NYPL RESEARCH LIBRARIES
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"When the woman raised her arms in a peculiar fashion,
the shadow on the blind was remarkably like that of a bat"


BAT WING
BY
SAX ROHMER

McKINLAY, STONE & MACKENZIE
NEW YORK
£ I f s f V


THE NEW YORK
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COPYRIGHT, 1921 BY
DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED, INCLUDING THAT OF TRANSLATION INTO FOREIGN LANGUAGES, INCLUDING THE SCANDINAVIAN
PRINTED IN THEUNITED STATES
AT
THE COUNTRY LIFE PRESS, GARDEN CITY,K. T.


CONTENTS
CHAFTBK
I. PAUL HARLEY OF CHANCERY LANE . 3
II. THE VOODOO SWAMP 17
III. THE VAMPIRE BAT 31
IV. CRAY'S FOLLY 38
V. VAL BEVERLEY 46
VI. THE BARRIER 56
VII. AT THE LAVENDER ARMS .... 64
VIII. THE CALL OF M'KOMBO .... 73
IX. OBEAH 87
X. THE NIGHT WALKER 95
XI. THE SHADOW ON THE BLIND . . . in
XII. MORNING MISTS 121
XIII. AT THE GUEST HOUSE .... 129
XIV. YSOLA CAMBER 140
XV. UNREST 151
XVI. RED EYE 157
XVII. NIGHT OF THE FULL MOON . . . 167
XVIII. INSPECTOR AYLESBURY OF MARKET
HILTON 176
42X9601


vi Contents
CHAPTER
XIX. COMPLICATIONS . . . '. : .
XX. A SPANISH CIGARETTE .
XXI. THE WING OF A BAT
XXII. COLIN CAMBER'S SECRET .
XXIII. INSPECTOR AYLESBURY CROSS-EX-
AMINES
XXIV. AN OFFICIAL MOVE
XXV. AYLESBURY'S THEORY
XXVI. IN MADAME'S ROOM
XXVII. AN INSPIRATION
XXVIIL MY THEORY OF THE CRIME .
XXIX. A LEE-ENFIELD RIFLE . . . .
XXX. THE SEVENTH YEW TREE
XXXI. YSOLA CAMBER'S CONFESSION
XXXII. PAUL HARLEY'S EXPERIMENT .
XXXIII. PAUL HARLEY'S EXPERIMENT CON-
CLUDED
XXXIV. THE CREEPING SICKNESS .
XXXV. AN AFTERWORD ......
185
197
207
215
223
234
242
250
259
264
272
279
287
299
317
332


BAT WING
CHAPTER I
PAUL HARLEY OF CHANCERY LANE
TOWARD the hour of six on a hot summer's
evening Mr. Paul Harley was seated in his pri-
vate office in Chancery Lane reading through a
number of letters which Innes, his secretary, had
placed before him for signature. Only one more re-
mained to be passed, but it was a long, confidential
report upon a certain matter, which Harley had pre-
pared for His Majesty's Principal Secretary of State
for the Home Department. He glanced with a sigh
of weariness at the little clock upon his table before
commencing to read.
"Shall detain you only a few minutes, now, Knox,"
he said.
I nodded, smiling. I was quite content to sit and
watch my friend at work.
Paul Harley occupied a unique place in the mael-
strom of vice and ambition which is sometimes called
London life. Whilst at present he held no official post,
some of the most momentous problems of British policy
during the past five years, problems imperilling inter-
state relationships and not infrequently threatening a
renewal of the world war, had owed their solution to
the peculiar genius of this man.


4 Bat Wing
No clue to his profession appeared upon the plain
brass plate attached to his door, and little did those who
regarded Paul Harley merely as a successful private
detective suspect that he was in the confidence of some
who guided the destinies of the Empire. Paul Harley's
work in Constantinople during the feverish months
preceding hostilities with Turkey, although unknown
to the general public, had been of a most extraordinary
nature. His recommendations were never adopted,
unfortunately. Otherwise, the tragedy of the Dar-
danelles might have been averted.
His surroundings as he sat there, gaze bent upon the
typewritten pages, were those of any other professional
man. So it would have seemed to the casual observer.
But perhaps there was a quality in the atmosphere of the
office which would have told a more sensitive visitor
that it was the apartment of no ordinary man of busi-
ness. Whilst there were filing cabinets and book-
shelves laden with works of reference, many of them
legal, a large and handsome Burmese cabinet struck an
unexpected note.
On closer inspection, other splashes of significant
colour must have been detected in the scheme, notably
a very fine engraving of Edgar Allan Poe, from the
daguerreotype of 1848; and upon the man himself
lay the indelible mark of the tropics. His clean-cut
features had that hint of underlying bronze which tells
of years spent beneath a merciless sun, and the touch
of gray at his temples only added to the eager, almost
fierce vitality of the dark face. Paul Harley was not-
able because of that intellectual strength which does
not strike one immediately, since it is purely tempera-
mental, but which, nevertheless, invests its possessor
with an aura of distinction.


Paul Harley of Chancery Lane 5
Writing his name at the bottom of the report, Paul
Harley enclosed the pages in a long envelope and
dropped the envelope into a basket which contained
a number of other letters. His work for the day was
ended, and glancing at me with a triumphant smile, he
stood up. His office was a part of a residential suite,
but although, like some old-time burgher of the city,
he lived on the premises, the shutting of a door which
led to his private rooms marked the close of the business
day. Pressing a bell which connected with the public
office occupied by his secretary, Paul Harley stood up
as Innes entered.
"There's nothing further, is there, Innes?" he asked.
"Nothing, Mr. Harley, if you have passed the Home
Office report?"
Paul Harley laughed shortly.
"There it is," he replied, pointing to the basket; "a
tedious and thankless job, Innes. It is the fifth draft
you have prepared and it will have to do."
He took up a letter which lay unsealed upon the
table. "This is the Rokeby affair," he said. "I have
decided to hold it over, after all, until my return."
"Ah!" said Innes, quietly glancing at each envelope
as he took it from the basket. "I see you have turned
down the little job offered by the Marquis."
"I have," replied Harley, smiling grimly, "and a fee
of five hundred guineas with it. I have also intimated
to that distressed nobleman that this is a business office
and that a laundry is the proper place to take his
dirty linen. No, there's nothing further to-night, Innes.
You can get along now. Has Miss Smith gone?"
But as if in answer to his enquiry the typist, who
with Innes made up the entire staff of the office, came
in at that moment, a card in her hand. Harley glanced


6 Bat Wing
.1 f .
across in my direction and then at the card, with a wry
expression.
"Colonel Juan Menendez," he read aloud, "Cavend-
ish Club," and glanced reflectively at Innes. "Do we
know the Colonel?"
"I think not," answered Innes; "the name is un-
familiar to me."
"I wonder," murmured Harley. He glanced across
at me. "It's an awful nuisance, Knox, but just as I
thought the decks were clear. Is it something really
interesting, or does he want a woman watched? How-
ever, his name sounds piquant, so perhaps I had better
see him. Ask him to come in, Miss Smith."
Innes and Miss Smith retiring, there presently entered
a man of most striking and unusual presence. In the
first place, Colonel Menendez must have stood fully
six feet in his boots, and he carried himself like a
grandee of the golden days of Spain. His complexion
was extraordinarily dusky, whilst his hair, which was
close cropped, was iron gray. His heavy eyebrows
and curling moustache with its little points were
equally black, so that his large teeth gleamed very
fiercely when he smiled. His eyes were large, dark, and
brilliant, and although he wore an admirably cut tweed
suit, for some reason I pictured him as habitually wear-
ing riding kit. Indeed I almost seemed to hear the
jingle of his spurs.
He carried an ebony cane for which I mentally sub-
stituted a crop, and his black derby hat I thought
hardly as suitable as a sombrero. His age might have
been anything between fifty and fifty-five.
Standing in the doorway he bowed, and if his smile
was Mephistophelean, there was much about Colonel
Juan Menendez which commanded respect.


Paul Harley of Chancery Lane 7
"Mr. Harley," he began, and his high, thin voice
afforded yet another surprise, "I feel somewhat ill at
ease to—how do you say it?—appropriate your time,
as I am by no means sure that what I have to say
justifies my doing so."
He spoke most fluent, indeed florid, English. But
his sentences at times were oddly constructed; yet,
save for a faint accent, and his frequent interpolation
of such expressions as "how do you say?"—a sort of ner-
vous mannerism—one might have supposed him to be
a Britisher who had lived much abroad. I formed the
opinion that he had read extensively, and this, as I
learned later, was indeed the case.
"Sit down, Colonel Menendez," said Harley with
quiet geniality. "Officially, my working day is ended,
I admit, but if you have no objection to the presence
of my friend, Mr. Knox, I shall be most happy to chat
with you."
He smiled in a way all his own.
"If your business is of a painfully professional na-
ture," he added, "I must beg you to excuse me for
fourteen days, as I am taking a badly needed holiday
with my friend."
"Ah, is it so?" replied the Colonel, placing his hat
and cane upon the table, and sitting down rather
wearily in a big leathern armchair which Harley had
pushed forward. "If I intrude I am sorry, but indeed
my business is urgent, and I come to you on the recom-
mendation of my friend, Senor Don Merry del Val,
the Spanish Ambassador."
He raised his eyes to Harley's face with an expression
of peculiar appeal. I rose to depart, butI "Sit down, Knox," said Harley, and turned again to
the visitor. "Please proceed," he requested. "Mr.


8 Bat Wing
Knox has been with me in some of the most delicate
cases which I have ever handled, and you may rely
upon his discretion as you may rely upon mine." He
pushed forward a box of cigars. "Will you smoke?"
"Thanks, no," was the answer; "you see, I rarely
smoke anything but my cigarettes."
Colonel Menendez extracted a slip of rice paper from
a little packet which he carried, next, dipping two long,
yellow fingers into his coat pocket, he brought out a
portion of tobacco, laid it in the paper, and almost in
the twinkling of an eye had made, rolled, and lighted a
very creditable cigarette. His dexterity was astonish-
ing, and seeing my surprise he raised his heavy eye-
brows, and:
"Practice makes perfect, is it not said?" he remarked.
He shrugged his shoulders and dropped the extin-
guished match in an ash tray, whilst I studied him with
increasing interest. Some dread, real or imaginary,
was oppressing the man's mind, I mused. I felt my
presence to be unwelcome, but:
"Very well," he began, suddenly. "I expect, Mr.
Harley, that you will be disposed to regard what I
have to tell you rather as a symptom of what you call
nerves than as evidence of any agency directed against
me."
Paul Harley stared curiously at the speaker. "Do
I understand you to suspect that someone is desirous
of harming you?" he enquired.
Colonel Menendez slowly nodded his head.
"Such is my meaning," he replied.
"You refer to bodily harm?"
"But yes, emphatically."
"Hm," said Harley; and taking out a tin of tobacco
from a cabinet beside him he began in leisurely manner


Paul Harley of Chancery Lane 9to load a briar. "No doubt you have good reasons for
this suspicion?"
"If I had not good reasons, Mr. Harley, nothing could
have induced me to trouble you. Yet, even now that I
have compelled myself to come here, I find it difficult,
almost impossible, to explain those reasons to you."
An expression of embarrassment appeared upon the
brown face, and now Colonel Menendez paused and
was plainly at a loss for words with which to continue.
Harley replaced the tin in the cupboard and struck
a match. Lighting his pipe he nodded good humouredly
as if to say, "I quite understand." As a matter of fact,
he probably thought, as I did, that this was a familiar
case of a man of possibly blameless life who had become
subject to that delusion which leads people to believe
themselves threatened by mysterious and unnameable
danger.
Our visitor inhaled deeply.
"You, of course, are waiting for the facts," he pres-
ently resumed, speaking with a slowness which told
of a mind labouring for the right mode of expression.
"These are so scanty, I fear, of so, shall I say, phantom
a kind, that even when they are in your possession
you will consider me to be merely the victim of a de-
lusion. In the first place, then, I have reason to be-
lieve that someone followed me from my home to your
office."
"Indeed," said Paul Harley, sympathetically, for this
I perceived was exactly what he had anticipated, and
merely tended to confirm his suspicion. "Some mem-
ber of your household?"
"Certainly not."
"Did you actually see this follower?"
"My dear sir," cried Colonel Menendez, excitement


io Bat Wing
emphasizing his accent, "if I had seen him, so much
would have been made clear, so much! I have never
seen him, but I have heard him and felt him—felt his
presence, I mean."
"In what way?" asked Harley, leaning back in his
chair and studying the fierce face.
"On several occasions on turning out the light in
my bedroom and looking across the lawn from my
window I have observed the shadow of someone—
how do you say?—lurking in the garden."
"The shadow?"
"Precisely. The person himself was concealed be-
neath a tree. When he moved his shadow was visible
on the ground."
"You were not deceived by a waving branch?"
"Certainly not. I speak of a still, moonlight night."
"Possibly, then, it was the shadow of a tramp,"
suggested Harley. "I gather that you refer to a house
in the country?"
"It was not," declared Colonel Menendez, emphati-
cally; "it was not. I wish to God I could believe it had
been. Then there was, a month ago, an attempt to
enter my house."
Paul Harley exhibited evidence of a quickening curi-
osity. He had perceived, as I had perceived, that
the manner of the speaker differed from that of the
ordinary victim of delusion, with whom he had become
professionally familiar.
"You had actual evidence of this?" he suggested.
"It was due to insomnia, sleeplessness, brought
about, yes, I will admit it, by apprehension, that I heard
the footsteps of this intruder."
"But you did not see him?"
"Only his shadow."


Paul Harley of Chancery Lane II
"What!"
"You can obtain the evidence of all my household
that someone had actually entered," declared Colonel
Menendez, eagerly. "Of this, at least, I can give you
the certain facts. Whoever it was had obtained
access through a kitchen window, had forced two locks,
and was coming stealthily along the hallway when the
sound of his footsteps attracted my attention."
"What did you do?"
"I came out on to the landing and looked down the
stairs. But even the slight sound which I made had
been sufficient to alarm the midnight visitor, for I had
never a glimpse of him. Only, as he went swiftly back
in the direction from which he had come, the moonlight
shining in through a window in the hall cast his shadow
on the carpet."
"Strange," murmured Harley. "Very strange, in-
deed. The shadow told you nothing?"
"Nothing at all."
Colonel Menendez hesitated momentarily, and
glanced swiftly across at Harley.
"It was just a vague—do you say blur?—and then
it was gone. But"
"Yes," said Harley. "But?"
"Ah," Colonel Menendez blew a cloud of smoke into
the air, "I come now to the matter which I find so
hard to explain."
He inhaled again deeply and was silent for a while.
"Nothing was stolen?" asked Harley.
"Nothing whatever."
"And no clue was left behind?"
"No clue except the filed fastening of a window and
two open doors which had been locked as usual when
the household retired."


12 Bat Wing
"Hm," mused Harley again;" this incident, of course,
may have been an isolated one and in no way connected
with the surveillance of which you complain. I mean
that this person who undoubtedly entered your house
might prove to be an ordinary burglar."
"On a table in the hallway of Cray's Folly," replied
Colonel Menendez, impressively—"so my house is
named—stands a case containing presentation gold
plate. The moonlight of which I have spoken was
shining fully upon this case, and does the burglar live
who will pass such a prize and leave it untouched?"
"I quite agree," said Harley, quietly, "that this is
a very big point."
"You are beginning at last," suggested the Colonel,
"to believe that my suspicions are not quite ground-
less?"
"There is a distinct possibility that they are more
than suspicions," agreed Harley; "but may I suggest
that there is something else? Have you an enemy?"
"Who that has ever held public office is without
enemies?"
"Ah, quite so. Then I suggest again that there is
something else."
He gazed keenly at his visitor, and the latter, whilst
meeting the look unflinchingly with his large dark eyes,
was unable to conceal the fact that he had received a
home thrust.
"There are two points, Mr. Harley," he finally con-
fessed, "almost certainly associated one with the other,
if you understand, but both these so—shall I say re-
mote?—from my life, that I hesitate to mention them.
It seems fantastic to suppose that they contain a clue."
"I beg of you," said Harley, "to keep nothing back,
however remote it may appear to be. It is sometimes


Paul Harley of Chancery Lane 13
the seemingly remote things which prove upon in-
vestigation to be the most intimate."
"Very well," resumed Colonel Menendez, beginning
to roll a second cigarette whilst continuing to smoke
the first, "I know that you are right, of course, but it is
nevertheless very difficult for me to explain. I men-
tioned the attempted burglary, if so I may term it, in
order to clear your mind of the idea that my fears were
a myth. The next point which I have concerns a man,
a neighbour of mine in Surrey. Before I proceed I
should like to make it clear that I do not believe
for a moment that he is responsible for this unpleasant
business."
Harley stared at him curiously. "Nevertheless," he
said, "there must be some data in your possession which
suggest to your mind that he has some connection with
it."
"There are, Mr. Harley, but they belong to things so
mystic and far away from ordinary crime that I fear
you will think me," he shrugged his great shoulders, "a
man haunted by strange superstitions. Do you say
'haunted?' Good. You understand. I should tell
you, then, that although of pure Spanish blood, I was
born in Cuba. The greater part of my life has been
spent in the West Indies, where prior to '98 I held an
appointment under the Spanish Government. I have
property, not only in Cuba, but in some of the smaller
islands which formerly were Spanish, and I shall not
conceal from you that during the latter years of my
administration I incurred the enmity of a section of the
population. Do I make myself clear?"
Paul Harley nodded and exchanged a swift glance
with me. I formed a rapid mental picture of native
life under the governorship of Colonel Juan Menendez


14 Bat Wing
and I began to consider his story from a new viewpoint.
Seemingly rendered restless by his reflections, he stood
up and began to pace the floor, a tall but curiously
graceful figure. I noticed the bulldog tenacity of his
chin, the intense pride in his bearing, and I wondered'
what kind of menace had induced him to seek the aid
of Paul Harley; for whatever his failings might be, and
I could guess at the nature of several of them, that this
thin-lipped Spanish soldier knew the meaning of fear
I was not prepared to believe.
"Before you proceed further, Colonel Menendez,"
said Harley, "might I ask when you left Cuba?"
"Some three years ago," was his reply. "Be-
cause—" he hesitated curiously—"of health motives, I
leased a property in England, believing that here I
should find peace."
"In other words, you were afraid of something or
someone in Cuba?"
Colonel Menendez turned in a flash, glaring down at
the speaker.
"I never feared any man in my life, Mr. Harley,"
he said, coldly.
"Then why are you here?"
The Colonel placed the stump of his first cigarette in
an ash tray and lighted that which he had newly made.
"It is true," he admitted. "Forgive me. Yet what
I said was that I never feared any man."
He stood squarely in front of the Burmese cabinet,
resting one hand upon his hip. Then he added a re-
mark which surprised me.
"Do you know anything of Voodoo?" he asked.
Paul Harley took his pipe from between his teeth
and stared at the speaker silently for a moment. "Voo-
doo?" he echoed. "You mean negro magic?"


PaulHarley of Chancery Lane IS "Exactly."
"My studies have certainly not embraced it," replied
Harley, quietly, "nor has it hitherto come within my
experience. But since I have lived much in the East,
I am prepared to learn that Voodoo may not be a
negligible quantity. There are forces at work in India
which we in England improperly understand. The
same may be true of Cuba."
"The same is true of Cuba."
Colonel Menendez glared almost fiercely across the
room at Paul Harley.
"And do I understand," asked the latter, "that the
danger which you believe to threaten you is associated
with Cuba?"
"That, Mr. Harley, is for you to decide when all the
facts shall be in your possession. Do you wish that I
proceed?"
"By all means. I must confess that I am intensely
interested."
"Very well, Mr. Harley. I have something to show
you."
From an inside breast pocket Colonel Menendez drew
out a gold-mounted case, and from the case took some
flat, irregularly shaped object wrapped in a piece of
tissue paper. Unfolding the paper, he strode across and
laid the object which it had contained upon the blotting
pad in front of my friend.
Impelled by curiosity I stood up and advanced to
inspect it. It was of a dirty brown colour, some five
or six inches long, and appeared to consist of a kind of
membrane. Harley, his elbow on the table, was star-
ing down at it questioningly.
"What is it?" I said; "some kind of leaf?"
"No," replied Harley, looking up into the dark


16 Sat Wing
face of the Spanish colonel; "I think I know what
it is."
"I, also, know what it is," declared Colonel Men-
endez, grimly. "But tell me what to you it seems like,
Mr. Harley?"
Paul Harley's expression was compounded of in-
credulity, wonder, and something else, as, continuing
to stare at the speaker, he replied:
"It is the wing of a bat."


