered over the reeds but it was possible to see some way ahead and it was with considerable relief that I saw a large hummock of firmer ground and then the outlines of a dilapidated stone building. The harsh cries of birds occasionally broke the silence but apart from that and the faint noise our own footsteps made we might have been alone in the universe.

  Pons folded the map and scrutinised it closely.

  “Ah, this should be the place, Parker. A disused shepherd’s hut and byre. Some of this land was once reclaimed from the marsh but as fast as gains were made, other areas were abandoned to their former state.”

  “You look as though you expect to find something here.”

  “Do I not. We have at least three points to aim for this morning and if we do not end up a little wiser my name is not Solar Pons.”

  We were off the path now and walking uphill toward the stone-built ruins. Seabirds cried harshly in the strengthening sunlight as we gained the island—for it was little more—that rose from the surrounding marshland.

  A sudden explosion sent ducks whirring upward as we gained the edge of the ruins. I must confess my nerves were a little on edge for I had my hand on the butt of my revolver before Pons’ warning glance brought me to myself. A burly, tweeded form lowered the shotgun as we came up. The man smiled affably.

  “Good morning, gentlemen. Joshua Tebble at your service. Nothing like roast duck with your potatoes and green peas. There, Judy!”

  The bright-eyed retriever went dashing into the marsh and emerged wetly a minute or two later carrying the bedraggled corpse of a plump duck in her mouth.

  “An excellent meal, as you say, Mr. Tebble,” I put in.

  The tanned man looked at us shrewdly as he thrust the duck carelessly into the capacious canvas bag he carried slung over one shoulder.

  “Staying in the neighbourhood, are you?”

  “We are at the inn yonder for a few days,” put in Solar Pons. “It seems an agreeable district.”

  “It’s all right,” said Tebble shortly. “Though if you were farming, like me, you would not say so. Difficult terrain for agriculture, gentlemen. Too much salt marsh hereabouts. And the land is inclined to flood at high tide in winter. Still, it’s a living.”

  He ejected a cartridge from the breech of his shotgun.

  “Shouldn’t get wandering off the path, gentlemen. Highly dangerous on these marshes. Good day to you!”

  And he was off, shouldering the shotgun and whistling to the dog to follow him. Solar Pons stood, smoke curling from the bowl of his pipe, a thin smile on his lips, as he followed Tebble’s figure until it was lost in the haze.

  “What do you make of him, Pons?”

  “A bold fellow and an excellent shot by appearances.”

  “Do you think he is concerned with this business? It is highly suspicious finding him here by these ruins like this.”

  Solar Pons arched his eyebrows.

  “I do not see why, Parker. You are here yourself.”

  “But only with you, Pons, on highly lawful business.”

  Solar Pons chuckled, pulling at the lobe of his left ear ruminatively.

  “Mr. Tebble is hardly likely to know that, Parker. Now that we are here, let us just look about.”

  Having satisfied himself that we were now alone on the knoll, Pons produced his powerful pocket lens and went purposefully up and down the old ruins. It was indeed a tumbledown, Godforsaken spot and as the minutes passed and I watched his energetic, purposeful figure I marvelled once again at the patience and thoroughness with which he examined details of brickwork, earth flooring and broken reed-stems whose stories, so obvious to him, were literally a closed book to me.

  There was an air of disappointment about him as he put the glass in its case with a snap.

  “This is not the place, Parker.”

  He glanced up at the brightening sky.

  “Well, I hardly thought we should hit the bull first shot. We must take another walk.”

  And without turning he walked energetically down the knoll and plunged forward into the marsh again.

  VIII

  Within some twenty minutes the landscape had again subtly changed; if anything, it had become even more bleak and sombre than that surrounding Grimstone Manor. Though the sun still shone, the slimy ooze ever deepened about us, as the warmth melted the ice which lingered in the hollows and a clammy vapour hovered thickly over the surface.

  But Solar Pons was his old, energetic, purposeful self and led the way ever deeper into the heart of the bog with u
nerring precision, so that I was hard put to follow at times. Now and again he stopped to consult the map but was then swiftly off again like an animal upon some urgent scent. Just as I was about to become really worried, another knoll loomed up before us and there were the tumbled walls and remains of a really ancient building that looked, from its general outline, like a mediaeval abbey or monastery.

