The Ponson case

by Freeman Wills Crofts

Tanner felt he had done well. Almost first shot he had found this Mr Clayton and obtained information which must prove of the utmost value. But he had stayed chatting to and pumping the old man for an unconscionable time, and he began to express his thanks, preparatory to taking his leave. And then an idea flashed into his mind, and he sat motionless for some moments, thinking.

‘What was the Dale brother, Edward, like in appearance?’ he asked, trying to keep the eagerness out of his voice.

‘Like enough to his brother Tom, but not so good looking, nor with such good manners by a long chalk. But passably well looking for all that.’

‘But was he a small man?’

‘Small? Ay, that he was—like Tom. Both were small men.’

Could it be? Edward Dale, a little man with small hands and feet, knowing all about William Ponson’s youth—knowing probably a good deal more than Mr Clayton had told or perhaps knew—Edward Dale, a clerk, had gone to America and disappeared. William Douglas, a little man with small hands and feet, and apparently knowing intimate facts about Sir William Ponson—William Douglas, a clerk, had come from America, his youthful history being unknown. Could they be one and the same?

The more Tanner thought over this theory, the more likely it seemed. As he sat smoking with Mr Clayton in the pleasant garden, he went over in his mind all that he had learnt of each man, and was unable to recall anything inconsistent with the hypothesis.

But how could he test it? He must make sure. But how?

There was of course one obvious possibility. Mr Clayton, if confronted with Douglas, might recognise him as Edward Dale. Or Douglas might recognise Mr Clayton, and so give himself away. It was not a certainty, but it would be worth trying. The Inspector turned to his host.

‘I believe, sir,’ he said, ‘that if I told you just what was troubling me, you might be able to help me out, if you would. I was asking you about Edward Dale, but I did not tell you much about the man we arrested. In the first place, Douglas, as he says his name is, came to England from New York, where he was employed as a clerk in the Pennsylvania Railway for several years. We have traced his movements back to 1892, previous to which we can discover nothing whatever about him. Now, you tell me Edward Dale left for the States about the year 1882, and has since been lost sight of. That is coincidence Number One.’