CHAPTER II
THE VOODOO SWAMP
OFTEN enough my memory has recaptured that
moment in Paul Harley's office, when Harley,
myself, and the tall Spaniard stood looking down
at the bat wing lying upon the blotting pad.
My brilliant friend at times displayed a sort of pre-
science, of which I may have occasion to speak later,
but I, together with the rest of pur-blind humanity, am
commonly immune from the prophetic instinct. There-
fore I chronicle the fact for what it may be worth, that
as I gazed with a sort of disgust at the exhibit lying upon
the table I became possessed of a conviction, which had
no logical basis, that a door had been opened through
which I should step into a new avenue of being; I felt
myself to stand upon the threshold of things strange and
terrible, but withal alluring. Perhaps it is true that in
the great crises of life the inner eye becomes momentar-
ily opened.
With intense curiosity I awaited the Colonel's next
words, but, a cigarette held nervously between his
fingers, he stood staring at Harley, and it was the latter
who broke that peculiar silence which had fallen upon
us.
"The wing of a bat," he murmured, then touched it
gingerly. "Of what kind of bat, Colonel Menendez?
Surely not a British species?"
"But emphatically not a British species," replied


18 Bat Wing
the Spaniard. "Yet even so the matter would be
strange."
"I am all anxiety to learn the remainder of your
story, Colonel Menendez."
"Good. Your interest comforts me very greatly,
Mr. Harley. But when first I came, you led me to
suppose that you were departing from London?"
"Such, at the time, was my intention, sir." Paul
Harley smiled slightly. "Accompanied by my friend,
Mr. Knox, I had proposed to indulge in a fortnight's
fishing upon the Norfolk Broads."
"Fishing?"
"Yes."
"A peaceful occupation, Mr. Harley, and a great rest-
cure for one who like yourself moves much amid the
fiercer passions of life. You were about to make holi-
day?"
Paul Harley nodded.
"It is cruel of me to intrude upon such plans," con-
tinued Colonel Menendez, dexterously rolling his
cigarette around between his fingers. "Yet because of
my urgent need I dare to do so. Would yourself and
your friend honour me with your company at Cray's
Folly for a few days? I can promise you good enter-
tainment, although I regret that there is no fishing; but
it may chance that there will be other and more exciting
sport."
Harley glanced at me significantly.
, "Do I understand you to mean, Colonel Menendez,"
he asked, "that you have reason to believe that this con-
spiracy directed against you is about to come to a head?"
Colonel Menendez nodded, at the same time bringing
his hand down sharply upon the table.
"Mr. Harley," he replied, his high, thin voice sunken


The Voodoo Swamp 19
almost to a whisper, "Wednesday night is the night of
the full moon."
"The full moon?"
"It is at the full moon that the danger comes."
Paul Harley stood up, and watched by the Spanish
colonel paced slowly across the office. At the outer
door he paused and turned.
"Colonel Menendez," he said, "that you would
willingly waste the time of a busy man I do not for a
moment believe, therefore I shall ask you as briefly as
possible to state your case in detail. When I have
heard it, if it appears to me that any good purpose can
be served by my friend and myself coming to Cray's
Folly I feel sure that he will be happy to accept your
proffered hospitality."
"If I am likely to be of the slightest use I shall be
delighted," said I, which indeed was perfectly true.
Whilst I had willingly agreed to accompany Harley
to Norfolk I had none of his passion for the piscatorial
art, and the promise of novel excitement held out by
Colonel Menendez appealed to me more keenly than
the lazy days upon the roads which Harley loved.
"Gentlemen"—the Colonel bowed profoundly—"I
am honoured and delighted. When you shall have
heard my story I know what your decision will be."
He resumed his seat, and began, it seemed almost
automatically, to roll a fresh cigarette.
"I am all attention," declared Harley, and his glance
strayed again in a wondering fashion to the bat wing
lying on his table.
"I will speak briefly," resumed our visitor, "and any
details which may seem to you to be important can be
discussed later when you are my guests. You must
know then that I first became acquainted with the


2O Bat Wing
significance belonging to the term 'Bat Wing' and
to the object itself some twenty years ago."
"But surely," interrupted Harley, incredulously,
"you are not going to tell me that the menace of which
you complain is of twenty years' standing?"
"At your express request, Mr. Harley," returned the
Colonel a trifle brusquely, "I am dealing with possibili-
ties which are remote, because in your own words it is
sometimes the remote which proves to be the intimate.
It was then rather more than twenty years ago, at a
time when great political changes were taking place
in the West Indies, that my business interests, which
are mainly concerned with sugar, carried me to one of
the smaller islands which had formerly been under—my
jurisdiction, do you say? Here I had a house and
estate, and here in the past I had experienced much
trouble with the natives.
"I do not disguise from you that I was unpopular,
and on my return I met with unmistakable signs of
hostility. My native workmen were insubordinate.
In fact, it was the reports from my overseers which had
led me to visit the island. I made a tour of the place,
believing it to be necessary to my interests that I should
get once more in touch with negro feeling, since I had
retired to my home in Cuba after the upheavals in '98.
Very well.
"The manager of my estate, a capable man, was of
opinion that there existed a secret organization amongst
the native labourers operating—you understand?—
against my interests. He produced certain evidences
of this. They were not convincing; and all my en-
quiries and examinations of certain inhabitants led to no
definite results. Yet I grew more and more to feel that
enemies surrounded me."


The Voodoo Swamp \ 21
He paused to light his third cigarette, and whilst
he did so I conjured up a mental picture of his "ex-
aminations of certain inhabitants." I recalled hazily
those stories of Spanish mismanagement and cruelty
which had directly led to United States interferences
in the islands. But whilst I could well believe that this
man's life had not been safe in those bad old days in the
West Indies, I found it difficult to suppose that a na-
tive plot against his safety could have survived for
more than twenty years and have come to a climax in
England. However, I realized that there was more to
follow, and presently, having lighted his cigarette, the
Colonel resumed:
"In the neighbourhood of the hacienda which had
once been my official residence there was a belt of low-
lying pest country—you understand pest country?—
which was a hot-bed of poisonous diseases. It followed
the winding course of a nearly stagnant creek. From
the earliest times the Black Belt—it was so called—
had been avoided by European inhabitants, and indeed
by the coloured population as well. Apart from the
malaria of the swampy ground it was infested with
reptiles and with poisonous insects of a greater variety
and of a more venomous character than I have ever
known in any part of the world.
"I must explain that what I regarded as a weak point
in my manager's theory was this: Whilst he held
that the native labourers to a man were linked together
under some head, or guiding influence, he had never
succeeded in surprising anything in the nature of a
negro meeting. Indeed, he had prohibited all gather-
ings of this kind. His answer to my criticism was a
curious one. He declared that the members of this
mysterious society met and received their instructions


The Voodoo Swamp 23
"Even in the light of the lamp I saw Valera turn
pale, but he was a Spaniard and a man of courage.
"'I agree, senor,' he replied. 'If my information
is correct we shall find the way.'
"I must explain that the information to which he
referred had been supplied by a native girl who loved
him. That this clearing was a meeting-place she had
denied. But she had admitted that it was possible to
obtain access to it, and had even described the path."
He paused. "She died of a lingering sickness."
Colonel Menendez spoke these last words with great
deliberation and treated each of us to a long and signi-
ficant stare.
"Presently," he added, "I will tell you what was
nailed to the wall of her hut on the night that she fell
ill. But to continue my narrative. On the following
evening, suitably equipped, Valera and myself set out,
leaving by a side door and striking into the woods at a
point east of the hacienda, where, according to his in-
formation, a footpath existed, which would lead us to
the clearing we desired to visit. Of that journey,
gentlemen, I have most terrible memories.
"Imagine a dense and poisonous jungle, carpeted by
rotten vegetation in which one's feet sank deeply and
from which arose a visible and stenching vapour. Im-
agine living things, slimy things, moving beneath the
tread, sometimes coiling about our riding boots, some-
times making hissing sounds. Imagine places where
the path was overgrown, and we must thrust our way
through bushes where great bloated spiders weaved
their webs, where clammy night things touched us as we
passed, where unfamiliar and venomous insects clung
to our garments.
"We proceeded onward for more than half an hour


24 Bat Wing
guided by the moonlight, but this, although tropically
brilliant, at some places scarcely penetrated the thick
vapour which arose from the jungle. In those days I
was a young and vigorous man; my companion was
several years my senior; and his sufferings were far
greater than my own. But if the jungle was horrible,
worse was yet to come.
"Presently we stumbled upon an open space almost
quite bare of vegetation, a poisonous green carpet
spread in the heart of the woods. Here the vapour
was more dense than ever, but I welcomed the sight of
open ground after the reptile-infested thicket. Alas!
it was a snare, a death-trap, a sort of morass, in which
we sank up to our knees. Pah! it was filthy—vile!
And I became aware of great—lassitude, do you say?—
whilst Valera's panting breath told that he had almost
reached the end of his resources.
"A faint breeze moved through the clearing and for
a few moments we were enabled to perceive one another
more distinctly. I uttered an exclamation of horror.
"My companion's garments were a mass of strange-
looking patches.
"Even as I noticed them I glanced rapidly down—
and found myself in similar condition. As I did so
one of these patches upon the sleeve of my tunic in-
truded coldly upon my bare wrist. At that I cried
out aloud in fear. Valera and I commenced what was
literally a fight for life.
"Gentlemen, we were attacked by some kind of
blood-red leeches, which came out of the slime! In
detaching them one detached patches of skin, and they
swarmed over our bodies like ants upon carrion.
"They penetrated beneath our garments, these
swollen, lustful, unclean things; and it was whilst we


The Voodoo Swamp 25
staggered on through the swamp in agony of mind and
body that we saw the light of many torches amid the
trees ahead of us, and in their smoky glare witnessed
the flight of hundreds of bats. The moonlight creeping
dimly through the mist, and the torchlight—how do
you say?—enflaming the vegetation, created a scene
like that of Inferno, in which naked figures danced
wildly, uttering animal cries.
"Above the shrieking and howling, which rose and
fell in a sort of unholy chorus, I heard one long, wailing
sound, repeated and repeated. It was an African word.
But I knew its meaning.
"It was 'Bat Wing.''"My doubts were dispersed. This was a meeting-
place of Devil-worshippers, or devotees of the cult of
Voodoo! One man only could I see clearly so as to
remember him, a big negro employed upon one of my
estates. He seemed to be a sort of high priest or presi-
dent of the orgies. Attached to his arms were giant
imitations of bat wings which he moved grotesquely
'as if in flight. There were many women in the throng,
which numbered fully I should think a hundred people.
But the final collapse of my brave, unhappy Valera
at this point brought home to me the nature of the peril
in which I stood.
"He lay at my feet, moving convulsively, and sinking
ever deeper in the swamp, red leeches moving slowly,
slowly over his fast-disappearing body."
Colonel Menendez paused in his appalling narrative
and wiped his moist forehead with a silk handkerchief.
Neither Harley nor I spoke. I knew not if my friend
believed the Spaniard's story. For my own part I
found it difficult to do so. But that the narrator was
deeply moved was a fact beyond dispute.


26 Bat Wing
He suddenly commenced again:
"My next recollection is of awakening in my own
bed at the hacienda. I had staggered back as far as the
veranda, in raving delirium, and in the grip of a
strange fever which prostrated me for many months,
and which defied the knowledge of all the specialists
who could be procured from Cuba and the United
States. My survival was due to an iron constitution;
but I have never been the same man. I was ordered
to leave the West Indies directly it became possible for
me to be moved. I arranged my affairs accordingly,
and did not return for many years.
"Finally, however, I again took up my residence in
Cuba, and for a time all went well, and might have con-
tinued to do so, but for the following incident. One
night, being troubled by insomnia—sleeplessness—and
the heat, I walked out on to the balcony in front of my
bedroom window. As I did so, a figure which had been
—you say lurking?—somewhere under the veranda
ran swiftly off; but not so swiftly that I failed to obtain
a glimpse of the uplifted face.
"It was the big negro! Although many years had
elapsed since I had seen him wearing the bat wings at
those unholy rites, I knew him instantly.
"On a little table close behind me where I stood lay
a loaded revolver. I snatched it in a flash and fired
shot after shot at the retreating figure."
Colonel Menendez shrugged his shoulders and
selected a fresh cigarette paper.
"Gentlemen," he continued, "from that moment
until this I have gone in hourly peril of my life. Whether
I hit my man or missed him, I have never known to this
day. If he lives or is dead I cannot say. But—" he
paused impressively—"I have told you of something


The Voodoo Swamp 27
that was nailed to the hut of a certain native girl? Be-
fore she died I knew that it was a death-token.
"On the morning after the episode which I have just
related attached to the main door of the hacienda was
found that same token."
"And it was?" said Harley, eagerly.
"It was the wing of a bat!
"I am perhaps a hasty man. It is in my blood. I
tore the unclean thing from the panel and stamped
it under my feet. No one of the servants who had
drawn my attention to its presence would consent to
touch it. Indeed, they all shrank from me as though
I, too, were unclean. I endeavoured to forget it. Who
was I to be influenced by the threats of natives?
"That night, just at the hour of sunset, a shot was
fired at me from a neighbouring clump of trees, only
missing me I think by the fraction of an inch. I
realized that the peril was real, and was one against
which I could not fight.
"Permit me to be brief, gentlemen. Six attempts
of various kinds were made upon my life in Cuba. I
crossed to the United States. In Washington, the
political capital of the country, an assassin gained
access to my hotel apartment and but for the fact that
a friend chanced to call me up on the telephone at that
late hour of the night, thereby awakening me, I should
have received a knife in my heart. I saw the knife in
the dim light; I saw the shadowy figure. I leapt out
on the opposite side of the bed, seized a table-lamp
which stood there, and hurled it at my assailant.
"There was a crash, a stifled exclamation, shuffling,
the door opened, and my would-be assassin was gone.
But I had learned something, and to my old fears a new
one was added."


The Voodoo Swamp 29
but"—he kissed his fingers—"a genius. She has with
her, as companion, a very charming English girl, Miss
Val Beverley, the orphaned daughter of a distinguished
surgeon of Edinburg. Miss Beverley was with my
cousin in the hospital which she established in France
during the war. If you will honour me with your pres-
ence at Cray's Folly to-morrow, gentlemen, you will
not lack congenial company, I can assure you."
He raised his heavy eyebrows, looking interrogatively
from Harley to myself.
"For my own part," said my friend, slowly, "I shall
be delighted. What do you say, Knox?"
"I also."
"But," continued Harley, "your presence here to-
day, Colonel Menendez, suggests to my mind that Eng-
land has not proved so safe a haven as you had an-
ticipated?"
Colonel Menendez crossed the room and stood once
more before the Burmese cabinet, one hand resting
upon his hip; a massive yet graceful figure.
"Mr. Harley," he replied, "four days ago my but-
ler, who is a Spaniard, brought me "He pointed
to the bat wing lying upon the blotting pad. "He
had found it pinned to an oaken panel of the main
entrance door."
"Was it prior to this discovery, or after it," asked
Harley, "that you detected the presence of someone
lurking in the neighbourhood of the house?"
"Before it."
"And the burglarious entrance?"
"That took place rather less than a month ago. On
the eve of the full moon."
Paul Harley stood up and relighted his pipe.
"There are quite a number of other details, Colonel,"


30 Bat Wing
he said, "which I shall require you to place in my pos-
session. Since I have determined to visit Cray's Folly,
tnese can wait until my arrival. I particularly refer to
a remark concerning a neighbour of yours in Surrey."
Colonel Menendez nodded, twirling his cigarette
between his long, yellow fingers.
"It is a delicate matter, gentlemen," he confessed.
"I must take time to consider how I shall place it
before you. But I may count upon your arrival to-
morrow?"
"Certainly. I am looking forward to the visit with
keen interest."
"It is important," declared our visitor; "for on
Wednesday is the full moon, and the full moon is in
some way associated with the sacrificial rites of Voo-
doo."


CHAPTER III
THE VAMPIRE BAT
AT HOUR had elapsed since the departure of our
visitor, and Paul Harley and I sat in the cozy, book-lined study discussing the strange story
which had been related to us. Harley, who had a
friend attached to the Spanish Embassy, had succeeded
in getting in touch with him at his chambers, and had
obtained some few particulars of interest concerning
Colonel Don Juan Sarmiento Menendez, for such were
the full names and titles of our late caller.
He was apparently the last representative of a once
great Spanish family, established for many generations
in Cuba. His wealth was incalculable, although the
value of his numerous estates had depreciated in recent
years. His family had produced many men of subtle
intellect and powerful administrative qualities; but
allied to this they had all possessed traits of cruelty
and debauchery which at one time had made the name
of Menendez a by-word in the West Indies. That
there were many people in that part of the world who
would gladly have assassinated the Colonel, Paul Har-
ley's informant did not deny. But although this in-
formation somewhat enlarged our knowledge of my
friend's newest client, it threw no fresh light upon that
side of his story which related to Voodoo and the ex-
traordinary bat wing episodes.
s*


32 Bat Wing
"Of course," said Harley, after a long silence, "there is one possibility of which we must not lose sight."
"What possibility is that?" I asked.
"That Menendez may be mad. Remorse for crimes
of cruelty committed in his youth, and beyond doubt he
has been guilty of many, may have led to a sort of
obsession. I have known such cases."
"That was my first impression," I confessed, "but it
faded somewhat as the Colonel's story proceeded. I don't
think any such explanation would cover the facts."
"Neither do I," agreed my friend; "but it is distinctly
possible that such an obsession exists, and that someone
is deliberately playing upon it for his own ends."
"You mean that someone who knows of these
episodes in the earlier life of Menendez is employing
them now for a secret purpose of his own?"
"Exactly."
"It renders the case none the less interesting."
"I quite agree, Knox. With you, I believe, that even
if the Colonel is not quite sane, at the same time his
fears are by no means imaginary."
He gingerly took up the bat wing from the arm of
his chair where he had placed it after a detailed exami-
nation.
"It seems to be pretty certain," he said, "that this
thing is the wing of a Desmodus or Vampire Bat. Now,
according to our authority"—he touched a work which
lay open on the other arm of his chair—"these are
natives of tropical America, therefore the presence of a
living vampire bat in Surrey is not to be anticipated.
I am personally satisfied, however, that this unpleasant
fragment has been preserved in some way."
"You mean that it is part of a specimen from some-
one's collection?"


The Fampire Bat 33
"Quite possibly. But even a collection of such bats
would be quite a novelty. I don't know that I can
recollect one outside the Museums. To follow this
bat wing business further: there was one very curious
point in the Colonel's narrative. You recollect his
reference to a native girl who had betrayed certain
information to the manager of the estate?"
I nodded rapidly.
"A bat wing was affixed to the wall of her hut and she
died, according to our informant, of a lingering sick-
ness. Now this lingering sickness might have been
anaemia, and anaemia may be induced, either in man or
beast, by frequent but unsuspected visits of a Vampire
Bat."
"Good heavens, Harley!" I exclaimed, "what a
horrible idea."
"It is a horrible idea, but in countries infested by
these creatures such things happen occasionally. I
distinctly recollect a story which I once heard, of a
little girl in some district of tropical America falling
into such a decline, from which she was only rescued in
the nick of time by the discovery that one of these
Vampire Bats, a particularly large one, had formed the
habit of flying into her room at night and attaching
itself to her bare arm which lay outside the coverlet."
"How did it penetrate the mosquito curtains?"
I enquired, incredulously.
"The very point, Knox, which led to the discovery of
'the truth. The thing, exhibiting a sort of uncanny in-
telligence, used to work its way up under the edge of
the netting. This disturbance of the curtains was no-
ticed on several occasions by the nurse who oc-
cupied an adjoining room, and finally led to the detec-
tion of the bat!


34 Bat Wing
"But surely," I said, "such a visitation would awaken
any sleeper?"
"On the contrary, it induces deeper sleep. But I
have not yet come to my point, Knox. The vengeance
of the High Priest of Voodoo, who figured in the Colo-
nel's narrative, was characteristic in the case of the
native woman, since her symptoms at least simulated
those which would result from the visits of a Vampire
Bat, although of course they may have been due to a
slow poison. But you will not have failed to note that
the several attacks upon the Colonel personally were
made with more ordinary weapons. On two occasions
at least a rifle was employed."
"Yes," I replied, slowly. "You are wondering why
the lingering sickness did not visit him?"
"I am, Knox. I can only suppose that he proved to
be immune. You recall his statement that he made an
almost miraculous recovery from the fever which at-
tacked him after his visit to the Black Belt? This
would seem to point to the fact that he possesses that
rare type of constitution which almost defies organisms
deadly to ordinary men."
"I see. Hence the dagger and the rifle?"
"So it would appear."
"But, Harley," I cried, "what appalling crime can
the man have committed to call down upon his head a
vengeance which has survived for so many years?"
Paul Harley shrugged his shoulders in a whimsical
imitation of the Spaniard.
"I doubt if the feud dates any earlier," he replied,
"than the time of Menendez's last return to Cuba. On
that occasion he evidently killed the High Priest of
Voodoo."
I uttered an exclamation of scorn.