  Solar Pons looked at me with warm approval.

  “We are improving, Parker. It is not so very difficult to find one’s way about, providing one reads the map accurately and uses one’s commonsense.”

  “You have exceptional abilities, Pons,” I murmured. “I would not care to chance my arm alone.”

  “Anyway, here we are at the Abbey,” said Pons. “We have only one other objective this morning and you will no doubt be pleased to learn that we are casting about in a giant circle which should eventually bring us back somewhere within hailing distance of Grimstone Manor.”

  “I am glad to hear it, Pons,” said I, setting foot on a solid earth path that led up toward the Abbey ruins. “I am becoming a little tired of marshland, birds and sheep.”

  Solar Pons smiled grimly, looking sharply about him. He uttered a low cry of annoyance as we came up closer to the ruins. There were people there; many people, dressed in thick clothes and with rucksacks.

  “Good heavens, Pons!” I exclaimed. “These are the walkers; the people from the Inn.”

  “Are they not, Parker,” said Pons ruefully. “Any evidence our phantom has left here will certainly be obliterated by now.”

  But whatever disappointment he felt he managed to conceal with his usual adroit manner and lounged up the path as though he had not a care in the world, exchanging friendly nods at the polite greetings of our fellow guests of the morning.

  “The Cistercians were remarkable builders, Parker, were they not,” he averred, looking at the detail of a crumbling archway before us.

  “Certainly, Pons. The order still flourishes, I believe?”

  “Most definitely.”

  Though Pons could not use his powerful magnifying lens, he certainly went over the ground in great detail, though the sightseers at this ancient monument would not have gathered it from his casual manner.

  I sat down on a large flat stone and smoked for a while, content to let my companion wander; the sun was a little warmer in this enclosed space, though it was still bitterly cold and I did not linger long in that position. When Pons rejoined me his face had cleared.

  “This is not the place, Parker. That seems self-evident.”

  “You have found something, Pons?”

  He shook his head as we hurried down the far side of the knoll and back into the marshy ground.

  “These walkers have saved us time, Parker. The old ruins are too public. They came by the main road. There is a new, paved path not marked on my map, which leads direct to the ruins, which are listed as an Ancient Monument.”

  He smoked on in silence for a moment or two, his face looking worried.

  “Our final destination this morning must bear out my theory or I shall have to rethink our tactics.”

  He said nothing further and we went on and on into the bleak wilderness, the cold forgotten in the exercise I found in treading in exactly the same places as those just vacated by my friend. We had been proceeding in this manner for some while when Pons stopped casually and turned to me. He made an elaborate ritual of clearing out the bowl of his pipe before tamping it with fresh tobacco.

  “Solitude is a wonderful thing, Parker,” he said. “It becomes more precious as we advance farther and farther into the 20th century.”

  “I am not so sure, Pons …” I began when my companion rudely interrupted me.

  “Come, Parker, solitude is at a premium. Even in the middle of a deserted swamp one cannot escape from the madding crowd. Good morning, Doctor!”

  To my astonishment a thick clump of bushes at the right of the path just ahead of us wavered, though there was no breeze. A moment later the bull-like form of Dr. Strangeways stepped on to the path. The doctor looked considerably embarrassed.

  “Well, Mr. Pons,” he rumbled. “I trust you did not think I was spying upon you?”

  “I did not know what to think, Doctor,” said Pons blandly. “But if you wish to keep an eye on people without being observed it is as well to keep your binoculars in shadow. The sun was shining directly on to the lenses there.”

  The doctor bristled as though he were keeping his temper with difficulty.

  “I was looking not at you, Mr. Pons, but at a pair of rare birds. I was concerned at their safety when I heard in the village that the walkers were on the marsh.”

  “I see,” said Solar Pons, giving him a searching look. “However, I do not think you need be worried. They are not likely to go beyond the Abbey ruins. You seem to have completed your post mortem rather quickly.”

  The doctor’s eyes were clouded and blank as he turned them upon Pons.

  “It was a routine matter after all. There is no doubt in my mind old Jessel died of drowning.”

  Solar Pons frowned.

  “Yet you seemed to have some doubts earlier this morning, Doctor. It was almost as though you yourself believed in the phantom of the marsh.”

  Strangeways drew himself up and his face looked troubled.