The Vampire Bat 35
"My dear Harley," I said, "the whole thing is too
utterly fantastic. I begin to believe again that we are
dealing with a madman."
Harley glanced down at the wing of the bat.
"We shall see," he murmured. "Even if the only
result of our visit is to make the acquaintance of the
Colonel's household our time will not have been wasted."
"No," said I, "that is true enough. I am looking
forward to meeting Madame de Stamer"
"The Colonel's invalid cousin," added Harley, tone-
lessly.
"And her companion, Miss Beverley."
"Quite so. Nor must we forget the Spanish butler,
and the Colonel himself, whose acquaintance I am ex-
tremely anxious to renew."
"The whole thing is wildly bizarre, Harley."
"My dear Knox," he replied, stretching himself
luxuriously in the long lounge chair, "the most common-
place life hovers on the edge of the bizarre. But those
of us who overstep the border become preposterous in
the eyes of those who have never done so. This is not
because the unusual is necessarily the untrue, but be-
cause writers of fiction have claimed the unusual as
their particular province, and in doing so have divorced
it from fact in the public eye. Thus I, myself, am a
myth, and so are you, Knox!"
He raised his hand and pointed to the doorway com-
municating with the office.
"We owe our mythological existence to that Ameri-
can genius whose portrait hangs beside the Burmese
cabinet and who indiscreetly created the character of
C. Auguste Dupin. The doings of this amateur in-
vestigator were chronicled by an admirer, you may
remember, since when no private detective has been


36 Bat Wing
allowed to exist outside the pages of fiction. My most
trivial habits confirm my unreality.
"For instance, I have a friend who is good enough
sometimes to record my movements. So had Dupin.
I smoke a pipe. So did Dupin. I investigate crime,
and I am sometimes successful. Here I differ from
Dupin. Dupin was always successful. But my argu-
ment is this—you complain that the life of Colonel
Don Juan Sarmiento Menendez, on his own showing,
has been at least as romantic as his name. It would not
be accounted romantic by the adventurous, Knox; it is
only romantic to the prosaic mind. In the same way
his name is only unusual to our English ears. In
Spain it would pass unnoticed."
"I see your point," I said, grudgingly; "but think of
Voodoo in the Surrey Hills."
"I am thinking of it, Knox, and it affords me much
delight to think of it. You have placed your finger
upon the very point I was endeavouring to make.
Voodoo in the Surrey Hills! Quite so. Voodoo in
some island of the Caribbean Seas, yes, but Voodoo in
the Surrey Hills, no. Yet, my dear fellow, there is a
regular steamer service between South America and
England. Or one may embark at Liverpool and dis-
embark in the Spanish Main. Why, then, may not
one embark in the West Indies and disembark at Liver-
pool? This granted, you will also grant that from
Liverpool to Surrey is a feasible journey. Why, then,
should you exclaim, 'but Voodoo in the Surrey Hills!'
You would be surprised to meet an Esquimaux in the
Strand, but there is no reason why an Esquimaux should
not visit the Strand. In short, the most annoying thing
about fact is its resemblance to fiction. I am looking
forward to the day, Knox, when I can retire from my


The Vampire Bat 37
present fictitious profession and become a recognized
member of the community; such as a press agent, a
theatrical manager, or some other dealer in Fact!"
He burst out laughing, and reaching over to a side-
table refilled my glass and his own.
"There lies the wing of a Vampire Bat," he said,
pointing, "in Chancery Lane. It is impossible. Yet,"
he raised his glass, "'Pussyfoot' Johnson has visited
Scotland, the home of Whisky!"
We were silent for a while, whilst I considered his
remarks.
"The conclusion to which I have come," declared
Harley, "is that nothing is so strange as the common-
place. A rod and line, a boat, a luncheon hamper, a
jar of good ale, and the peculiar peace of a Norfolk
river—these joys I willingly curtail in favour of the
unknown things which await us at Cray's Folly. Re-
member, Knox," he stared at me queerly, "Wednes-
day is the night of the full moon."


CHAPTER IV
CRAY'S FOLLY
PAUL HARLEY lay back upon the cushions and
glanced at me with a quizzical smile. The big,
up-to-date car which Colonel Menendez had
placed at our disposal was surmounting a steep Surrey
lane as though no gradient had existed.
"Some engine!" he said, approvingly.
I nodded in agreement, but felt disinclined for con-
versation, being absorbed in watching the character-
istically English scenery. This, indeed, was very beau-
tiful. The lane along which we were speeding was
narrow, winding, and over-arched by trees. Here and
there sunlight penetrated to spread a golden carpet be-
fore us, but for the most part the way lay in cool and
grateful shadow.
On one side a wooded slope hemmed us in blackly,
on the other lay dell after dell down into the cradle
of the valley. It was a poetic corner of England, and I
thought it almost unbelievable that London was only
some twenty miles behind. A fit place this for elves and
fairies to survive, a spot in which the presence of a
modern automobile seemed a desecration. Higher we
mounted and higher, the engine running strongly and
smoothly; then,presently, we were out upon a narrow
open road with the crescent of the hills sweeping away
on the right and dense woods dipping valleyward to the
left and behind us.


Cray's Folly 39
The chauffeur turned, and, meeting my glance:
"Cray's Folly, sir," he said.
He jerked his hand in the direction of a square, gray-
stone tower somewhat resembling a campanile, which
uprose from a distant clump of woods cresting a greater
eminence.
"Ah," murmured Harley, "the famous tower."
Following the departure of the Colonel on the previous
evening, he had looked up Cray's Folly and had found
it to be one of a series of houses erected by the eccentric
and wealthy man whose name it bore. He had had a
mania for building houses with towers, in which his
rival—and contemporary—had been William Beckford,
the author of " Vathek," a work which for some obscure
reason has survived as well as two of the three towers
erected by its writer.
I became conscious of a keen sense of anticipation.
In this, I think, the figure of Miss Val Beverley played
a leading part. There was something pathetic in the
presence of this lonely English girl in so singular a
household; for if the menage at Cray's Folly should
prove half so strange as Colonel Menendez had led us
to believe, then truly we were about to find ourselves
amid unusual people.
Presently the road inclined southward somewhat
and we entered the fringe of the trees. I noticed one
or two very ancient cottages, but no trace of the mod-
ern builder. This was a fragment of real Old England,
and I was not sorry when presently we lost sight of the
square tower; for amidst such scenery it was an anomaly
and a rebuke.
What Paul Harley's thoughts may have been I cannot
say, but he preserved an unbroken silence up to the very
moment that we came to the gate lodge.


40 Bat Wing
The gates were monstrosities of elaborate iron scroll-
work, craftsmanship clever enough in its way, but of an
ornate kind more in keeping with the orange trees of
the South than with this wooded Surrey countryside.
A very surly-looking girl, quite obviously un-English
(a daughter of Pedro,the butler, I learned later), opened
the gates, and we entered upon a winding drive literally
tunnelled through the trees. Of the house we had
never a glimpse until we were right under its walls,
nor should I have known that we were come to the main
entrance if the car had not stopped.
"Looks like a monastery," muttered Harley.
Indeed that part of the building—the north front—
which was visible from this point had a strangely
monastic appearance, being built of solid gray blocks
and boasting only a few small, heavily barred windows.
The eccentricity of the Victorian gentleman who had
expended thousands of pounds upon erecting this
house was only equalled, I thought, by that of Colonel
Menendez, who had chosen it for a home. An out-
jutting wing shut us in on the west, and to the east the
prospect was closed by the tallest and most densely
grown box hedge I had ever seen, trimmed most per-
fectly and having an arched opening in the centre.
Thus, the entrance to Cray's Folly lay in a sort of bay.
But even as we stepped from the car, the great
church-like oaken doors were thrown open, and there,
framed in the monkish porch, stood the tall, elegant
figure of the Colonel.
"Gentlemen," he cried, "welcome to Cray's Folly."
He advanced smiling, and in the bright sunlight
seemed even more Mephistophelean than he had seemed
in Harley's office.
"Pedro," he called, and a strange-looking Spanish


Cray's Folly 41
butler who wore his side-whiskers like a bull fighter
appeared behind his master; a sallow, furtive fellow
with whom I determined I should never feel at ease.
However, the Colonel greeted us heartily enough, and
conducted us through a kind of paved, covered court-
yard into a great lofty hall. Indeed it more closely
resembled a studio, being partly lighted by a most curi-
ous dome. It was furnished in a manner quite un-
English, but very luxuriously. A magnificent oaken
staircase communicated with a gallery on the left, and
at the foot of this staircase, in a mechanical chair
which she managed with astonishing dexterity, sat
Madame de Stamer.
She had snow-white hair crowning the face of a
comparatively young woman, and large, dark-brown
eyes which reminded me strangely of the eyes of some
animal although in the first moment of meeting I could
not identify the resemblance. Her hands were very
slender and beautiful, and when, as the Colonel pre-
sented us, she extended her fingers, I was not surprised
to see Harley stoop and kiss them in Continental fash-
ion; for this Madame evidently expected. I followed
suit; but truth to tell, after that first glance at the
masterful figure in the invalid chair I had had no eyes
for Madame de Stamer, being fully employed in gazing
at someone who stood beside her.
This was an evasively pretty girl, or such was my
first impression. That is to say, that whilst her at-
tractiveness was beyond dispute, analysis of her small
features failed to detect from which particular quality
this charm was derived. The contour of her face
certainly formed a delightful oval, and there was a
wistful look in her eyes which was half appealing and
half impish. Her demure expression was not con-


42 Bat Wing
vincing, and there rested a vague smile, or promise of
a smile, upon lips which were perfectly moulded, and
indeed the only strictly regular feature of a nevertheless
bewitching face. She had slightly curling hair and the
line of her neck and shoulder was most graceful and
charming. Of one thing I was sure: She was glad
to see visitors at Cray's Folly.
"And now, gentlemen," said Colonel Menendez,
"having presented you to Madame, my cousin, permit
me to present you to Miss Val Beverley, my cousin's
companion, and our very dear friend."
The girl bowed in a formal English fashion, which
contrasted sharply with the Continental manner of
Madame. Her face flushed slightly, and as I met her
glance she lowered her eyes.
"Now M. Harley and M. Knox," said Madame, vi-
vaciously, "you are quite at home. Pedro will show you
to your rooms and lunch will be ready in half an hour."
She waved her white hand coquettishly, and ignoring
the proffered aid of Miss Beverley, wheeled her chair
away at a great rate under a sort of arch on the right
of the hall, which communicated with the domestic
offices of the establishment.
"Is she not wonderful?" exclaimed Colonel Men-
endez, taking Harley's left arm and my right and guid-
ing us upstairs followed by Pedro and the chauffeur,
the latter carrying our grips. "Many women would
be prostrated by such an affliction, but she "he
shrugged his shoulders.
Harley and I had been placed in adjoining rooms.
I had never seen such rooms as those in Cray's Folly.
The place contained enough oak to have driven a
modern builder crazy. Oak had simply been lavished
upon it. My own room, which was almost directly


Cray's Folly 43
above the box hedge to which I have referred, had a
beautiful carved ceiling and a floor as highly polished
as that of a ballroom. It was tastefully furnished, but
the foreign note was perceptible everywhere.
"We have here some grand prospects," said the
Colonel, and truly enough the view from the great, high,
wide window was a very fine one.
I perceived that the grounds of Cray's Folly were ex-
tensive and carefully cultivated. I had a glimpse of a
Tudor sunken garden, but the best view of this was
from the window of Harley's room, which because it
was the end room on the north front overlooked another
part of the grounds, and offered a prospect of the east
lawns and distant park land.
When presently Colonel Menendez and I accom-
panied my friend there I was charmed by the pictures-
que scene below. Here was a real old herbal garden,
gay with flowers and intersected by tiled moss-grown
paths. There were bushes exhibiting fantastic exam-
ples of the topiary art, and here, too, was a sun-dial.
My first impression of this beautiful spot was one of
delight. Later I was to regard that enchanted de-
mesne with something akin to horror; but as we stood
there watching a gardener clipping the bushes I
thought that although Cray's Folly might be adjudged
ugly, its grounds were delightful.
Suddenly Harley turned to our host. "Where is the
famous tower?" he enquired. "It is not visible from
the front of the house, nor from the drive."
"No, no," replied the Colonel, "it is right out at the
end of the east wing, which is disused. I keep it
locked up. There are four rooms in the tower and a
staircase, of course, but it is inconvenient. I cannot
imagine why it was built."


44 Bat Wing
"The architect may have had some definite object in
view," said Harley, "or it may have been merely a
freak of his client. Is there anything characteristic
about the topmost room, for instance?"
Colonel Menendez shrugged his massive shoulders.
"Nothing," he replied. "It is the same as the others
below, except that there is a stair leading to a gallery
on the roof. Presently I will take you up, if you wish."
"I should be interested," murmured Harley, and
tactfully changed the subject, which evidently was not
altogether pleasing to our host. I concluded that he
had found the east wing of the house something of a
white elephant, and was accordingly sensitive upon the
point.
Presently, then, he left us and I returned to my own
room, but before long I rejoined Harley. I did not
knock but entered unceremoniously.
"Halloa!" I exclaimed. "What have you seen?"
He was standing staring out of the window, nor did
he turn as I entered.
"What is it?" I said, joining him.
He glanced at me oddly.
"An impression," he replied; "but it has gone now."
"I understand," I said, quietly.
Familiarity with crime in many guises and under
many skies had developed in Paul Harley a sort of
sixth sense. It was a fugitive, fickle thing, as are all
the powers which belong to the realm of genius or in-
spiration. Often enough it failed him entirely, he had
assured me, that odd, sudden chill as of an abrupt
lowering of the temperature, which, I understood, often
advised him of the nearness of enmity actively ma-
lignant.
Now, standing at the window, looking down into that


Cray's Folly 45
old-world garden, he was "sensing" the atmosphere
keenly, seeking for the note of danger. It was sheer
intuition, perhaps, but whilst he could never rely
upon its answering his summons, once active it never
misled him.
"You think some real menace overhangs Colonel
Menendez?"
"I am sure of it." He stared into my face. "There
is something very, very strange about this bat wing
business."
"Do you still incline to the idea that he has been
followed to England?"
Paul Harley reflected for a moment, then:
"That explanation would be almost too simple," he
said. "There is something bizarre, something un-
clean—I had almost said unholy—at work in this
house, Knox."
"He has foreign servants."
Harley shook his head.
"I shall make it my business to become acquainted
with all of them," he replied, "but the danger does not
come from there. Let us go down to lunch."


CHAPTER V
VAL BEVERLEY
THE luncheon was so good as to be almost os-
tentatious. One could not have lunched better
at the Carlton. Yet, since this luxurious living
was evidently customary in the colonel's household, a
charge of ostentation would not have been deserved.
The sinister-looking Pedro proved to be an excellent
servant; and because of the excitement of feeling my-
self to stand upon the edge of unusual things, the en-
joyment of a perfectly served repast, and the sheer
delight which I experienced in watching the play of
expression upon the face of Miss Beverley, I count that
luncheon at Cray's Folly a memorable hour of my life.
Frankly, Val Beverley puzzled me. It may or may
not have been curious, that amidst such singular com-
pany I selected for my especial study a girl so freshly
and typically English. I had thought at the moment
of meeting her that she was provokingly pretty; I
determined, as the lunch proceeded, that she was beauti-
ful. Once I caught Harley smiling at me in his quizzi-
cal fashion, and I wondered guiltily if I were displaying
an undue interest in the companion of Madame.
Many topics were discussed, I remember, and beyond
doubt the colonel's cousin-housekeeper dominated the
debate. She possessed extraordinary force of person-
ality. Her English was not nearly so fluent as that
spoken by the colonel, but this handicap only served to


Val Beverley 47
emphasize the masculine strength of her intellect.
Truly she was a remarkable woman. With her
blanched hair and her young face, and those fine,
velvety eyes which possessed a quality almost hypnotic,
she might have posed for the figure of a sorceress. She
had unfamiliar gestures and employed her long white
hands in a manner that was new to me and utterly
strange.
I could detect no family resemblance between the
cousins, and I wondered if their kinship were very
distant. One thing was evident enough: Madame de
Starrier was devoted to the Colonel. Her expression
when she looked at him changed entirely. For a
woman of such intense vitality her eyes were un-
cannily still; that is to say that whilst she frequently
moved her head she rarely moved her eyes. Again
and again I found myself wondering where I had seen
such eyes before. I lived to identify that memory,
as I shall presently relate.
In vain I endeavoured to define the relationship be-
tween these three people, so incongruously set beneath
one roof. Of the fact that Miss Beverly was not happy
I became assured. But respecting her exact position
in the household I was reduced to surmises.
The Colonel improved on acquaintance. I decided
that he belonged to an order of Spanish grandees now
almost extinct. I believed he would have made a very
staunch friend; I felt sure he would have proved a most
implacable enemy. Altogether, it was a memorable
meal, and one notable result of that brief companion-
ship was a kind of link of understanding between my-
self and Miss Beverley.
Once, when I had been studying Madame de Stamer,
and again, as I removed my glance from the dark face


48 Bat Wing
of Colonel Menendez, I detected the girl watching me;
and her eyes said, "You understand; so do I."
Some things perhaps I did understand, but how few
the near future was to show.
The signal for our departure from table was given by
Madame de Stamer. She whisked her chair back with
extraordinary rapidity, the contrast between her swift,
nervous movements and those still, basilisk eyes being
almost uncanny.
"Off you go, Juan," she said; "your visitors would like
to see the garden, no doubt. I must be away for my af-
ternoon siesta. Come, my dear"—to the girl—"smoke
one little cigarette with me, then I will let you go."
She retired, wheeling herself rapidly out of the room,
and my glance lingered upon the graceful figure of Val
Beverley until both she and Madame were out of sight.
"Now, gentlemen," said the Colonel, resuming his
seat and pushing the decanter toward Paul Harley,
"I am at your service either for business or amusement.
I think"—to Harley—"you expressed a desire to see
the tower?"
"I did," my friend replied, lighting his cigar, "but
only if it would amuse you to show me."
"Decidedly. Mr. Knox will join us?"
Harley, unseen by the Colonel, glanced at me in a way
which I knew.
"Thanks all the same," I said, smiling, "but following
a perfect luncheon I should much prefer to loll upon the
lawn, if you don't mind."
"But certainly I do not mind," cried the Colonel.
"I wish you to be happy."
"Join you in a few minutes, Knox," said Harley as
he went out with our host.
"All right," I replied, "I should like to take a stroll 


Val Beverley 49
around the gardens. You will join me there later, no
doubt."
As I walked out into the bright sunshine I wondered
why Paul Harley had wished to be left alone with
Colonel Menendez, but knowing that I should learn
his motive later, I strolled on through the gardens, my
mind filled with speculations respecting these unusual
people with whom Fate had brought me in contact.
I felt that Miss Beverley needed protection of some
kind, and I was conscious of a keen desire to afford
her that protection. In her glance I had read, or
thought I had read, an appeal for sympathy.
Not the least mystery of Cray's Folly was the pres-
ence of this girl. Only toward the end of luncheon
had I made up my mind upon a point which had been
puzzling me. Val Beverley's gaiety was a cloak.
Once I had detected her watching Madame de Stamer
with a look strangely like that of fear.
Puffing contentedly at my cigar I proceeded to make
a tour of the house. It was constructed irregularly.
Practically the entire building was of gray stone, which
created a depressing effect even in the blazing sunlight,
lending Cray's Folly something of an austere aspect.
There were fine lofty windows, however, to most of the
ground-floor rooms overlooking the lawns, and some of
those above had balconies of the same gray stone.
Quite an extensive kitchen garden and a line of glass-
houses adjoined the west wing, and here were outbuild-
ings, coach-houses and a garage, all connected by a
covered passage with the servants' quarters.
Pursuing my enquiries, I proceeded to the north front
of the building, which was closely hemmed in by trees,
and which as we had observed on our arrival resembled
the entrance to a monastery.


So Bat Wing
Passing the massive oaken door by which we had
entered and which was now closed again, I walked on
through the opening in the box hedge into a part of the
grounds which was not so sprucely groomed as the rest.
On one side were the yews flanking the Tudor garden
and before me uprose the famous tower. As I stared up
at the square structure, with its uncurtained windows,
I wondered, as others had wondered before me, what
could have ever possessed any man to build it.
Visible at points for many miles around, it undoubt-
edly disfigured an otherwise beautiful landscape.
I pressed on, noting that the windows of the rooms
in the east wing were shuttered and the apartments
evidently disused. I came to the base of the tower.
To the south, the country rose up to the highest point
in the crescent of hills, and peeping above the trees at
no great distance away, I detected the red brick chim-
neys of some old house in the woods. North and east,
velvet sward swept down to the park.
As I stood there admiring the prospect and telling
myself that no Voodoo devilry could find a home in
this peaceful English countryside, I detected a faint
sound of voices far above. Someone had evidently
come out upon the gallery of the tower. I looked
upward, but I could not see the speakers. I pursued
my stroll, until, near the eastern base of the tower, I en-
countered a perfect thicket of rhododendrons. Find-
ing no path through this shrubbery, I retraced my
steps, presently entering the Tudor garden; and there
strolling toward me, a book in her hand, was Miss
Beverley.
"Holloa, Mr. Knox," she called; "I thought you had
gone up the tower?"
"No," I replied, laughing, "I lack the energy."


Val Beverley 51
'Do you?" she said, softly, "then sit down and talk
to me."
She dropped down upon a grassy bank, lookingup at me
invitingly, and I accepted the invitation without demur.
"I love this old garden," she declared, "although of
course it is really no older than the rest of the place. I
always think there should be peacocks, though."
"Yes," I agreed, "peacocks would be appropriate."
"And little pages dressed in yellow velvet."
She met my glance soberly for a moment and then
burst into a peal of merry laughter.
"Do you know, Miss Beverley," I said, watching
her, "I find it hard to place you in the household of the
Colonel."
"Yes?" she said simply; "you must."
"Oh, then you realize that you are"
"Out of place here?"
"Quite."
"Of course I am."
She smiled, shook her head, and changed the subject,
"I am so glad Mr. Paul Harley has come down,"
she confessed.
"You know my friend by name, then?"
"Yes," she replied, "someone I met in Nice spoke of
him, and I know he is very clever."
"In Nice? Did you live in Nice before you came
here?"
Val Beverley nodded slowly, and her glance grew
oddly retrospective.
"I lived for over a year with Madame de Stamer in a
little villa on the Promenade des Anglaise," she
replied. "That was after Madame was injured."
"She sustained her injuries during the war, I under-
stand?"


52 Bat Wing
"Yes. Poor Madame. The hospital of which she was in
charge was bombed and the shock left her as you see her.
I was there, too, but I luckily escaped without injury."
"What, you were there?"
"Yes. That was where I first met Madame de
Stamer. She used to be very wealthy, you see, and she
established this hospital in France at her own expense,
and I was one of her assistants for a time. She lost
both her husband and her fortune in the war, and as if
that were not bad enough, lost the use of her limbs, too."
"Poor woman," I said. "I had no idea her life had
been so tragic. She has wonderful courage."
"Courage!" exclaimed the girl, "if you knew all
that I know about her."
Her face grew sweetly animated as she bent toward
me excitedly and confidentially.
"Really, she is simply wonderful. I learned to
respect her in those days as I have never respected any
other woman in the world; and when, after all her
splendid work, she, so vital and active, was stricken
down like that, I felt that I simply could not leave
her, especially as she asked me to stay."
"So you went with her to Nice?"
"Yes. Then the Colonel took this house, and we
came here, but"
She hesitated, and glanced at me curiously.
"Perhaps you are not quite happy?"
"No," she said, "I am not. You see it was different
in France. I knew so many people. But here at
Cray's Folly it is so lonely, and Madame is"
Again she hesitated.
"Yes?"
"Well," she laughed in an embarrassed fashion,
"I am afraid of her at times."


Val Beverley 53
"In what way?"
"Oh, in a silly, womanish sort of way. Of course she
is a wonderful manager; she rules the house with a rod
of iron. But really I haven't anything to do here, and
I feel frightfully out of place sometimes. Then the
Colonel Oh, but what am I talking about?"
"Won't you tell me what it is that the Colonel fears?"
"You know that he fears something, then?"
"Of course. That is why Paul Harley is here."
A change came over the girl's face; a look almost of
dread.
"I wish I knew what it all meant."
"You are aware, then, that there is something
wrong?"
"Naturally I am. Sometimes I have been so fright-
ened that I have made up my mind to leave the very
next day."
"You mean that you have been frightened at night?"
I asked with curiosity.
"Dreadfully frightened."
"Won't you tell me in what way?"
She looked up at me swiftly, then turned her head
aside, and bit her lip.
"No, not now," she replied. "I can't very well."
"Then at least tell me why you stayed?"
"Well," she smiled rather pathetically, "for one
thing, I haven't anywhere else to go."
"Have you no friends in England?"
She shook her head.
"No. There was only poor daddy, and he died over
two years ago. That was when I went to Nice."
"Poor little girl," I said; and the words were spoken
before I realized their undue familiarity.
An apology was on the tip of my tongue, but Miss


54 Bat Wing
Beverley did not seem to have noticed the indiscretion.
Indeed my sympathy was sincere, and I think she had
appreciated the fact.
She looked up again with a bright smile.
"Why are we talking about such depressing things
on this simply heavenly day?" she exclaimed.
"Goodness knows," said I. "Will you show me
round these lovely gardens?"
"Delighted, sir!" replied the girl, rising and sweep-
ing me a mocking curtsey.
Thereupon we set out, and at every step I found a new
delight in some wayward curl, in a gesture, in the sweet
voice of my companion. Her merry laugh was music,
but in wistful mood I think she was even more alluring.
The menace, if menace there were, which overhung
Cray's Folly, ceased to exist—for me, at least, and I
blessed the lucky chance which had led to my presence
there.
We were presently rejoined by Colonel Menendez and
Paul Harley, and I gathered that my surmise that it had
been their voices which I had heard proceeding from the
top of the tower to have been only partly accurate.
"I know you will excuse me, Mr. Harley," said the
Colonel, "for detailing the duty to Pedro, but my wind
is not good enough for the stairs."
He used idiomatic English at times with that facil-
ity which some foreigners acquire, but always smiled
in a self-satisfied way when he had employed a slang
term.
"I quite understand, Colonel," replied Harley. "The
view from the top was very fine."
"And now, gentlemen," continued the Colonel, "if
Miss Beverley will excuse us, we will retire to the library
and discuss business."


Val Beverley 55
"As you wish," said Harley; "but I have an idea that
it is your custom to rest in the afternoon."
Colonel Menendez shrugged his shoulders. "It used
to be," he admitted, "but I have too much to think
about in these days."
"I can see that you have much to tell me," admitted
Harley; "and therefore I am entirely at your service."
Val Beverley smiled and walked away swinging her
book, at the same time treating me to a glance which
puzzled me considerably. I wondered if I had mis-
taken its significance, for it had seemed to imply that
she had accepted me as an ally. Certainly it served
to awaken me to the fact that I had discovered a keen
personal interest in the mystery which hung over this
queerly assorted household.
I glanced at my friend as the Colonel led the way
into the house. I saw him staring upward with a
peculiar expression upon his face, and following the
direction of his glance I could see an awning spread over
one of the gray-stone balconies. Beneath it, reclining
in a long cane chair, lay Madame de Stamer. I think
she was asleep; at any rate, she gave no sign, but lay
there motionless, as Harley and I walked in through
the open French window followed by Colonel Menendez.
Odd and unimportant details sometimes linger long
in the memory. And I remember noticing that a needle
of sunlight, piercing a crack in the gaily-striped awning
rested upon a ring which Madame wore, so that the
diamonds glittered like sparks of white-hot fire.


CHAPTER VI
THE BARRIER
COLONEL Menendez conducted us to a long,
lofty library in which might be detected the
same note of un-English luxury manifested in
the other appointments of the house. The room, in
common with every other which I had visited in Cray's
Folly, was carried out in oak: doors, window frames,
mantelpiece, and ceiling representing fine examples of
this massive woodwork. Indeed, if the eccentricity of
the designer of Cray's Folly were not sufficiently
demonstrated by the peculiar plan of the building, its
construction wholly of granite and oak must have
marked him a man of unusual if substantial ideas.
There were four long windows opening on to a
veranda which commanded a view of part of the rose
garden and of three terraced lawns descending to a lake
upon which I perceived a number of swans. Beyond,
in the valley, lay verdant pastures, where cattle grazed.
A lark hung carolling blithely far above, and the sky
was almost cloudless. I could hear a steam reaper at
work somewhere in the distance. This, with the more
intimate rattle of a lawn-mower wielded by a gardener
who was not visible from where I stood, alone disturbed
the serene silence, except that presently I detected the
droning of many bees among the roses. Sunlight
flooded the prospect; but the veranda lay in shadow,
and that long, oaken room was refreshingly cool and
laden with the heavy perfume of the flowers.


The Barrier 57
From the windows, then, one beheld a typical Eng-
lish summer-scape, but the library itself struck an al-
together more exotic note. There were many glazed
bookcases of a garish design in ebony and gilt, and
these were laden with a vast collection of works in al-
most every European language, reflecting perhaps the
cosmopolitan character of the colonel's household.
There was strange Spanish furniture upholstered in
perforated leather and again displaying much gilt.
There were suits of black armour and a great number
of Moorish ornaments. The pictures were fine but
sombre, and all of the Spanish school.
One Velasquez in particular I noted with surprise,
reflecting that, assuming it to be an authentic work of
the master, my entire worldly possessions could not
have enabled me to buy it. It was the portrait of a
typical Spanish cavalier and beyond doubt a Menendez.
In fact, the resemblance between the haughty Spanish
grandee, who seemed about to step out of the canvas
and pick a quarrel with the spectator, and Colonel Don
Juan himself was almost startling. Evidently, our host
had imported most of his belongings from Cuba.
"Gentlemen," he said, as we entered, "make your-
selves quite at home, I beg. All my poor establishment
contains is for your entertainment and service."
He drew up two long, low lounge chairs, the arms
provided with receptacles to contain cooling drinks;
and the mere sight of these chairs mentally translated
me to the Spanish Main, where I pictured them set
upon the veranda of that hacienda which had formerly
been our host's residence.
Harley and I became seated and Colonel Menendez
disposed himself upon a leather-covered couch, nodding
apologetically as he did so.


58 Bat Wing
"My health requires that I should recline for a cer-
tain number of hours every day," he explained. "So
you will please forgive me."
"My dear Colonel Menendez," said Harley, "I feel
sure that you are interrupting your siesta in order to
discuss the unpleasant business which finds us in such
pleasant surroundings. Allow me once again to suggest
that we postpone this matter until, shall we say, after
dinner?"
"No, no! No, no," protested the Colonel, waving his
hand deprecatingly. "Here is Pedro with coffee and
some Curasao of a kind which I can really recommend,
although you may be unfamiliar with it."
I was certainly unfamiliar with the liqueur which he
insisted we must taste, and which was contained in a
sort of square, opaque bottle unknown, I think, to Eng-
lish wine merchants. Beyond doubt it was potent
stuff; and some cigars which the Spaniard produced on
this occasion and which were enclosed in little glass
cylinders resembling test-tubes and elaborately sealed,
I recognized to be priceless. They convinced me, if
conviction had not visited me already, that Colonel
Don Juan Sarmiento Menendez belonged to that old
school of West Indian planters by whom the tradition
of the Golden Americas had been for long preserved in
the Spanish Main.
We discussed indifferent matters for a while, sipping
this wonderful curacao of our host's. The effect
created by the Colonel's story faded entirely, and when,
the latter being unable to conceal his drowsiness, Harley
stood up, I took the hint with gratitude; for at that
moment I did not feel in the mood to discuss serious
business or indeed business of any kind.
"Gentlemen," said the Colonel, also rising, in spite


The Barrier 59
of our protests, "I will observe your wishes. My
guests' wishes are mine. We will meet the ladies for
tea on the terrace."
Harley and I walked out into the garden together,
our courteous host standing in the open window, and
bowing in that exaggerated fashion which in another
might have been ridiculous but which was possible in
Colonel Menendez, because of the peculiar grace of
deportment which was his.
As we descended the steps I turned and glanced back,
I know not why. But the impression which I derived
of the Colonel's face as he stood there in the shadow of
the veranda was one I can never forget.
His expression had changed utterly, or so it seemed
to me. He no longer resembled Velasquez' haughty
cavalier; gone, too, was the debonnaire bearing. I
turned my head aside swiftly, hoping that he had not
detected my backward glance.
I felt that I had violated hospitality. I felt that
I had seen what I should not have seen. And the
result was to bring about that which no story of
West Indian magic could ever have wrought in my
mind.
A dreadful, cold premonition claimed me, a pre-
monition that this was a doomed man.
The look which I had detected upon his face was an
indefinable, an indescribable look; but I had seen it in
the eyes of one who had been bitten by a poisonous
reptile and who knew his hours to be numbered. It was
uncanny, unnerving; and whereas at first the atmos-
phere of Colonel Menendez's home had seemed to be
laden with prosperous security, now that sense of
ease and restfulness was gone—and gone for ever.
"Harley," I said, speaking almost at random, "this


60 Bat Wing
promises to be the strangest case you have ever
handled."
"Promises?" Paul Harley laughed shortly. "It is
the strangest case, Knox. It is a case of wheels within
wheels, of mystery crowning mystery. Have you
studied our host?"
"Closely."
"And what conclusion have you formed?"
"None at the moment; but I think one is slowly
crystalizing."
"Hm," muttered Harley, as we paced slowly on
amid the rose trees. "Of one thing I am satisfied."
"What is that?"
"That Colonel Menendez is not afraid of Bat Wing,
whoever or whatever Bat Wing may be."
"Not afraid?"
"Certainly he is not afraid, Knox. He has possibly
been afraid in the past, but now he is resigned."
"Resigned to what?"
"Resigned to death!"
"Good God, Harley, you are right!" I cried. "You
are right! I saw it in his eyes as we left the library."
Harley stopped and turned to me sharply.
"You saw this in the Colonel's eyes?" he challenged.
"I did."
"Which corroborates my theory," he said, softly;
"for I had seen it elsewhere."
"Where do you mean, Harley?"
"In the face of Madame de Stamer."
"What?"
"Knox"—Harley rested his hand upon my arm and
looked about him cautiously—"she knows."
"But knows what?"
"That is the question which we are here to answer,


The Barrier 61
but I am as sure as it is humanly possible to be sure of
anything that whatever Colonel Menendez may tell
us to-night, one point at least he will withhold."
"What do you expect him to withhold?"
"The meaning of the sign of the Bat Wing."
"Then you think he knows its meaning?"
"He has told us that it is the death-token of Voo-
doo."
I stared at Harley in perplexity.
"Then you believe his explanation to be false?"
"Not necessarily, Knox. It may be what he claims
for it. But he is keeping something back. He speaks
all the time from behind a barrier which he, himself, has
deliberately erected against me."
"I cannot understand why he should do so," I de-
clared, as he looked at me steadily. "Within the last
few moments I have become definitely convinced that
his appeal to you was no idle one. Therefore, why
should he not offer you every aid in his power?"
"Why, indeed?" muttered Harley.
"The same thing," I continued, "applies to Madame
de Stamer. If ever I have seen love-light in a wo-
man's eyes I have seen it in hers, to-day, whenever
her glance has rested upon Colonel Menendez. Har-
ley, I believe she literally worships the ground he walks
upon."
"She does, she does!" cried my companion, and
emphasized the words with beats of his clenched fist.
"It is utterly, damnably mystifying. But I tell you,
she knows, Knox, she knows!"
"You mean she knows that he is a doomed man?"
Harley nodded rapidly.
"They both know," he replied; "but there is some-
thing which they dare not divulge."


62 Bat Wing
He glanced at me swiftly, and his bronzed face wore
a peculiar expression.
"Have you had an opportunity of any private con-
versation with Miss Val Beverley?" he enquired.
"Yes," I said. "Surely you remember that you
found me chatting with her when you returned from
your inspection of the tower."
"I remember perfectly well, but I thought you might
have just met. Now it appears to me, Knox, that you
have quickly established yourself in the good books of a
very charming girl. My only reason for visiting the
tower was to afford you just this opportunity! Don't
frown. Beyond reminding you of the fact that she has
been on intimate terms with Madame de Stamer for
some years, I will not intrude in any way upon your
private plans in that direction."
I stared at him, and I suppose my expression was an
angry one.
"Surely you don't misunderstand me?" he said. "A
cultured English girl of that type cannot possibly have
lived with these people without learning something
of the matters which are puzzling us so badly. Am I
asking too much?"
"I see what you mean," I said, slowly. "No, I
suppose you are right, Harley."
"Good," he muttered. "I will leave that side of
the enquiry in your very capable hands, Knox."
He paused, and began to stare about him.
"From this point," said he, "we have an unob-
structed view of the tower."
We turned and stood looking up at the unsightly gray
structure, with its geometrical rows of windows and the
minaret-like gallery at the top.
"Of course"—I broke a silence of some moments'


The Barrier 65
duration—"the entire scheme of Cray's Folly is peculiar,
but the rooms, except for a uniformity which is mo-
notonous, and an unimaginative scheme of decoration
which makes them all seem alike, are airy and well
lighted, eminently sane and substantial. The tower,
however, is quite inexcusable, unless the idea was to
enable the occupant to look over the tops of the trees in
all directions."
"Yes," agreed Harley, "it is an ugly landmark.
But yonder up the slope I can see the corner of what
seems to be a very picturesque house of some kind."
"I caught a glimpse of it earlier to-day," I replied.
"Yes, from this point a little more of it is visible. Ap-
parently quite an old place."
I paused, staring up the hillside, but Harley, hands
locked behind him and chin lowered reflectively, was
pacing on. I joined him, and we proceeded for some
little distance in silence, passing a gardener who touched
his cap respectfully and to whom I thought at first my
companion was about to address some remark. Harley
passed on, however, still occupied, it seemed, with his
reflections, and coming to a gravel path which, border-
ing one side of the lawns, led down from terrace to
terrace into the valley, turned, and began to descend.
"Let us go and interview the swans," he murmured
absently.


CHAPTER VII
AT THE LAVENDER ARMS
IN CERTAIN moods Paul Harley was impossible
as a companion, and I, who knew him well, had
learned to leave him to his own devices at such
times. These moods invariably corresponded with his
meeting some problem to the heart of which the lance of
his keen wit failed to penetrate. His humour might
not display itself in the spoken word, he merely became
oblivious of everything and everybody around him.
People might talk to him and he scarce noted their
presence, familiar faces appear and he would see them
not. Outwardly he remained the observant Harley
who could see further into a mystery than any other
in England, but his observation was entirely introspec-
tive; although he moved amid the hustle of life he was
spiritually alone, communing with the solitude which
dwells in every man's heart.
Presently, then, as we came to the lake at the foot of
the sloping lawns, where water lilies were growing and
quite a number of swans had their habitation, I detected
the fact that I had ceased to exist so far as Harley was
concerned. Knowing this mood of old, I pursued my
way alone, pressing on across the valley and making for
a swing gate which seemed to open upon a public foot-
path. Coming to this gate I turned and looked back.
Paul Harley was standing where I had left him by
the edge of the lake, staring as if hypnotized at the
6*


At the Lavender Arms 6f
slowly moving swans. But I would have been prepared
to wager that he saw neither swans nor lake, but men-
tally was far from the spot, deep in some complex maze
of reflection through which no ordinary mind could
hope to follow him.
I glanced at my watch and found that it was but
little after two o'clock. Luncheon at Cray's Folly was
early. I therefore had some time upon my hands and
I determined to employ it in exploring part of the neigh-
bourhood. Accordingly I filled and lighted my pipe
and strolled leisurely along the footpath, enjoying the
beauty of the afternoon, and admiring the magnificent
timber which grew upon the southerly slopes of the
valley.
Larks sang high above me and the air was fragrant
with those wonderful earthy scents which belong to an
English countryside. A herd of very fine Jersey cattle
presently claimed inspection, and a little farther on I
found myself upon a high road where a brown-faced
fellow seated aloft upon a hay-cart cheerily gave me
good-day as I passed.
Quite at random I turned to the left and followed the
road, so that presently I found myself in a very small
village, the principal building of which was a very small
inn called the "Lavender Arms."
Colonel Menendez'scuracao, combined with the heat
of the day, had made me thirsty; for which reason I
stepped into the bar-parlour determined to sample the
local ale. I was served by the landlady, a neat, round,
red little person, and as she retired, having placed a
foam-capped mug upon the counter, her glance rested
for a moment upon the only other occupant of the room,
a man seated in an armchair immediately to the right of
the door. A glass of whisky stood on the window ledge


At the Lavender Arms 67
"Good heavens!" I exclaimed, for the man had
really amazed me. "You clearly resemble him in more
ways than one. I must really ask you to inform me
how you deduced such a fact from a mere glance of
mine."
"I will tell you, sir," he replied. "But, first, I must
replenish my glass, and I should be honoured if you
would permit me to replenish yours."
"Thanks very much," I said, "but I would rather
you excused me."
"As you wish, sir," replied the American with grave
courtesy, "as you wish."
He stepped up to the counter and rapped upon it
with half a crown, until the landlady appeared. She
treated me to a pathetic glance, but refilled the empty
glass.
My American acquaintance having returned to his
seat and having added a very little water to the whisky,
went on:
"Now, sir," said he, "my name is Colin Camber,
formerly of Richmond, Virginia, United States of Amer-
ica, but now of the Guest House, Surrey, England, at
your service."
Taking my cue from Mr. Camber's gloomy but lofty
manner, I bowed formally and mentioned my name.
"I am delighted to make your acquaintance, Mr.
Knox," he assured me; "and now, sir, to answer your
question. When you came in a few moments ago you
glanced at me. Your eyes did not open widely as is the
case when one recognizes, or thinks one recognizes, an
acquaintance, they narrowed. This indicated retro-
spection. For a moment they turned aside. You were
focussing a fugitive idea, a memory. You captured it.
You looked at me again, and your successive glances


68 Bat Wing
read as follows: The hair worn uncommonly long, the
mathematical brow, the eyes of a poet, the slight
moustache, small mouth, weak chin; the glass at his
elbow. The resemblance is complete. Knowing how
complete it is myself, sir, I ventured to test my theory,
and it proved to be sound."
Now, as Mr. Colin Camber had thus spoken in the
serious manner of a slightly drunken man, I had formed
the opinion that I stood in the presence of a very singu-
lar character. Here was that seeming mesalliance
which not infrequently begets genius: a powerful and
original mind allied to a weak will. I wondered what
Mr. Colin Camber's occupation might be, and some-
what, too, I wondered why his name was unfamiliar to
me. For that the possessor of that brow and those
eyes could fail to make his mark in any profession
which he might take up I was unwilling to believe.
"Your exposition has been very interesting, Mr.
Camber," I said. "You are a singularly close observer,
I perceive."
"Yes," he replied, "I have passed my life in observing
the ways of my fellowmen, a study which I have pur-
sued in various parts of the world without appreciable
benefit to myself. I refer to financial benefit."
He contemplated me with a look which had grown
suddenly pathetic.
"I would not have you think, sir," he added, "that
I am an habitual toper. I have latterly been much
upset by—domestic worries, and—er "He emptied
his glass at a draught. "Surely, Mr. Knox, you are go-
ing to replenish? Whilst you are doing so, would you
kindly request Mrs. Wootton to extend the same
favour to myself?"
But at that moment Mrs. Wootton in person ap-


At the Lavender Arms 69
peared behind the counter. "Time, please, gentle-
men," she said; "it is gone half-past two."
"What!" exclaimed Mr. Camber, rising. "What is
that? You decline to serve me, Mrs. Wootton?"
"Why, not at all, Mr. Camber," answered the land-
lady, "but I can serve no one now; it's after time."
"You decline to serve me," he muttered, his speech
becoming slurred. "Am I, then, to be insulted?"
I caught a glance of entreaty from the landlady.
"My dear sir," I said, genially, "we must bow to the
law, I suppose. At least we are better off here than in
America."
"Ah, that is true," agreed Mr. Camber, throwing
his head back and speaking the words as though they
possessed some deep dramatic significance. "Yes, but
such laws are an insult to every intelligent man."
He sat down again rather heavily, and I stood looking
from him to the landlady, and wondering what I should
do. The matter was decided for me, however, in a way
which I could never have foreseen. For, hearing a
light footfall upon the step which led up to the bar-
parlour, I turned—and there almost beside me stood a,
wrinkled little Chinaman!
He wore a blue suit and a tweed cap, he wore queer,
thick-soled slippers, and his face was like a smiling
mask hewn out of very old ivory. I could scarcely
credit the evidence of my senses, since the Lavender
Arms was one of the last places in which I should have
looked for a native of China.
Mr. Colin Camber rose again, and fixing his melan-
choly eyes upon the newcomer:
"Ah Tsong," he said in a tone of cold anger, "what
are you doing here?"
Quite unmoved the Chinaman replied:


70 Bat Wing
"Blingee you chit, sir, vellee soon go back."
"What do you mean?" demanded Mr. Camber.
"Answer me, Ah Tsong: who sent you?"
"Lilly missee," crooned the Chinaman, smiling up
into the other's face with a sort of childish entreaty.
"Lilly missee."
"Oh," said Mr. Camber in a changed voice. "Oh."
He stood very upright for a moment, his gaze set
upon the wrinkled Chinese face. Then he looked at
Mrs. Wootton and bowed, and looked at me and bowed,
very stiffly.
"I must excuse myself, sir," he announced. "My
wife desires my presence at home."
I returned his bow, and as he walked quite steadily
toward the door, followed by Ah Tsong, he paused,
turned, and said: "Mr. Knox, I should esteem it a
friendly action if you would spare me an hour of your
company before you leave Surrey. My visitors are
few. Any one, any one, will direct you to the Guest
House. I am persuaded that we have much in com-
mon. Good-day, sir."
He went down the steps, disappearing in company with
the Chinaman, and having watched them go, I turned
to Mrs. Wootton, the landlady, in silent astonishment.
She nodded her head and sighed.
"The same every day and every evening for months
past," she said. "I am afraid it's going to be the death
of him."
"Do you mean that Mr. Camber comes here every
day and is always fetched by the Chinaman?"
"Twice every day," corrected the landlady, "and his
poor wife sends here regularly."
"What a tragedy," I muttered, "and such a brilliant
man."