  “I would not care to tell everyone this, Mr. Pons, but I felt guilty about Jessel. I had been deriding his stories, regarding them as mere drunkard’s tales, but I myself saw something very strange after I left you last night.”

  “Indeed.”

  Strangeways nodded.

  “I was called out after midnight to an emergency case. The farmer’s cottage was up along the main road beyond Grimstone Manor. I was driving beside the rim of the marsh when I saw a weird blue light bobbing about, a considerable way off. It looked like a human figure but there was something unearthly about it.”

  Dr. Strangeways swallowed and there was doubt in his eyes as he looked at Pons sombrely.

  “It gave me quite a turn, Mr. Pons, I don’t mind telling you. And I felt quite ashamed at disbelieving old Jessel. And when I saw him dead this morning my shock can be imagined. He was found, you see, quite near where I saw the figure last night. Ought I to tell the police and the Coroner, do you think?”

  There was an unexpected gentleness in Solar Pons’ voice as he replied. He put his hand on the other’s arm.

  “Discretion for the time being, Doctor, I feel. The fewer people who know about this the better.”

  The doctor nodded; there was a strange expression in his eyes as he gazed at Pons.

  “Tell me,” my companion continued, “what was this phantom like?”

  Impatience was already returning to Strangeways’ voice.

  “I have already told you, Mr. Pons. It was a fiery, bluish figure. It was too far away to see any detail.”

  “But how did it appear or disappear?”

  The doctor stared at Pons in exasperation.

  “How should I know, Mr. Pons? It was already visible when I first became aware of it. As soon as I saw it I was so startled I almost drove down into the dyke. When I saw it again it suddenly disappeared.”

  “Just so.”

  Solar Pons nodded, an expression of satisfaction on his face.

  “As we have already heard. Like the pulling down of a blind, was it not?”

  He turned to me.

  “We shall be at the inn this evening, Doctor, if we are required. Come, Parker.”

  We left the burly figure of the medical man standing in perplexity on the path. I glanced back once and saw the sun glinting on the rim of his binoculars, an expression of bafflement on his face.

  Some half an hour of cautious casting about in the marsh brought us at last to our final destination, a huddle of squalid brick buildings that looked like an abandoned tenant farm. Solar Pons’ eyes were quick and alert.

  “Aha, Parker, this is more like it.”

  He bent down at the ed
ge of the reeds and I made out the heavy impression of a foot. Pons had his lens out and was making a minute examination. He cast about him for a few minutes and then traced the fading impressions up on to firmer ground, where they were lost on a rocky outcrop.

  I followed Pons over toward the dilapidated brick sheds, for they were little more. Their corrugated iron roofs were red with rust and it was obvious they had been abandoned for years.

  “D’Eath Farm,” said Pons, consulting his map. “A most appropriate name.”

  “What did the tracks tell you, Pons?”

  He gave me a quizzical look.

  “Quite a lot, Parker. Many people have been here. Some of the footprints I cannot make out. Certainly Strangeways has been here within the past few days. And possibly Tebble. I could not, of course, make out the welts of his shooting boots themselves, as he was wearing them just now. But the imprints at the edge of the marsh there are similar to the ones he made in the soft earth when he was standing talking to us and the paw-marks of his retriever are unmistakable.”

  I looked at him wide-eyed.

  “You could tell all that from this jumble of muddy marks on the ground, Pons?”

  My companion chuckled.

  “You forget I have made a study of such things, Parker. I could deduce a good deal more also. A lady has been here too. Though she wears heavy gumboots, the lighter indentation is quite distinctive and entirely different from that made by a child.”

  “You should write a monograph on the subject, Pons,” I said drily.

  Pons’ wry smiled widened.

  “I have published four, Parker. But let us just look at these buildings yonder.”

  His aquiline nostrils were already sniffing the air as we approached the brick buildings and a moment later I caught what his keen sense of smell had already told him.

  “Chemicals, Pons?”

  Solar Pons nodded.

  “Undoubtedly.”

  “Perhaps these sheds are used as an agricultural store, Pons?”

  “Perhaps, Parker,” was the cautious reply.

  My companion stepped to the door of the largest building and frowned. He tried the handle carefully. It was obviously locked. He looked through the grimy window but when I joined him it was impossible to make anything out; the windows had apparently been painted white on the inside. We moved round. The next lean-to had its door secured by a heavy padlock.