At the Lavender Arms 71
"Ah," said she, busily removing jugs and glasses
from the counter, "it does seem a terrible thing."
"Has Mr. Camber lived for long in this neighbour-
hood?" I ventured to inquire.
"It was about three years ago, sir, that he took the
old Guest House at Mid-Hatton. I remember the time
well enough because of all the trouble there was about
him bringing a Chinaman down here."
"I can imagine it must have created something of a
sensation," I murmured. "Is the Guest House a large
property?"
"Oh, no, sir, only ten rooms and a garden, and it had
been vacant for a long time. It belongs to what is
called the Crayland Park Estate."
"Mr. Camber, I take it, is a literary man?"
"So I believe, sir."
Mrs. Wootton, having cleared the counter, glanced
up at the clock and then at me with a cheery but signifi-
cant smile.
"I see that it is after time," I said,returning the
smile, "but the queer people who seem to live here-
abouts interest me very much."
"I can't wonder at that, sir!" said the landlady,
laughing outright. "Chinamen and Spanish men and
what-not. If some of the old gentry that lived here
before the war could see it, they wouldn't recognize the
place, of that I am sure."
"Ah, well," said I, pausing at the step, "I shall hope
to see more of Mr. Camber, and of yourself too, madam,
for your ale is excellent."
"Thank you, sir, I'm sure," said the landlady much
gratified, "but as to Mr. Camber, I really doubt if he
would know you if you met him again. Not if he was
sober, I mean."


72 Bat Wing
"Really?"
"Oh, it's a fact, believe me. Just in the last six
months or so he has started on the rampage like, but
some of the people he has met in here and asked to call
upon him have done it, thinking he meant it."
"And they have not been well received?" said I,
lingering.
"They have had the door shut in their faces!" de-
clared Mrs. Wootton with a certain indignation. "He
either does not remember what he says or does when he
is in drink, or he pretends he doesn't. Oh, dear, it's
a funny world. Well, good-day, sir."
"Good-day," said I, and came out of the Lavender
Arms full of sympathy with the views of the "old gen-
try," as outlined by Mrs. Wootton; for certainly it
would seem that this quiet spot in the Surrey Hills had
become a rallying ground for peculiar people.


CHAPTER VIII
THE CALL OF M'KOMBO
OF TEA upon the veranda of Cray's Folly that
afternoon I retain several notable memories.
I got into closer touch with my host and hostess,
without achieving anything like a proper understanding
of either of them, and I procured a new viewpoint of Miss
Val Beverley. Her repose was misleading. She de-
liberately subjugated her own vital personality to that
of Madame de Stamer, why, I knew not, unless she
felt herself under an obligation to do so. That her
blue-gray eyes could be wistful was true enough, they
could also be gay; and once I detected in them a look
of sadness which dispelled the butterfly illusion belong-
ing to her dainty slenderness, to her mobile lips, to
the vagabond curling hair of russet brown.
Paul Harley's manner remained absent, but I who
knew his moods so well recognized that this abstraction
was no longer real. It was a pose which he often
adopted when in reality he was keenly interested in his
surroundings. It baffled me, however, as effectively
as it baffled others, and whilst at one moment I decided
that he was studying Colonel Menendez, in the next I
became convinced that Madame de Stamer was the
subject upon his mental dissecting table.
That he should find in Madame a fascinating problem
did not surprise me. She must have afforded tempting
study for any psychologist. I could not fathom the
73


74 Bat Wing
nature of the kinship existing between herself and the
Spanish colonel, for Madame de Stamer was French to
her fingertips. Her expressions, her gestures, her whole
outlook on life proclaimed the fashionable Parisienne.
She possessed a vigorous masculine intelligence and
was the most entertaining companion imaginable. She
was daringly outspoken, and it was hard to believe that
her gaiety was forced. Yet, as the afternoon wore on,
I became more and more convinced that such was the
case.
I thought that before affliction visited her Madame
de Stamer must have been a vivacious and a beautiful
woman. Her vivacity remained and much of her
beauty, so that it was difficult to believe her snow-white
hair to be a product of nature. Again and again I
found myself regarding it as a powdered coiffure of the
Pompadour period and wondering why Madame wore
no patches.
That a deep and sympathetic understanding existed
between herself and Colonel Menendez was unmistak-
able. More than once I intercepted glances from the
dark eyes of Madame which were lover-like, yet laden
with a profound sorrow. She was playing a role, and I
was convinced that Harley knew this. It was not
merely a courageous fight against affliction on the part
of a woman of the world, versed in masking her real
self from the prying eyes of society, it was a studied
performance prompted by some deeper motive.
She dressed with exquisite taste, and to see her
seated there amid her cushions, gesticulating viva-
ciously, one would never have supposed that she was
crippled. My admiration for her momentarily in-
creased, the more so since I could see that she was
sincerely fond of Val Beverley, whose every movement


The Call of M'kombo 75
she followed with looks of almost motherly affection.
This was all the more strange as Madame de Stamer
whose age, I supposed, lay somewhere on the sunny
side of forty, was of a type which expects, and wins,
admiration, long after the average woman has ceased
to be attractive.
One endowed with such a temperament is as a rule
unreasonably jealous of youth and good looks in an-
other. I could not determine if Madame's attitude
were to be ascribed to complacent self-satisfaction or
to a nobler motive. It sufficed for me that she took
an unfeigned joy in the youthful sweetness of her com-
panion.
"Val, dear," she said, presently, addressing the girl,
"you should make those sleeves shorter, my dear."
She had a rapid way of speaking, and possessed a
slightly husky but fascinatingly vibrant voice.
"Your arms are very pretty. You should not hide
them."
Val Beverley blushed, and laughed to conceal her
embarrassment.
"Oh, my dear," exclaimed Madame, "why be
ashamed of arms? All women have arms, but some do
well to hide them."
"Quite right, Marie," agreed the Colonel, his thin
voice affording an odd contrast to the deeper tones of
his cousin. "But it is the scraggy ones who seem to
delight in displaying their angles."
"The English, yes," Madame admitted, "but the
French, no. They are too clever, Juan."
"Frenchwomen think too much about their looks,"
said Val Beverley, quietly. "Oh, you know they do,
Madame. They would rather die than be without
admiration."


76 But Wing
Madame shrugged her shoulders.
"So would I, my dear," she confessed, "although
I cannot walk. Without admiration there is"—she
snapped her fingers—"nothing. And who would no-
tice a linnet when a bird of paradise was about, however
sweet her voice? Tell me that, my dear?"
Paul Harley aroused himself and laughed heartily.
"Yet," he said, "I think with Miss Beverley, that
this love of elegance does not always make for hap-
piness. Surely it is the cause of half the domestic
tragedies in France?"
"Ah, the French love elegance," cried Madame,
shrugging, "they cannot help it. To secure what is
elegant a Frenchwoman will sometimes forget her hus-
band, yes, but never forget herself."
"Really, Marie," protested the Colonel, "you say
most strange things!"
"Is that so, Juan?" she replied, casting one of her
queer glances in his direction; "but how would you like
to be surrounded by a lot of drabs, eh? That man, Mr.
Knox," she extended one white hand in the direction
of Colonel Menendez, the fingers half closed, in a gesture
which curiously reminded me of Sarah Bernhardt, "that
man would notice if a parlourmaid came into the room
with a shoe unbuttoned. Poof! if we love elegance it is
because without it the men would never love us"
Colonel Menendez bent across the table and kissed
the white fingers in his courtier-like fashion.
"My sweet cousin," he said, "I should love you in
rags."
Madame smiled and flushed like a girl, but with-
drawing her hand she shrugged.
"They would have to be pretty rags!" she added.
During this little scene I detected Val Beverley


The Call of Jl'kombo 77
looking at me in a vaguely troubled way, and it was
easy to guess that she was wondering what construction
I should place upon it. However:
"I am going into the town," declared Madame de
Stamer, energetically. "Half the things ordered from
Hartley's have never been sent."
"Oh, Madame, please let me go," cried Val Beverley.
"My dear," pronounced Madame, "I will not let you
go, but I will let you come with me if you wish."
She rang a little bell which stood upon the tea-table
beside the urn, and Pedro came out through the draw-
ing room.
"Pedro," she said, "is the car ready?"
The Spanish butler bowed.
"Tell Carter to bring it round. Hurry, dear," to the
girl, "if you are coming with me. I shall not be a
minute."
Thereupon she whisked her mechanical chair about,
waved her hand to dismiss Pedro, and went steering
through the drawing room at a great rate, with Val
Beverley walking beside her.
As we resumed our seats Colonel Menendez lay
back with half-closed eyes, his glance following the chair
and its occupant until both were swallowed up in the
shadows of the big drawing room.
"Madame de Stamer is a very remarkable woman,"
said Paul Harley.
"Remarkable?" replied the Colonel. "The spirit of
all the old chivalry of France is imprisoned within her,
I think."
He passed cigarettes around, of a long kind re
sembling cheroots and wrapped in tobacco leaf. I
thought it strange that having thus emphasized Ma-
dame's nationality he did not feel it incumbent upon


78 JK4 Wing
him to explain the mystery of their kinship. However,
he made no attempt to do so, and almost before we had
lighted up, a racy little two-seater was driven around
the gravel path by Carter, the chauffeur who had
brought us to Cray's Folly from London.
The man descended and began to arrange wraps and
cushions, and a few moments later back came Madame
again, dressed for driving. Carter was about to lift her
into the car when Colonel Menendez stood up and
advanced.
"Sit down, Juan, sit down!" said Madame, sharply.
A look of keen anxiety, I had almost said of pain,
leapt into her eyes, and the Colonel hesitated.
"How often must I tell you," continued the throbbing
voice, "that you must not exert yourself."
Colonel Menendez accepted the rebuke humbly, but
the incident struck me as grotesque; for it was difficult
to associate delicacy with such a fine specimen of well-
preserved manhood as the Colonel.
However, Carter performed the duty of assisting
Madame into her little car, and when for a moment he
supported her upright, before placing her among the
cushions, I noted that she was a tall woman, slender
and elegant.
All smiles and light, sparkling conversation, she
settled herself comfortably at the wheel and Val Bever-
ley got in beside her. Madame nodded to Carter in
dismissal, waved her hand to Colonel Menendez, cried
"Au revoir!," and then away went the little car,
swinging around the angle of the house and out of
sight.
Our host stood bare-headed upon the veranda lis-
tening to the sound of the engine dying away among the
trees. He seemed to be lost in reflection from which


The Call of M'kombo 79
he only aroused himself when the purr of the motor
became inaudible.
"And now, gentlemen," he said, and suppressed a
sigh, "we have much to talk about. This spot is cool,
but is it sufficiently private? Perhaps, Mr. Harley,
you would prefer to talk in the library?"
Paul Harley flicked ash from the end of his cigarette.
"Better still in your own study, Colonel Menendez,"
he replied.
"What, do you suspect eavesdroppers?" asked the
Colonel, his manner becoming momentarily agitated.
He looked at Harley as though he suspected the latter
of possessing private information.
"We should neglect no possible precaution," an-
swered my friend. "That agencies inimical to your
safety are focussed upon the house your own statement
amply demonstrates."
Colonel Menendez seemed to be on the point of
speaking again, but he checked himself and in silence
led the way through the ornate library to a smaller
room which opened out of it, and which was furnished
as a study.
Here the motif was distinctly one of officialdom.
Although the Southern element was not lacking, it was
not so marked as in the library or in the hall. The
place was appointed for utility rather than ornament.
Everything was in perfect order. In the library,
with the blinds drawn, one might have supposed one-
self in Trinidad; in the study, under similar conditions,
one might equally well have imagined Downing Street
to lie outside the windows. Essentially, this was the
workroom of a man of affairs.
Having settled ourselves comfortably, Paul Harley
opened the conversation.


80 Bat Wing
"In several particulars," said he, "I find my informa-
tion to be incomplete."
He consulted the back of an envelope, upon which,
I presumed during, the afternoon, he had made a
number of pencilled notes.
"For instance," he continued, "your detection of
someone watching the house, and subsequently of
someone forcing an entrance, had no visible association
with the presence of the bat wing attached to your front
door?"
"No," replied the Colonel, slowly, "these episodes
took place a month ago."
"Exactly a month ago?"
"They took place immediately before the last full
moon."
"Ah, before the full moon. And because you as-
sociate the activities of Voodoo with the full moon, you
believe that the old menace has again become active?"
The Colonel nodded emphatically. He was busily
engaged in rolling one of his eternal cigarettes.
"This belief of yours was recently confirmed by the
discovery of the bat wing?"
"I no longer doubted," said Colonel Menendez,
shrugging his shoulders. "How could I?"
"Quite so," murmured Harley, absently, and evi-
dently pursuing some private train of thought. "And
now, I take it that your suspicions, if expressed in words,
would amount to this: During your last visit to Cuba
you (a) either killed some high priest of Voodoo, or (b)
seriously injured him? Assuming the first theory to be
the correct one, your death was determined upon by the
sect over which he had formerly presided. Assuming
the second to be accurate, however, it is presumably the
man himself for whom we must look. Now, Colonel


82 Bat Wing
Again he shrugged his shoulders.
"I would remind you," said Harley, quietly, "that
there are also quite a number of negroes in England.
If you seriously believe Voodoo to follow negro migra-
tion, I can see no objection to assuming it to be a
universal cult."
"Such an idea is incredible."
"Yet by what other hypothesis," asked Harley,
"are we to cover the facts of your own case as stated by
yourself? Now," he consulted his pencilled notes,
"there is another point. I gather that these African
sorcerers rely largely upon what I may term intimida-
tion. In other words, they claim the power of wishing
an enemy to death."
He raised his eyes and stared grimly at the Colonel.
"I should not like to suppose that a man of your
courage and culture could subscribe to such a belief."
"I do not, sir," declared the Colonel, warmly. "No
Obeah man could ever exercise his will upon me!"
"Yet, if I may say so," murmured Harley, "your will
to live seems to have become somewhat weakened."
"What do you mean?"
Colonel Menendez stood up, his delicate nostrils
dilated. He glared angrily at Harley.
"I mean that I perceive a certain resignation in your
manner of which I do not approve."
"You do not approve?" said Colonel Menendez,
softly; and I thought as he stood looking down upon
my friend that I had rarely seen a more formidable
figure.
Paul Harley had roused him unaccountably, and
knowing my friend for a master of tact I knew also that
this had been deliberate, although I could not even
dimly perceive his object.


The Call of M'kombo 83
"I occupy the position of a specialist," Harley con-
tinued, "and you occupy that of my patient. Now,
you cannot disguise from me that your mental op-
position to this danger which threatens has become
slackened. Allow me to remind you that the strongest
defence is counter-attack. You are angry, Colonel
Menendez, but I would rather see you angry than
apathetic. To come to my last point. You spoke of a
neighbour in terms which led me to suppose that you
suspected him of some association with your enemies.
May I ask for the name of this person?"
Colonel Menendez sat down again, puffing furiously
at his cigarette, whilst beginning to roll another. He
was much disturbed, was fighting to regain mastery of
himself.
"I apologize from the bottom of my heart," he said,
"for a breach of good behaviour which really was un-
forgivable. I was angry when I should have been
grateful. Much that you have said is true. Because
it is true, I despise myself."
He flashed a glance at Paul Harley.
"Awake," he continued, "I care for no man breath-
ing, black or white; but asleep"—he shrugged his
shoulders. "It is in sleep that these dealers in unclean
things obtain their advantage."
"You excite my curiosity," declared Harley.
"Listen," Colonel Menendez bent forward, resting
his elbows upon his knees. Between the yellow fingers
of his left hand he held the newly completed cigarette
whilst he continued to puff vigorously at the old one.
"You recollect my speaking of the death of a certain
native girl?"
Paul Harley nodded.
The real cause of her death was never known, but I


84 . Bat Wing
obtained evidence to show that on the night after the
wing of a bat had been attached to her hut, she wan-
dered out in her sleep and visited the Black Belt. Can
you doubt that someone was calling her?"
"Calling her?"
"Mr. Harley, she was obeying the call of M'kombo!"
"The call of M'kombo? You refer to some kind of
hypnotic suggestions?"
"I illustrate," replied the Colonel, "to help to make
clear something which I have to tell you. On the night
when last the moon was full—on the night after some-
one had entered the house—I had retired early to bed.
Suddenly I awoke, feeling very cold. I awoke, I say,
and where do you suppose I found myself?"
"I am all anxiety to hear."
"On the point of entering the Tudor garden—you call
it Tudor garden ?—which is visible from the window of
your room!"
"Most extraordinary," murmured Harley; "and you
were in your night attire?"
"I was."
"And what had awakened you?"
"An accident. I believe a lucky accident. I had cut
my bare foot upon the gravel and the pain awakened
me."
"You had no recollection of any dream which had
prompted you to go down into the garden?"
"None whatever."
"Does your room face in that direction?"
"It does not. It faces the lake on the south of
the house. I had descended to a side door, unbarred it,
and walked entirely around the east wing before I
awakened."
"Your room faces the lake," murmured Harley.


The Call of M'kombo 85
"Yes."
Their glances met, and in Paul Harley's expression
there seemed to be a challenge.
"You have not yet told me," said he, "the name of
your neighbour."
Colonel Menendez lighted his new cigarette.
"Mr. Harley," he confessed, "I regret that I ever
referred to this suspicion of mine. Indeed it is hardly
a suspicion, it is what I may call a desperate doubt.
Do you say that, a desperate doubt?"
"I think I follow you," said Harley.
"The fact is this, I only know of one person within
ten miles of Cray's Folly who has ever visited Cuba."
"Ah."
"I have no other scrap of evidence to associate him
with my shadowy enemy. This being so, you will
pardon me if I ask you to forget that I ever referred to
his existence."
He spoke the words with a sort of lofty finality,
and accompanied them with a gesture of the hands
which really left Harley no alternative but to drop the
subject.
Again their glances met, and it was patent to me that
underlying all this conversation was something beyond
my ken. What it was that Harley suspected I could not
imagine, nor what it was that Colonel Menendez desired
to conceal; but tension was in the very air. The
Spaniard was on the defensive, and Paul Harley was
puzzled, irritated.
It was a strange interview, and one which in the
light of after events I recognized to possess extraor-
dinary significance. That sixth sense of Harley's was
awake, was prompting him, but to what extent he
understood its promptings at that hour I did not know,


86 Bat Wing
and have never known to this day. Intuitively, I
believe, as he sat there staring at Colonel Menendez,
he began to perceive the shadow within a shadow which
was the secret of Cray's Folly, which was the thing
called Bat Wing, which was the devilish force at that
very hour alive and potent in our midst.


CHAPTER IX
OBEAH
THIS conversation in Colonel Menendez's study
produced a very unpleasant impression upon my
mind. The atmosphere of Cray's Folly seemed
to become charged with unrest. Of Madame de
Stamer and Miss Beverley I saw nothing up to the
time that I retired to dress. Having dressed I walked
into Harley's room, anxious to learn if he had formed
any theory to account for the singular business which
had brought us to Surrey.
Harley had excused himself directly we had left the
study, stating that he wished to get to the village post-
office in time to send a telegram to London. Our host
had suggested a messenger, but this, as well as the offer
of a car, Harley had declined, saying that the exercise
would aid reflection. Nevertheless, I was surprised to
find his room empty, for I could not imagine why the
sending of a telegram should have detained him so long.
Dusk was falling, and viewed from the open window
the Tudor garden below looked very beautiful, part of it
lying in a sort of purplish shadow and the rest being
mystically lighted as though viewed through a golden
veil. To the whole picture a sort of magic quality was
added by a speck of high-light which rested upon the
face of the old sun-dial.
I thought that here was a fit illustration for a fairy
tale; then I remembered the Colonel's account of how he


88 Bat tfing
had awakened in the act of entering this romantic
plaisance, and I was touched anew by an unrestfulness,
by a sense of the uncanny.
I observed a book lying upon the dressing table, and
concluding that it was one which Harley had brought
with him, I took it up, glancing at the title. It was
"Negro Magic," and switching on the light, for there
was a private electric plant in Cray's Folly, I opened the
book at random and began to read.
"The religion of the negro," said this authority, "is
emotional, and more often than not associated with be-
liefs in witchcraft and in the rites known as Voodoo or
Obi Mysteries. It has been endeavoured by some
students to show that these are relics of the Fetish
worship of equatorial Africa, but such a genealogy has
never been satisfactorily demonstrated. The canni-
balistic rituals, human sacrifices, and obscene cere-
monies resembling those of the Black Sabbath of the
Middle Ages, reported to prevail in Haiti and other of
the islands, and by some among the negroes of the
Southern States of America, may be said to rest on
doubtful authority. Nevertheless, it is a fact beyond
doubt that among the negroes both of the West Indies
and the United States there is a widespread belief in
the powers of the Obeah man. A native who believes
himself to have come under the spell of such a sorcerer
will sink into a kind of decline and sometimes die."
At this point I discovered several paragraphs under-
lined in pencil, and concluding that the underlining had
been done by Paul Harley, I read them with particular
care. They were as follows:
"According to Hesketh J. Bell, the term Obeah is
most probably derived from the substantive Obi, a word
used on the East coast of Africa to denote witchcraft,


Obeah 89
sorcery, and fetishism in general. The etymology of
Obi has been traced to a very antique source, stretching
far back into Egyptian mythology. A serpent in the
Egyptian language was called Ob or Aub. Obion is still
the Egyptian name for a serpent. Moses, in the name
of God, forbade the Israelites ever to enquire of the
demon, Ob, which is translated in our Bible: Charmer
or wizard, divinator or sorcerer. The Witch of Endor
is called Oub or Ob, translated Pythonissa; and Oubois
was the name of the basilisk or royal serpent, emblem
of the Sun and an ancient oracular deity of Africa."
A paragraph followed which was doubly underlined,
and pursuing my reading I made a discovery which liter-
ally caused me to hold my breath. This is what I read:
"In a recent contribution to the Occult Review, Mr.
Colin Camber, the American authority, offered some
very curious particulars in support of a theory to show
that whereas snakes and scorpions have always been
recognized as sacred by Voodoo worshippers, the real
emblem of their unclean religion is the bat, especially
the Vampire Bat of South America.
"He pointed out that the symptoms of one dying be-
neath the spell of an Obeah man are closely paralleled
in the cases of men and animals who have suffered from
nocturnal attacks of blood-sucking bats."
I laid the open book down upon the bed. My brain
was in a tumult. The several theories, or outlines of
theories which hitherto I had entertained, were, by these
simple paragraphs, cast into the utmost disorder. I
thought of the Colonel's covert references to a neighbour
whom he feared, of his guarded statement that the devo-
tees of Voodoo were not confined to the West Indies, of
the attack upon him in Washington, of the bat wing
pinned to the door of Cray's Folly .f


go Bat Wing
Incredulously, I thought of my acquaintance of the
Lavender Arms, with his bemused expression and his
magnificent brow; and a great doubt and wonder grew
up in my mind.
I became increasingly impatient for the return of
Paul Harley. I felt that a clue of the first importance
had fallen into my possession; so that when, presently,
as I walked impatiently up and down the room, the
door opened and Harley entered, I greeted him ex-
citedly.
"Harley!" I cried, "Harley! I have learned a most
extraordinary thing!"
Even as I spoke and looked into the keen, eager face,
the expression in Harley's eyes struck me. I recog-
nized that in him, too, intense excitement was pent up.
Furthermore, he was in one of his irritable moods.
But, full of my own discoveries:
"I chanced to glance at this book," I continued,
"whilst I was waiting for you. You have underlined
certain passages."
He stared at me queerly.
"I discovered the book in my own library after you
had gone last night, Knox, and it was then that I
marked the passages which struck me as significant."
"But, Harley," I cried, "the man who is quoted here,
Colin Camber, lives in this very neighbourhood!"
"I know."
"What! You know?"
"I learned it from Inspector Aylesbury of the
County Police half an hour ago."
Harley frowned perplexedly. "Then, why, in
Heaven's name didn't you tell me?" he exclaimed.
"It would have saved me a most disagreeable journey
into Market Hilton."


Obeah 91
"Market Hilton! What, have you been into the
town?"
"That is exactly where I have been, Knox. I
'phoned through to Innes from the village post-office
after lunch to have the car sent down. There is a con-
venient garage by the Lavender Arms."
"But the Colonel has three cars," I exclaimed.
"The horse has four legs," replied Harley, irritably,
"but although I have only two, there are times when
I prefer to use them. I am still wondering why you
failed to mention this piece of information when you had
obtained it."
"My dear Harley," said I, patiently, "how could I
possibly be expected to attach any importance to the
matter? You must remember that at the time I had
never seen this work on negro sorcery."
"No," said Harley, dropping down upon the bed,
"that is perfectly true, Knox. I am afraid I have a
liver at times; a distinct Indian liver. Excuse me, old
man, but to tell you the truth I feel strangely inclined to
pack my bag and leave for London without a moment's
delay."
"What!" I cried.
"Oh, I know you would be sorry to go, Knox,"
said Harley, smiling, "and so, for many reasons, should
I. But I have the strongest possible objection to being
trifled with."
"I am afraid I don't quite understand you, Harley."
"Well, just consider the matter for a moment. Do
you suppose that Colonel Menendez is ignorant of the
fact that his nearest neighbour is a recognized authority
upon Voodoo and allied subjects?"
"You are speaking, of course, of Colin Camber?"
"Of none other."


92 Bat Wing
"No," I replied, thoughtfully, "the Colonel must
know, of course, that Camber resides in the neighbour-
hood."
"And that he knows something of the nature of
Camber's studies his remarks sufficiently indicate,"
added Harley. "The whole theory to account for
these attacks upon his life rests on the premise that
agents of these Obeah people are established in Eng-
land and America. Then, in spite of my direct ques-
tions, he leaves me to find out for myself that Colin
Camber's property practically adjoins his own!"
"Really! Does he reside so near as that?"
"My dear fellow," cried Harley, "he lives at a place
called the Guest House. You can see it from part of the
grounds of Cray's Folly. We were looking at it to-day."
"What! the house on the hillside?"
"That's the Guest House! What do you make of it,
Knox? That Menendez suspects this man is beyond
doubt. Why should he hesitate to mention his name?"
"Well," I replied, slowly, "probably because to
associate practical sorcery and assassination with such
a character would be preposterous."
"But the man is admittedly a student of these things,
Knox."
"He may be, and that he is a genius of some kind I am
quite prepared to believe. But having had the pleasure
of meeting Mr. Colin Camber, I am not prepared to
believe him capable of murder."
I suppose I spoke with a certain air of triumph,
for Paul Harley regarded me silently for a while.
"You seem to be taking this case out of my hands,
Knox," he said. "Whilst I have been systematically
at work racing about the county in quest of informa-
tion you would appear to have blundered further into


Obeah 93
the labyrinth than all my industry has enabled me to
do."
He remained in a very evil humour, and now the
cause of this suddenly came to light.
"I have spent a thoroughly unpleasant afternoon,"
he continued, "interviewing an impossible country
policeman who had never heard of my existence!"
This display of human resentment honestly delighted
me. It was refreshing to know that the omniscient
Paul Harley was capable of pique.
"One, Inspector Aylesbury," he went on, bitterly,
"a large person bearing a really interesting resemblance
to a walrus, but lacking that creature's intelligence. It
was not until Superintendent East had spoken to him
from Scotland Yard that he ceased to treat me as a
suspect. But his new attitude was almost more pro-
voking than the old one. He adopted the manner of a
regimental sergeant-major reluctantly interviewing a
private with a grievance. If matters should so develop
that we are compelled to deal with that fish-faced idiot,
God help us all!"
He burst out laughing, his good humour suddenly
quite restored, and taking out his pipe began indus-
triously to load it.
"I can smoke while I am changing," he said, "and
you can sit there and tell me all about Colin Camber."
I did as he requested, and Harley, who could change
quicker than any man I had ever known, had just
finished tying his bow as I completed my story of the
encounter at the Lavender Arms.
"Hm," he muttered, as I ceased speaking. "At
every turn I realize that without you I should have
been lost, Knox. I am afraid I shall have to change
your duties to-morrow."


94 Bat Wing
"Change my duties? What do you mean?"
"I warn you that the new ones will be less pleasant
than the old! In other words, I must ask you to tear
yourself away from Miss Val Beverley for an hour in the
morning, and take advantage of Mr. Camber's invita-
tion to call upon him."
"Frankly, I doubt if he would acknowledge me."
"Nevertheless, you have a better excuse than I.
In the circumstances it is most important that we should
get in touch with this man."
"Very well," I said, ruefully. "I will do my best.
But you don't seriously think, Harley, that the danger
comes from there?"
Paul Harley took his dinner jacket from the chair
upon which the man had laid it out, and turned to me.
"My dear Knox," he said, "you may remember that
I spoke, recently, of retiring from this profession?"
"You did."
"My retirement will not be voluntary, Knox. I
shall be kicked out as an incompetent ass; for, respect-
ing the connection, if any, between the narrative of
Colonel Menendez, the bat wing nailed to the door of
the house, and Mr. Colin Camber, I have not the
foggiest notion. In this, at last, I have triumphed
over Auguste Dupin. Auguste Dupin never con-
fessed defeat."


CHAPTER X
THE NIGHT WALKER
IF LUNCHEON had seemed extravagant, dinner at
Cray's Folly proved to be a veritable Roman banquet.
To associate ideas of selfishness with Miss Beverley
was hateful, but the more I learned of the luxurious life
of this queer household hidden away in the Surrey Hills
the less I wondered at any one's consenting to share such
exile. I had hitherto counted an American freak din-
ner, organized by a lucky plunger and held at the Cafe
de Paris, as the last word in extravagant feasting. But
I learned now that what was caviare in Monte Carlo
was ordinary fare at Cray's Folly.
Colonel Menende" ""as an epicure with an endless
purse. The excellence of one of the courses upon
which I had commented led to a curious incident.
"You approve of the efforts of my chef?" said the
Colonel.
"He is worthy of his employer," I replied.
Colonel Menendez bowed in his cavalierly fashion and
Madame de Stamer positively beamed upon me.
"You shall speak for him," said the Spaniard. "He
was with me in Cuba, but has no reputation in London.
There are hotels that would snap him up."
I looked at the speaker in surprise.
"Surely he is not leaving you?" I asked.
The Colonel exhibited a momentary embarrass-
ment.


96 Bat Wing
"No, no. No, no," he replied, waving his hand grace-
fully, "I was only thinking that he—" there was a
scarcely perceptible pause—"might wish to better him-
self. You understand?"
I understood only too well; and recollecting the
words spoken by Paul Harley that afternoon, respecting
the Colonel's will to live, I became conscious of an un-
comfortable sense of chill.
If I had doubted that in so speaking he had been
contemplating his own death, the behaviour of Madame
de Stamer must have convinced me. Her complexion
was slightly but cleverly made up, with all the ex-
quisite art of the Parisienne, but even through the
artificial bloom I saw her cheeks blanch. Her face
grew haggard and her eyes burned unnaturally. She
turned quickly aside to address Paul Harley, but I
knew that the significance of this slight episode had not
escaped him.
He was by no means at ease. In the first place, he was
badly puzzled; in the second place, he was angry. He
felt it incumbent upon him to save this man from a
menace which he, Paul Harley, evidently recognized
to be real, although to me it appeared wildly chimerical,
and the very person upon whose active cooperation he
naturally counted not only seemed resigned to his fate,
but by deliberate omission of important data added
to Harley's difficulties.
How much of this secret drama proceeding in Cray's
Folly was appreciated by Val Beverley I could not
determine. On this occasion, I remember, she was
simply but perfectly dressed and, in my eyes, seemed
the most sweetly desirable woman I had ever known.
Realizing that I had already revealed my interest in the
girl, I was oddly self-conscious, and a hundred times


The Night Walker 97
during the progress of dinner I glanced across at Har-
ley, expecting to detect his quizzical smile. He was very
stern, however, and seemed more reserved than usual.
He was uncertain of his ground, I could see. He re-
sented the understanding which evidently existed be-
tween Colonel Menendez and Madame de Starrier, and
to which, although his aid had been sought, he was not
admitted.
It seemed to me, personally, that an almost palpable
shadow lay upon the room. Although, save for this
one lapse, our host throughout talked gaily and enter-
tainingly, I was obsessed by a memory of the expression
which I had detected upon his face that morning, the
expression of a doomed man.
What, in Heaven's name, I asked myself, did it all
mean? If ever I saw the fighting spirit looking out of
any man's eyes, it looked out of the eyes of Don Juan
Sarmiento Menendez. Why, then, did he lie down to
the menace of this mysterious Bat Wing, and if he
counted opposition futile, why had he summoned Paul
Harley to Cray's Folly?
With the passing of every moment I sympathized
more fully with the perplexity of my friend, and no
longer wondered that even his highly specialized facul-
ties had failed to detect an explanation.
Remembering Colin Camber as I had seen him at the
Lavender Arms, it was simply impossible to suppose
that such a man as Menendez could fear such a man as
Camber. True, I had seen the latter at a disadvantage,
and I knew well enough that many a genius has been
also a drunkard. But although I was prepared to find
that Colin Camber possessed genius, I found it hard to
believe that this was of a criminal type. That such a
character could be the representative of some remote


98 Bat Wing
negro society was an idea too grotesque to be enter-
tained for a moment.
I was tempted to believe that his presence in the
neighbourhood of this haunted Cuban was one of those
strange coincidences which in criminal history have
sometimes proved so tragic for their victims.
Madame de Stamer, avoiding the Colonel's glances, L
which were pathetically apologetic, gradually recovered'
herself, and:
"My dear," she said to Val Beverley, "you look
perfectly sweet to-night. Don't you think she looks
perfectly sweet, Mr. Knox?"
Ignoring a look of entreaty from the blue-gray eyes:
"Perfectly," I replied.
"Oh, Mr. Knox," cried the girl, "why do you en-
courage her? She says embarrassing things like that
every time I put on a new dress."
Her reference to a new dress set me speculating again
upon the apparent anomaly of her presence at Cray's
Folly. That she was not a professional "companion"
was clear enough. I assumed that her father had left
her suitably provided for, since she wore such expen-
sively simple gowns. She had a delightful trick of
blushing when attention was focussed upon her, and
said Madame de Stamer:
"To be able to blush like that I would give my string
of pearls—no, half of it."
"My dear Marie," declared Colonel Menendez, "I
have seen you blush perfectly."
"No, no," Madame disclaimed the suggestion with one of those Bernhardt gestures, "I blushed my last
blush when my second husband introduced me to my
first husband's wife."
"Madame!" exclaimed Val Beverley, "how can you


The Night Walker 99
say such things?" She turned to me. "Really, Mr.
Knox, they are all fables."
"In fables we renew our youth," said Madame.
"Ah," sighed Colonel Menendez; "our youth, our
youth."
"Why sigh, Juan, why regret?" cried Madame, im-
mediately. "Old age is only tragic to those who have
never been young."
She directed a glance toward him as she spoke those
words, and as I had felt when I had seen his tragic face
on the veranda that morning I felt again in detecting
this look of Madame de Stamer's. The yearning yet
selfless love which it expressed was not for my eyes to
witness.
"Thank God, Marie," replied the Colonel, and
gallantly kissed his hand to her, "we have both been
young, gloriously young."
When, at the termination of this truly historic din-
ner, the ladies left us:
"Remember, Juan," said Madame, raising her white,
jewelled hand, and holding the fingers characteristically
curled, "no excitement, no billiards, no cards."
Colonel Menendez bowed deeply, as the invalid
wheeled herself from the room, followed by Miss
Beverley. My heart was beating delightfully, for in
the moment of departure the latter had favoured me
with a significant glance, which seemed to say, "I am
looking forward to a chat with you presently."
"Ah," said Colonel Menendez, when we three men
found ourselves alone, "truly I am blessed in the
autumn of my life with such charming companionship.
Beauty and wit, youth and discretion. Is he not a
happy man who possesses all these?"
"He should be," said Harley, gravely.


loo Bat Wing
The saturnine Pedro entered with some wonderful
crusted port, and Colonel Menendez offered cigars.
"I believe you are a pipe-smoker," said our courteous
host to Harley, "and if this is so, I know that you will
prefer your favourite mixture to any cigar that ever
was rolled."
"Many thanks," said Harley, to whom no more
delicate compliment could have been paid.
He was indeed an inveterate pipe-smoker, and only
rarely did he truly enjoy a cigar, however choice its
pedigree. With a sigh of content he began to fill his
briar. His mood was more restful, and covertly I
watched him studying our host. The night remained
very warm and one of the two windows of the dining
room, which was the most homely apartment in Cray's
Folly, was wide open, offering a prospect of sweeping
velvet lawns touched by the magic of the moonlight.
A short silence fell, to be broken by the Colonel.
"Gentlemen," he said, "I trust you do not regret
your fishing excursion?"
"I could cheerfully pass the rest of my days in such
ideal surroundings," replied Paul Harley.
I nodded in agreement.
"But," continued my friend, speaking very deliber-
ately, "I have to remember that I am here upon busi-
ness, and that my professional reputation is perhaps at
stake."
He stared very hard at Colonel Menendez.
"I have spoken with your butler, known as Pedro,
and with some of the other servants, and have learned
all that there is to be learned about the person un-
known who gained admittance to the house a month
ago, and concerning the wing of a bat, found attached
to the door more recently."


The Night Walker 101
"And to what conclusion have you come?" asked
Colonel Menendez, eagerly.
He bent forward, resting his elbows upon his knees,
a pose which he frequently adopted. He was smoking
a cigar, but his total absorption in the topic under dis-
cussion was revealed by the fact that from a pocket in
his dinner jacket he had taken out a portion of tobacco,
had laid it in a slip of rice paper, and was busily rolling
one of his eternal cigarettes.
"I might be enabled to come to one," replied Harley,
"if you would answer a very simple question."
"What is this question?"
"It is this—Have you any idea who nailed the bat's
wing to your door?"
Colonel Menendez's eyes opened very widely, and his
face became more aquiline than ever.
"You have heard my story, Mr. Harley," he replied,
softly. "If I know the explanation, why do I come to
you?"
Paul Harley puffed at his pipe. His expression did
not alter in the slightest.
"I merely wondered if your suspicions tended in the
direction of Mr. Colin Camber," he said.
"Colin Camber!"
As the Colonel spoke the name either I became victim
of a strange delusion or his face was momentarily con-
vulsed. If my senses served me aright then his pro-
nouncing of the words "Colin Camber" occasioned him
positive agony. He clutched the arms of his chair,
striving, I thought, to retain composure, and in this he
succeeded, for when he spoke again his voice was quite
normal.
"Have you any particular reason for your remark,
Mr. Harley?"


The Night Walker 103
I offered her a cigarette, which she accepted, and as I
was lighting it with elaborate care, every moment find-
ing a new beauty in her charming face, Pedro again
appeared and addressed some remark in Spanish to
Madame.
"My chair, Pedro," she said; "I will come at once."
The Spanish butler wheeled the chair across to the
settee, and lifting her with an ease which spoke of long
practice, placed her amidst the cushions where she spent
so many hours of her life.
"I know you will excuse me, dear," she said to Val
Beverley, "because I feel sure that Mr. Knox will do
his very best to make up for my absence. Presently,
I shall be back."
Pedro holding the door open, she went wheeling out,
and I found myself alone with Val Beverley.
At the time I was much too delighted to question
the circumstances which had led to this tete-a-tete, but
had I cared to give the matter any consideration, it
must have presented rather curious features. The call
first of host and then of hostess was inconsistent with
the courtesy of the master of Cray's Folly, which, like
the appointments of his home and his mode of life, was
elaborate. But these ideas did not trouble me at the
moment.
Suddenly, however, indeed before I had time to
speak, the girl started and laid her hand upon my arm.
"Did you hear something?" she whispered, "a queer
sort of sound?"
"No," I replied, "what kind of sound?"
"An odd sort of sound, almost like—the flapping of
wings."
I saw that she had turned pale, I saw the confirma-
tion of something which I had only partly realized


104 Bat Wing
before: that her life at Cray's Folly was a constant fight
against some haunting shadow. Her gaiety, her
lightness, were but a mask. For now, in those wide-
open eyes, I read absolute horror.
"Miss Beverley," I said, grasping her hand reas-
suringly, "you alarm me. What has made you so
nervous to-night?"
"To-night!" she echoed, "to-night? It is every
night. If you had not come—" she corrected herself—
"if someone had not come, I don't think I could have
stayed. I am sure I could not have stayed."
"Doubtless the attempted burglary alarmed you?"
I suggested, intending to sooth her fears.
"Burglary?" She smiled unmirthfully. "It was no
burglary."
"Why do you say so, Miss Beverley?"
"Do you think I don't know why Mr. Harley is
here?" she challenged. "Oh, believe me, I know—I
know. I, too, saw the bat's wing nailed to the door,
Mr. Knox. You are surely not going to suggest that
this was the work of a burglar?"
I seated myself beside her on the settee.
"You have great courage," I said. "Believe me, I
quite understand all that you have suffered."
"Is my acting so poor?" she asked, with a pathetic
smile.
"No, it is wonderful, but to a sympathetic observer
only acting, nevertheless."
I noted that my presence reassured her, and was much
comforted by this fact.
"Would you like to tell me all about it," I con-
tinued; "or would this merely renew your fears?"
"I should like to tell you," she replied in a low voice,
glancing about her as if to make sure that we were alone.


The Night Walker 105
"Except for odd people, friends, I suppose, of the
Colonel's, we have had so few visitors since we have
been at Cray's Folly. Apart from all sorts of queer
happenings which really"— she laughed nervously—
"may have no significance whatever, the crowning
mystery to my mind is why Colonel Menendez should
have leased this huge house."
"He does not entertain very much, then?"
"Scarcely at all. The 'County'—do you know what
I mean by the 'County ?'—began by receiving him with
open arms and ended by sending him to Coventry. His
lavish style of entertainment they labelled 'swank'—
horrible word but very expressive! They concluded
that they did not understand him, and of everything
they don't understand they disapprove. So after the
first month or so it became very lonely at Cray's Folly.
Our foreign servants—there are five of them alto-
gether—got us a dreadfully bad name. Then, little
by little, a sort of cloud seemed to settle on everything.
The Colonel made two visits abroad, I don't know
exactly where he went, but on his return from the first
visit Madame de Stamer changed."
"Changed?—in what way?"
"I am afraid it would be hopeless to try to make you
understand, Mr. Knox, but in some subtle way she
changed. Underneath all her vivacity she is a tragic
woman, and—oh, how can I explain?" Val Beverley
made a little gesture of despair.
"Perhaps you mean," I suggested, "that she seemed
to become even less happy than before?"
"Yes," she replied, looking at me eagerly. "Has
Colonel Menendez told you anything to account for
it?"
"Nothing," I said. "He has left us strangely in


106 Bat Wing
the dark. But you say he went abroad on a second and
more recent occasion?"
"Yes, not much more than a month ago. And after
that, somehow or other, matters seemed to come to a
head. I confess I became horribly frightened, but to
have left would have seemed like desertion, and Ma-
dame de Stamer has been so good to me."
"Did you actually witness any of the episodes which
took place about a month ago?"
Val Beverley shook her head.
"I never saw anything really definite," she replied.
"Yet, evidently you either saw or heard something
which alarmed you."
"Yes, that is true, but it is so difficult to explain."
"Could you try to explain?"
"I will try if you wish, for really I am longing to
talk to someone about it. For instance, on several
occasions I have heard footsteps in the corridor outside
my room."
"At night?"
"Yes, at night."
"Strange footsteps?"
She nodded.
"That is the uncanny part of it. You know how
familiar one grows with the footsteps of persons living
in the same house? Well, these footsteps were quite
unfamiliar to me."
"And you say they passed your door?"
"Yes. My rooms are almost directly overhead.
And right at the end of the corridor, that is on the south-
east corner of the building, is Colonel Menendez's
bedroom, and facing it a sort of little smoke-room. It
was in this direction that the footsteps went."
"To Colonel Menendez's room?"


The Night Walker 107
"Yes. They were light, furtive footsteps."
"This took place late at night?"
"Quite late, long after everyone had retired."
She paused, staring at me with a sort of embarrass-
ment, and presently:
"Were the footsteps those of a man or a woman?"
I asked.
"Of a woman. Someone, Mr. Knox," she bent for-
ward, and that look of fear began to creep into her
eyes again, "with whose footsteps I was quite unfa-
miliar."
"You mean a stranger to the house?"
"Yes. Oh, it was uncanny." She shuddered. "The
first time I heard it I had been lying awake listening. I
was nervous. Madame de Stamer had told me that
morning that the Colonel had seen someone lurking
about the lawns on the previous night. Then, as I lay
awake listening for the slightest sound, I suddenly
detected these footsteps; and they paused—right out-
side my door."
"Good heavens!" I exclaimed. "What did you do?"
"Frankly, I was too frightened to do anything. I
just lay still with my heart beating horribly, and pres-
ently they passed on, and I heard them no more."
"Was your door locked?"
"No." She laughed nervously. "But.it has been
locked every night since then!"
"And these sounds were repeated on other nights?"
"Yes, I have often heard them, Mr. Knox. What
makes it so strange is that all the servants sleep out in
the west wing, as you know, and Pedro locks the com-
municating door every night before retiring."
"It is certainly strange," I muttered.
"It is horrible," declared the girl, almost in a whisper.


io8 Bat Wing
"For what can it mean except that there is someone in
Cray's Folly who is never seen during the daytime?"
"But that is incredible."
"It is not so incredible in a big house like this. Be-
sides, what other explanation can there be?"
"There must be one," I said, reassuringly. "Have
you spoken of this to Madame de Stamer?"
"Yes."
Val Beverley's expression grew troubled.
"Had she any explanation to offer?"
"None. Her attitude mystified me very much.
Indeed, instead of reassuring me, she frightened me
more than ever by her very silence. I grew to dread
the coming of each night. Then—" she hesitated
again, looking at me pathetically—"twice I have been
awakened by a loud cry."
"What kind of cry?"
"I could not tell you, Mr. Knox. You see I have
always been asleep when it has come, but I have sat up
trembling and dimly aware that what had awakened
me was a cry of some kind."
"You have no idea from whence it proceeded?"
"None whatever. Of course, all these things may
seem trivial to you, and possibly they can be explained
in quite a simple way. But this feeling of something
pending has grown almost unendurable. Then, I
don't understand Madame and the Colonel at all."
She suddenly stopped speaking and flushed with
embarrassment.
"If you mean that Madame de Stamer is in love with
her cousin, I agree with you," I said, quietly.
"Oh, is it so evident as that?" murmured Val Bever-
ley. She laughed to cover her confusion. "I wish
I could understand what it all means."


The Night Walker 109
At this point our tete-a-tete was interrupted by the
return of Madame de Stamer.
"Oh, la la!" she cried, "the Colonel must have
allowed himself to become too animated this evening.
He is threatened with one of his attacks and I have
insisted upon his immediate retirement. He makes his
apologies, but knows you will understand."
I expressed my concern, and:
"I was unaware that Colonel Menendez's health was
impaired," I said.
"Ah," Madame shrugged characteristically. "Juan
has travelled too much of the road of life on top speed,
Mr. Knox." She snapped her white fingers and
grimaced significantly. "Excitement is bad for him."
She wheeled her chair up beside Val Beverley, and
taking the girl's hand patted it affectionately.
"You look pale to-night, my dear," she said. "All
this bogey business is getting on your nerves, eh?"
"Oh, not at all," declared the girl. "It is very
mysterious and annoying, of course."
"But M. Paul Harley will presently tell us what
it is all about," concluded Madame. "Yes, I trust so.
We want no Cuban devils here at Cray's Folly."
I had hoped that she would speak further of the
matter, but having thus apologized for our host's
absence, she plunged into an amusing account of
Parisian society, and of the changes which five years
of war had brought about. Her comments, although
brilliant, were superficial, the only point I recollect
being her reference to a certain Baron Bergmann, a
Swedish diplomat, who, according to Madame, had the
longest nose and the shortest memory in Paris, so that
in the cold weather, "he even sometimes forgot to blow
his nose."


no Bat Wing
Her brightness I thought was almost feverish. She
chattered and laughed and gesticulated, but on this
occasion she was overacting. Underneath all her
vivacity lay something cold and grim.
Harley rejoined us in half an hour or so, but I could
see that he was as conscious of the air of tension as I
was. All Madame's high spirits could not enable
her to conceal the fact that she was anxious to retire.
But Harley's evident desire to do likewise surprised me
very greatly; for from the point of view of the investi-
gation the day had been an unsatisfactory one. I
knew that there must be a hundred and one things
which my friend desired to know, questions which
Madame de Stamer could have answered. Neverthe-
less, at about ten o'clock we separated for the night,
and although I was intensely anxious to talk to Harley,
his reticent mood had descended upon him again, and:
"Sleep well, Knox," he said, as he paused at my door.
"I may be awakening you early."
With which cryptic remark and not another word he
passed on and entered his own room.


CHAPTER XI
THE SHADOW ON THE BLIND
PERHAPS it was childish on my part, but I
accepted this curt dismissal very ill-humour-
edly. That Harley, for some reason of his
own, wished to be alone, was evident enough, but I
resented being excluded from his confidence, even
temporarily. It would seem that he had formed a
theory in the prosecution of which my cooperation was
not needed. And what with profitless conjectures
concerning its nature, and memories of Val Beverley's
pathetic parting glance as we had bade one another
good-night, sleep seemed to be out of the question, and
I stood for a long time staring out of the open window.
The weather remained almost tropically hot, and
the moon floated in a cloudless sky. I looked down
upon the closely matted leaves of the box hedge, which
rose to within a few feet of my window, and to the
left I could obtain a view of the close-hemmed court-
yard before the doors of Cray's Folly. On the right
the yews began, obstructing my view of the Tudor
garden, but the night air was fragrant, and the out-
look one of peace.
After a time, then, as no sound came from the ad-
joining room, I turned in, and despite all things was
soon fast asleep.
Almost immediately, it seemed, I was awakened.
In point of fact, nearly four hours had elapsed. A hand
in


H2 Bat Wing
grasped my shoulder, and I sprang up in bed with a
stifled cry, but:
"It's all right, Knox," came Harley's voice. "Don't
make a noise."
"Harley!" I said. "Harley! what has happened?"
"Nothing, nothing. I am sorry to have to disturb
your beauty sleep, but in the absence of Innes I am
compelled to use you as a dictaphone, Knox. I like to
record impressions while they are fresh, hence my
having awakened you."
"But what has happened?" I asked again, for my
brain was not yet fully alert.
"No, don't light up!" said Harley, grasping my
wrist as I reached out toward the table-lamp.
His figure showed as a black silhouette against the
dim square of the window.
"Why not?"
"Well, it's nearly two o'clock. The light might be
observed."
"Two o'clock?" I exclaimed.
"Yes. I think we might smoke, though. Have
you any cigarettes? I have left my pipe behind."
I managed to find my case, and in the dim light of
the match which I presently struck I saw that Paul
Harley's face was very fixed and grim. He seated him-
self on the edge of my bed, and:
"I have been guilty of a breach of hospitality, Knox,"
he began. "Not only have I secretly had my own car
sent down here, but I have had something else sent, as
well. I brought it in under my coat this evening."
"To what do you refer, Harley?"
"You remember the silken rope-ladder with bamboo
rungs which I brought from Hongkong on one occa-
sion?"


The Shadow on the Blind 113
"Yes."
"Well, I have it in my bag now."
"But, my dear fellow, what possible use can it be
to you at Cray's Folly?"
"It has been of great use," he returned, shortly.
"It enabled me to descend from my window a couple of
hours ago, and to return again quite recently without
disturbing the household. Don't reproach me, Knox.
I know it is a breach of confidence, but so is the be-
haviour of Colonel Menendez."
"You refer to his reticence on certain points?"
"I do. I have a reputation to lose, Knox, and if an
ingenious piece of Chinese workmanship can save it, it
shall be saved."
"But, my dear Harley, why should you want to leave
the house secretly at night?"
Paul Harley's cigarette glowed in the dark, then:
"My original object," he replied, "was to endeavour
to learn if any one were really watching the place. For
instance, I wanted to see if all lights were out at the
Guest House."
"And were they?" I asked, eagerly.
"They were. Secondly," he continued, "I wanted to
convince myself that there were no nocturnal prowlers
from within or without."
"What do you mean by within or without?"
"Listen, Knox." He bent toward me in the dark,
grasping my shoulder firmly. "One window in Cray's
Folly was lighted up."
"At what hour?"
"The light is there yet."
That he was about to make some strange revelation
I divined. I detected the fact, too, that he believed
this revelation would be unpleasant to me; and in this


114 Bat Wing
I found an explanation of his earlier behaviour. He
had seemed distraught and ill at ease when he had
joined Madame de Stamer, Miss Beverley, and myself
in the drawing room. I could only suppose that this
and the abrupt parting with me outside my door had
been due to his holding a theory which he had pro-
posed to put to the test before confiding it to me. I
remember that I spoke very slowly as I asked him the
question:
"Whose is the lighted window, Harley?"
"Has Colonel Menendez taken you into a little
snuggery or smoke-room which faces his bedroom in the
southeast corner of the house?"
"No, but Miss Beverley has mentioned the room."
"Ah. Well, there is a light in that room, Knox."
"Possibly the Colonel has not retired?"
"According to Madame de Stamer he went to bed
several hours ago, you may remember."
"True," I murmured, fumbling for the significance
of his words.
"The next point is this," he resumed. "You saw
Madame retire to her own room, which, as you know, is
on the ground floor, and I have satisfied myself that the
door communicating with the servants' wing is locked."
"I see. But to what is all this leading, Harley?"
"To a very curious fact, and the fact is this: The
Colonel is not alone."
I sat bolt upright.
"What?" I cried.
"Not so loud," warned Harley.
"But, Harley"
"My dear fellow, we must face facts. I repeat, the
Colonel is not alone."
"Why do you say so?"


The Shadow on the Blind 115
"Twice I have seen a shadow on the blind of the
smoke-room."
"His own shadow, probably."
Again Paul Harley's cigarette glowed in the darkness.
"I am prepared to swear," he replied, "that it was
the shadow of a woman."
"Harley"
"Don't get excited, Knox. I am dealing with the
strangest case of my career, and I am jumping to no
conclusions. But just let us look at the circumstances
judicially. The whole of the domestic staff we may
dismiss, with the one exception of Mrs. Fisher, who, so
far as I can make out, occupies the position of a sort of
working housekeeper, and whose rooms are in the corner
of the west wing immediately facing the kitchen gar-
den. Possibly you have not met Mrs. Fisher, Knox,
but I have made it my business to interview the whole
of the staff and I may say that Mrs. Fisher is a short,
stout old lady, a native of Kent, I believe, whose out-
line in no way corresponds to that which I saw upon the
blind. Therefore, unless the door which communi-
cates with the servants' quarters was unlocked again
to-night—to what are we reduced in seeking to explain
the presence of a woman in Colonel Menendez's room?
Madame de Stamer, unassisted, could not possibly have
mounted the stairs."
"Stop, Harley!" I said, sternly. "Stop."
He ceased speaking, and I watched the steady glow of
his cigarette in the darkness. It lighted up his bronzed
face and showed me the steely gleam of his eyes.
"You are counting too much on the locking of the
door by Pedro," I continued, speaking very deliber-
ately. "He is a man I would trust no farther than I
could see him, and if there is anything dark underlying


116 Bat Wing
i
this matter you depend that he is involved in it. But
the most natural explanation, and also the most simple,
is this—Colonel Menendez has been taken seriously ill,
and someone is in his room in the capacity of a nurse."
"Her behaviour was scarcely that of a nurse in a
sick-room," murmured Harley.
"For God's sake tell me the truth," I said. "Tell
me all you saw."
"I am quite prepared to do so, Knox. On three
occasions, then, I saw the figure of a woman, who
wore some kind of loose robe, quite clearly silhouetted
upon the linen blind. Her gestures strongly resembled
those of despair."
"Of despair?"
"Exactly. I gathered that she was addressing some-
one, presumably Colonel Menendez, and I derived a
strong impression that she was in a condition of abject
despair."
"Harley," I said, "on your word of honour did you
recognize anything in the movements, or in the outline
of the figure, by which you could identify the woman?"
"I did not," he replied, shortly. "It was a woman
who wore some kind of loose robe, possibly a kimono.
Beyond that I could swear to nothing, except that it was
not Mrs. Fisher."
We fell silent for a while. What Paul Harley's
thoughts may have been I know not, but my own were
strange and troubled. Presently I found my voice
again, and:
"I think, Harley," I said, "that I should report to
you something which Miss Beverley told me this
evening."
"Yes?" said he, eagerly. "I am anxious to hear
anything which may be of the slightest assistance.


The Shadow on the Blind 117
You are no doubt wondering why I retired so abruptly
to-night. My reason was this: I could see that you
were full of some story which you had. learned from Miss
Beverley, and I was anxious to perform my tour of
inspection with a perfectly unprejudiced mind."
"You mean that your suspicions rested upon an in-
mate of Cray's Folly?"
"Not upon any particular inmate, but I had early
perceived a distinct possibility that these manifesta-
tions of which the Colonel complained might be due
to the agency of someone inside the house. That this
person might be no more than an accomplice of the
prime mover I also recognized, of course. But what
did you learn to-night, Knox?"
I repeated Val Beverley's story of the mysterious
footsteps and of the cries which had twice awakened
her in the night.
"Hm," muttered Harley, when I had ceased speaking.
"Assuming her account to be true"
"Why should you doubt it?" I interrupted, hotly.
"My dear Knox, it is my business to doubt every-
thing until I have indisputable evidence of its truth.
I say, assuming her story to be true, we find ourselves
face to face with the fantastic theory that some woman
unknown is living secretly in Cray's Folly."
"Perhaps in one of the tower rooms," I suggested,
eagerly. "Why, Harley, that would account for the
Colonel's marked unwillingness to talk about this part
of the house."
My sight was now becoming used to the dusk, and I
saw Harley vigorously shake his head.
"No, no," he replied; "I have seen all the tower
rooms. I can swear that no one inhabits them. Be-
sides, is it feasible?"


118 Bat Wing
"Then whose were the footsteps that Miss Beverley
heard?"
"Obviously those of the woman who, at this present
moment, so far as I know, is in the smoking-room with
Colonel Menendez."
I sighed wearily.
"This is a strange business, Harley. I begin to
think that the mystery is darker than I ever supposed."
We fell silent again. The weird cry of a night hawk
came from somewhere in the valley, but otherwise
everything within and without the great house seemed
strangely still. This stillness presently imposed its
influence upon me, for when I spoke again, I spoke in a
low voice.
"Harley," I said, "my imagination is playing me
tricks. I thought I heard the fluttering of wings at
that moment."
"Fortunately, my imagination remains under con-
trol," he replied, grimly; "therefore I am in a position to
inform you that you did hear the fluttering of wings.
An owl has just flown into one of the trees immediately
outside the window."
"Oh," said I, and uttered a sigh of relief.
"It is extremely fortunate that my imagination is,so
carefully trained," continued Harley; "otherwise,
when the woman whose shadow I saw upon the blind
to-night raised her arms in a peculiar fashion, I could
not well have failed to attach undue importance to the
shape of the shadow thus created."
"What was the shape of the shadow, then?"
"Remarkably like that of a bat."
He spoke the words quietly, but in that still dark-
ness, with dawn yet a long way off, they possessed the
power which belongs to certain chords in music, and to


The Shadow on the Blind 119
certain lines in poetry. I was chilled unaccountably,
and I peopled the empty corridors of Cray's Folly with
I know not what uncanny creatures; nightmare fancies
conjured up from memories of haunted manors.
Such was my mood, then, when suddenly Paul Har-
ley stood up. My eyes were growing more and more
used to the darkness, and from something strained in
his attitude I detected the fact that he was listening
intently.
He placed his cigarette on the table beside the
bed and quietly crossed the room. I knew from his
silent tread that he wore shoes with rubber soles.
Very quietly he turned the handle and opened the door.
"What is it, Harley?" I whispered.
Dimly I saw him raise his hand. Inch by inch he
opened the door. My nerves in a state of tension, I
sat there watching him, when without a sound he
slipped out of the room and was gone. Thereupon I
arose and followed as far as the doorway.
Harley was standing immediately outside in the
corridor. Seeing me, he stepped back, and:
"Don't move, Knox," he said, speaking very close
to my ear. "There is someone downstairs in the hall.
Wait for me here."
With that he moved stealthily off, and I stood
there, my heart beating with unusual rapidity, listen-
ing—listening for a challenge, a cry, a scuffle—I knew
not what to expect.
Cavernous and dimly lighted, the corridor stretched
away to my left. On the right it branched sharply in
the direction of the gallery overlooking the hall.
The seconds passed, but no sound rewarded my alert
listening—until, very faintly, but echoing in a muffled,
church-like fashion around that peculiar building,


120 Bat Wing
came a slight, almost sibilant sound, which I took to
be the gentle closing of a distant door.
Whilst I was still wondering if I had really heard
this sound or merely imagined it:
"Who goes there?" came sharply in Harley's voice.
I heard a faint click, and knew that he had shone
the light of an electric torch down into the hall.
I hesitated no longer, but ran along to join him.
As I came to the head of the main staircase, however,
I saw him crossing the hall below. He was making in
the direction of the door which shut off the servants'
quarters. Here he paused, and I saw him trying the
handle. Evidently the door was locked, for he turned
and swept the white ray all about the place. He tried
several other doors, but found them all to be locked,
for presently he came upstairs again, smiling grimly
when he saw me there awaiting him.
"Did you hear it, Knox?" he said.
"A sound like the closing of a door?"
Paul Harley nodded.
"It was the closing of a door," he replied; "but
before that I had distinctly heard a stair creak. Some-
one crossed the hall then, Knox. Yet, as you perceive
for yourself, it affords no hiding-place."
His glance met and challenged mine.
"The Colonel's visitor has left him," he murmured.
"Unless something quite unforeseen occurs, I shall
throw up the case to-morrow."


CHAPTER XII
MORNING MISTS
THE man known as Manoel awakened me in the
morning. Although characteristically Spanish,
he belonged to a more sanguine type than the
butler and spoke much better English than Pedro. He
placed upon the table beside me a tray containing a
small pot of China tea, an apple, a peach, and three
slices of toast.
"How soon would you like your bath, sir?" he en-
quired.
"In about half an hour," I replied.
"Breakfast is served at 9.30 if you wish, sir," con-
tinued Manoel, "but the ladies rarely come down.
Would you prefer to breakfast in your room?"
"What is Mr. Harley doing?"
"He tells me that he does not take breakfast, sir.
Colonel Don Juan Menendez will be unable to ride
with you this morning, but a groom will accompany
you to the heath if you wish, which is the best place
for a gallop. Breakfast on the south veranda is very
pleasant, sir, if you are riding first."
"Good," I replied, for indeed I felt strangely heavy;
"it shall be the heath, then, and breakfast on the
veranda."
Having drunk a cup of tea and dressed I went into
Harley's room, to find him propped up in bed reading
the Daily Telegraph and smoking a cigarette.


122 Bat Wing
"I am off for a ride," I said. "Won't you join me?"
He fixed his pillows more comfortably, and slowly
shook his head.
"Not a bit of it, Knox," he replied, "I find exercise
to be fatal to concentration."
"I know you have weird theories on the subject, but
this is a beautiful morning."
"I grant you the beautiful morning, Knox, but here
you will find me when you return."
I knew him too well to debate the point, and ac-
cordingly I left him to his newspaper and cigarette,
and made my way downstairs. A housemaid was busy
in the hall, and in the courtyard before the monastic
porch a negro groom awaited me with two fine mounts.
He touched his hat and grinned expansively as I ap-
peared. A spirited young chestnut was saddled for
my use, and the groom, who informed me that his
name was Jim, rode a smaller, Spanish horse, a beauti-
ful but rather wicked-looking creature.
We proceeded down the drive. Pedro was standing
at the door of the lodge, talking to his surly-looking
daughter. He saluted me very ceremoniously as I
passed.
Pursuing an easterly route for a quarter of a mile
or so, we came to a narrow lane which branched off to
the left in a tremendous declivity. Indeed it presented
the appearance of the dry bed of a mountain torrent,
and in wet weather a torrent this lane became, so I was
informed by Jim. It was very rugged and dangerous,
and here we dismounted, the groom leading the horses.
Then we were upon a well-laid main road, and along
this we trotted on to a tempting stretch of heathland.
There was a heavy mist, but the scent of the heather in
the early morning was delightful, and there was some-


. Morning Mists 123
thing exhilarating in the dull thud of the hoofs upon the
springy turf. The negro was a natural horseman, and
he seemed to enjoy the ride every bit as much as I did.
For my own part I was sorry to return. But the
vapours of the night had been effectively cleared from
my mind, and when presently we headed again for the
hills, I could think more coolly of those problems which
overnight had seemed well-nigh insoluble.
We returned by a less direct route, but only at one
point was the path so steep as that by which we had
descended. This brought us out on a road above and
about a mile to the south of Cray's Folly. At one point,
through a gap in the trees, I found myself looking down
at the gray stone building in its setting of velvet lawns
and gaily patterned gardens. A faint mist hovered like
smoke over the grass.
Five minutes later we passed a queer old Jacobean
house, so deeply hidden amidst trees that the early
morning sun had not yet penetrated to it, except for
one upstanding gable which was bathed in golden light.
I should never have recognized the place from that
aspect, but because of its situation I knew that this
must be the Guest House. It seemed very gloomy and
dark, and remembering how I was pledged to call upon
Mr. Colin Camber that day, I apprehended that my
reception might be a cold one.
Presently we left the road and cantered across the
valley meadows, in which I had walked on the previous
day, reentering Cray's Folly on the south, although we
had left it on the north. We dismounted in the stable-
yard, and I noted two other saddle horses in the stalls,
a pair of very clean-looking hunters, as well as two
perfectly matched ponies, which, Jim informed me,
Madame de Stamer sometimes drove in a chaise.


124 BatWing
Feeling vastly improved by the exercise, I walked
around to the veranda, and through the drawing room to
the hall. Manoel was standing there, and:
"Your bath is ready, sir," he said.
I nodded and went upstairs. It seemed to me that
life at Cray's Folly was quite agreeable, and such was
my mood that the shadowy Bat Wing menace found no
place in it save as the chimera of a sick man's imagina-
tion. One thing only troubled me: the identity of the
woman who had been with Colonel Menendez on the
previous night.
However, such unconscious sun worshippers are we
all that in the glory of that summer morning I realized
that life was good, and I resolutely put behind me the
dark suspicions of the night.
I looked into Harley's room ere descending, and, as
he had assured me would be the case, there he was,
propped up in bed, the Daily Telegraph upon the floor
beside him and the Times now open upon the cover-
let.
"I am ravenously hungry," I said, maliciously, "and
am going down to eat a hearty breakfast."
"Good," he returned, treating me to one of his
quizzical smiles. "It is delightful to know that some-
one is happy."
Manoel had removed my unopened newspapers from
the bedroom, placing them on the breakfast table on
the south veranda; and I had propped the Mail up
before me and had commenced to explore a juicy grape-
fruit when something, perhaps a faint breath of per-
fume, a slight rustle of draperies, or merely that inde-
finable aura which belongs to the presence of a woman,
drew my glance upward and to the left. And there
was Val Beverley smiling down at me.


Morning Mists 125
"Good morning, Mr. Knox," she said. "Oh, please
don't interrupt your breakfast. May I sit down and
talk to you?"
"I should'be most annoyed if you refused."
She was dressed in a simple summery frock which
left her round, sun-browned arms bare above the elbow,
and she laid a huge bunch of roses upon the table beside
my tray.
"I am the florist of the establishment," she explained.
"These will delight your eyes at luncheon. Don't you
think we are a lot of barbarians here, Mr. Knox?"
"Why?"
"Well, if I had not taken pity upon you, here you
would have sat over a lonely breakfast just as though
you were staying at a hotel."
"Delightful," I replied, "now that you are here."
"Ah," said she, and smiled roguishly, "that after-
thought just saved you."
"But honestly," I continued, "the hospitality of
Colonel Menendez is true hospitality. To expect one's
guests to perform their parlour tricks around a break-
fast table in the morning is, on the other hand, true
barbarism."
"I quite agree with you," she said, quietly. "There
is a perfectly delightful freedom about the Colonel's
way of living. Only some horrid old Victorian prude
could possibly take exception to it. Did you enjoy
your ride?"
"Immensely," I replied, watching her delightedly as
she arranged the roses in carefully blended groups.
Her fingers were very delicate and tactile, and such
is the character which resides in the human hand, that
whereas the gestures of Madame de Stamer were curi-
ously stimulating, there was something in the move-


126 Bat Wing
i.
ment of Val Beverley's pretty fingers amidst the blooms
which I found most soothing.
"I passed the Guest House on my return," I con-
tinued. "Do you know Mr. Camber?"
She looked at me in a startled way.
"No," she replied, "I don't. Do you?"
"I met him by chance yesterday."
"Really? I thought he was quite unapproachable;
a sort of ogre."
"On the contrary, he is a man of great charm."
"Oh," said Val Beverley, "well, since you have said
so, I might as well admit that he has always seemed a
charming man to me. I have never spoken to him, but
he looks as though he could be very fascinating. Have
you met his wife?"
"No. Is she also American?"
My companion shook her head.
"I have no idea," she replied. "I have seen her
several times of course, and she is one of the daintiest
creatures imaginable, but I know nothing about her
nationality."
"She is young, then?"
"Very young, I should say. She looks quite a child."
"The reason of my interest," I replied, "is that Mr.
Camber asked me to call upon him, and I propose to do
so later this morning."
"Really?"
Again I detected the startled expression upon Val
Beverley's face.
"That is rather curious, since you are staying here."
"Why?"
"Well," she looked about her nervously, "I don't
know the reason, but the name of Mr. Camber is
anathema in Cray's Folly."


128 Bat Wing
that something in the tone of my voice had put her on
her guard I could see.
"I am naturally curious," I replied, gravely.
"No," she repeated, "I have not heard the sound for
some time now. Perhaps, after all, my fears were
imaginary."
There was a constraint in her manner which was all
too obvious, and when presently, laden with the spoil
of the rose garden, she gave me a parting smile and
hurried into the house, I sat there very still for a while,
and something of the brightness had faded from the
morning, nor did life seem so glad a business as I had
thought it quite recently.


CHAPTER XIII
AT THE GUEST HOUSE
I PRESENTED myself at the Guest House at half-
past eleven. My mental state was troubled and
indescribably complex. Perhaps my own uneasy
thoughts were responsible for the idea, but it seemed
to me that the atmosphere of Cray's Folly had changed
yet again. Never before had I experienced a sense of
foreboding like that which had possessed me throughout
the hours of this bright summer's morning.
Colonel Menendez had appeared about nine o'clock,
exhibiting no traces of illness that were perceptible to
me. But this subtle change which I had detected, or
thought I had detected, was more marked in Madame
Stamer than in any one. In her strange, still eyes I
had read what I can only describe as a stricken look.
It had none of the heroic resignation and acceptance
of the inevitable which had so startled me in the face
of the Colonel on the previous day. There was a bit-
terness in it, as of one who has made a great but un-
willing sacrifice, and again I had found myself questing
that faint but fugitive memory, conjured up by the
eyes of Madame de Stamer.
Never had the shadow lain so darkly upon the house
as it lay this morning with the sun blazing gladly out of
a serene sky. The birds, the flowers, and Mother Earth
herself bespoke the joy of summer. But beneath the
roof of Cray's Folly dwelt a spirit of unrest, of appre-
129


130 BatWing
hension. I thought of that queer lull which comes be-
fore a tropical storm, and I thought I read acknowledge
of pending evil even in the glances of the servants.
I had spoken to Harley of this fear. He had smiled
and nodded grimly, saying:
"Evidently, Knox, you have forgotten that to-night
is the night of the full moon."
It was in no easy state of mind, then, that I opened
the gate and walked up to the porch of the Guest House.
That the solution of the grand mystery of Cray's Folly
would automatically resolve these lesser mysteries I felt
assured, and I was supported by the idea that a clue
might lie here.
The house, which from the roadway had an air of
neglect, proved on close inspection to be well tended,
but of an unprosperous aspect. The brass knocker,
door knob, and letter box were brilliantly polished,
whilst the windows and the window curtains were
spotlessly clean. But the place cried aloud for the
service of the decorator, and it did not need the deduc-
tive powers of a Paul Harley to determine that Mr.
Colin Camber was in straitened circumstances.
In response to my ringing the door was presently
opened by Ah Tsong. His yellow face exhibited no
trace of emotion whatever. He merely opened the
door and stood there looking at me.
"Is Mr. Camber at home?" I enquired.
"Master no got," crooned Ah Tsong.
He proceeded quietly to close the door again.
"One moment," I said, "one moment. I wish, at any
rate, to leave my card."
Ah Tsong allowed the door to remain open, but:
"No usee palaber so fashion," he said. "No feller
comee here. Sabby?"


At the Guest House" 131
"I savvy, right enough," said I, "but all the same
you have got to take my card in to Mr. Camber."
I handed him a card as I spoke, and suddenly ad-
dressing him in "pidgin," of which, fortunately, I had
a smattering:
"Belong very quick, Ah Tseng," I said, sharply, "or
plenty big trouble, savvy?"
"Sabby, sabby," he muttered, nodding his head;
and leaving me standing in the porch he retired along
the sparsely carpeted hall.
This hall was very gloomily lighted, but I could see
several pieces of massive old furniture and a number of
bookcases, all looking incredibly untidy.
Rather less than a minute elapsed, I suppose, when
from some place at the farther end of the hallway Mr.
Camber appeared in person. He wore a threadbare
dressing gown, the silken collar and cuffs of which were
very badly frayed. His hair was dishevelled and
palpably he had not shaved this morning.
He was smoking a corncob pipe, and he slowly ap-
proached, glancing from the card which he held in his
hand in my direction, and then back again at the card, i
with a curious sort of hesitancy. In spite of his untidy,
appearance I could not fail to mark the dignity of his i
bearing, and the almost arrogant angle at which he
held his head.
"Mr—er—Malcolm Knox?" he began, fixing his
large eyes upon me with a look in which I could detect
no sign of recognition. "I am advised that you de-
sire to see me?"
"That is so, Mr. Camber," I replied, cheerily. "I
fear I have interrupted your work, but as no other op-
portunity may occur of renewing an acquaintance which
for my part I found extremely pleasant"


132 Bat Wing
"Of renewing an acquaintance, you say, Mr. Knox?"
"Yes."
"Quite." He looked me up and down critically.
"To be sure, we have met before, I understand?"
"We met yesterday, Mr. Camber, you may recall.
Having chanced to come across a contribution of yours
of the Occult Review, I have availed myself of your in-
vitation to drop in for a chat."
His expression changed immediately and the sombre
eyes lighted up.
"Ah, of course," he cried, "you are a student of the
transcendental. Forgive my seeming rudeness, Mr.
Knox, but indeed my memory is of the poorest. Pray
come in, sir; your visit is very welcome."
He held the door wide open, and inclined his head in
a gesture of curious old-world courtesy which was
strange in so young a man. And congratulating myself
upon the happy thought which had enabled me to win
such instant favour, I presently found myself in a study
which I despair of describing.
In some respects it resembled the lumber room of an
antiquary, whilst in many particulars it corresponded
to the interior of one of those second-hand bookshops
which abound in the neighbourhood of Charing Cross
Road. The shelves with which it was lined literally
bulged with books, and there were books on the floor,
books on the mantelpiece, and books, some open and
some shut, some handsomely bound, and some having
the covers torn off, upon every table and nearly every
chair in the place.
Volume seven of Burton's monumental "Thousand
Nights and a Night" lay upon a littered desk before
which I presumed Mr. Camber had been seated at the
time of my arrival. Some wet vessel, probably a cup of


At the Guest House 133
tea or coffee, had at some time been set down upon the
page at which this volume was open, for it was marked
with a dark brown ring. A volume of Frazer's "Golden
Bough" had been used as an ash tray, apparently, since
the binding was burned in several places where ciga-
rettes had been laid upon it.
In this interesting, indeed unique apartment, East
met West, unabashed by Kipling's dictum. Roman
tear-vases and Egyptian tomb-offerings stood upon the
same shelf as empty Bass bottles; and a hideous wooden
idol from the South Sea Islands leered on eternally,
unmoved by the presence upon his distorted head of a
soft felt hat made, I believe, in Philadelphia.
Strange implements from early British barrows
found themselves in the company of Thugee daggers.
There were carved mammals' tusks and snake emblems
from Yucatan; against a Chinese ivory model of the
Temple of Ten Thousand Buddhas rested a Coptic
crucifix made from a twig of the Holy Rose Tree.
Across an ancient Spanish coffer was thrown a Persian
rug into which had been woven the monogram of Shah-
Jehan and a text from the Koran. It was easy to see
that Mr. Colin Camber's studies must have imposed a
severe strain upon his purse.
"Sit down, Mr. Knox, sit down," he said, sweeping
a vellum-bound volume of Eliphas Levi from a chair,
and pushing the chair forward. "The visit of a fellow-
student is a rare pleasure for me. And you find me,
sir," he seated himself in a curious, carved chair which
stood before the desk, "you find me engaged upon
enquiries, the result of which will constitute chapter
forty-two of my present book. Pray glance at the
contents of this little box."
He placed in my hands a small box of dark wood,


134
evidently of great age. It contained what looked like
a number of shrivelled beans.
Having glanced at it curiously I returned it to him,
shaking my head blankly.
"You are puzzled?" he said, with a kind of boyish
triumph, which lighted up his face, which rejuvenated
him and gave me a glimpse of another man. "These,
sir," he touched the shrivelled objects with a long,
delicate forefinger "are seeds of the sacred lotus of An-
cient Egypt. They were found in the tomb of a priest."
"And in what way do they bear upon the enquiry to
which you referred, Mr. Camber?"
"In this way," he replied, drawing toward him a
piece of newspaper upon which rested a mound of
coarse shag. "I maintain that the vital principle
survives within them. Now, I propose to cultivate
these seeds, Mr. Knox. Do you grasp the significance
of this experiment?"
He knocked out the corn-cob upon the heel of his
slipper and began to refill the hot bowl with shag from
the newspaper at his elbow.
"From a physical point of view, yes," I replied,
slowly. "But I should not have supposed such an
experiment to come within the scope of your own par-
ticular activities, Mr. Camber."
"Ah," he returned, triumphantly, at the same time
stuffing tobacco into the bowl of the corn-cob, "it is for
this very reason that chapter forty-two of my book must
prove to be the hub of the whole, and the whole, Mr.
Knox, I am egotist enough to believe, shall establish a
new focus for thought, an intellectual Rome bestriding
and uniting the Seven Hills of Unbelief."
He lighted his pipe and stared at me complacently.
Whilst I had greatly revised my first estimate of


136 Bat Wing
Gautama Buddha, born of a royal line, established the
creed of human equity. In what way did these magi-
cians, for a miracle-worker is nothing but a magician,
differ from ordinary men? In one respect only: They
had learned to control that force which we have to-day
termed Will."
As he spoke those words Colin Camber directed upon
me a glance from his luminous eyes which frankly
thrilled me. The bemused figure of the Lavender
Arms was forgotten. I perceived before me a man of
power, a man of extraordinary knowledge and intellect-
ual daring. His voice, which was very beautiful, to-
gether with his glance, held me enthralled.
"What we call Will," he continued, "is what the
Ancient Egyptians called Khu. It is not mental: it is a
property of the soul. At this point, Mr. Knox, I depart
from the laws generally accepted by my contemporaries.
I shall presently propose to you that the eye of the
Divine Architect literally watches every creature upon
the earth."
"Literally?"
"Literally, Mr. Knox. We need no images, no
idols, no paintings. All power, all light comes from one
source. That source is the sun! The sun controls
Will, and the Will is the soul. If there were a cavern
in the earth so deep that the sun could never reach it,
and if it were possible for a child to be born in that
cavern, do you know what that child would be?"
"Almost certainly blind," I replied; "beyond which
my imagination fails me."
"Then I will inform you, Mr. Knox. It would be
a demon."
"What!" I cried, and was momentarily touched
with the fear that this was a brilliant madman.


At the Guest House 137
"Listen," he said, and pointed with the stem of his
pipe. "Why, in all ancient creeds, is Hades depicted
as below? For the simple reason that could such a spot
exist and be inhabited, it must be sunless, when it could
only be inhabited by devils; and what are devils but
creatures without souls?"
"You mean that a child born beyond reach of the
sun's influence would have no soul?"
"Such is my meaning, Mr. Knox. Do you begin to
see the importance of my experiment with the lotus
seeds?"
I shook my head slowly. Whereupon, laying his
corn-cob upon the desk, Colin Camber burst into a fit of
boyish laughter, which seemed to rejuvenate him again,
which wiped out the image of the magus completely,
and only left before me a very human student of
strange subjects, and withal a fascinating companion.
"I fear, sir," he said, presently, "that my steps have
led me farther into the wilderness than it has been
your fate to penetrate. The whole secret of the uni-
verse is contained in the words Day and Night, Dark-
ness and Light. I have studied both the light and the
darkness, deliberately and without fear. A new age
is about to dawn, sir, and a new age requires new be-
liefs, new truths. Were you ever in the country of the
HillDyaks?"
This abrupt question rather startled me, but:
"You refer to the Borneo hill-country?"
"Precisely."
"No, I was never there."
"Then this little magical implement will be new to
you," said he.
Standing up, he crossed to a cabinet littered untidily
with all sorts of strange-looking objects, carved bones,


138 Bat Wing
queer little inlaid boxes, images, untidy manuscripts,
and what-not.
He took up what looked like a very ungainly tobacco-
pipe, made of some rich brown wood, and, handing it
to me:
"Examine this, Mr. Knox," he said, the boyish
smile of triumph returning again to his face.
I did as he requested and made no discovery of note.
The thing clearly was not intended for a pipe. The
stem was soiled and, moreover, there was carving inside
the bowl. So that presently I returned it to him,
shaking my head.
"Unless one should be informed of the properties of
this little instrument," he declared, "discovery by
experiment is improbable. Now, note."
He struck the hollow of the bowl upon the palm of his
hand, and it delivered a high, bell-like note which
lingered curiously. Then:
"Note again."
He made a short striking motion with the thing,
similar to that which one would employ who had
designed to jerk something out of the bowl. And at the
very spot on the floor where any object contained in the
bowl would have fallen, came a reprise of the bell note!
Clearly, from almost at my feet, it sounded, a high,
metallic ring.
He struck upward, and the bell-note sounded on the
ceiling; to the right, and it came from the window; in
my direction, and the tiny bell seemed to ring beside
my ear! I will honestly admit that I was startled, but:
"Dyak magic," said Colin Camber; "one of nature's
secrets not yet discovered by conventional Western
science. It was known to the Egyptian priesthood, of
course; hence the Vocal Memnon. It was known to


At the Guest House 139
Madame Blavatsky, who employed an 'astral bell';
and it is known to me."
He returned the little instrument to its place upon
the cabinet.
"I wonder if the fact will strike you as significant,"
said he, "that the note which you have just heard
can only be produced between sunrise and sunset?"
Without giving me time to reply:
"The most notable survival of black magic—that is,
the scientific employment of darkness against light—
is to be met with in Haiti and other islands of the West
Indies."
"You are referring to Voodooism?" I said, slowly.
He nodded, replacing his pipe between his teeth.
"A subject, Mr. Knox, which I investigated ex-
haustively some years ago."
I was watching him closely as he spoke, and a shadow,
a strange shadow, crept over his face, a look almost of
exaltation—of mingled sorrow and gladness which I
find myself quite unable to describe.
"In the West Indies, Mr. Knox," he continued, in a
strangely altered voice, "I lost all and found all. Have
you ever realized, sir, that sorrow is the price we must
pay for joy?"
I did not understand his question, and was still
wondering about it when I heard a gentle knock, the
door opened, and a woman came in.


CHAPTER XIV
YSOLA CAMBER
I FIND it difficult, now, to recapture my first impres-
sion of that meeting. About the woman, hesitating
before me, there was something unexpected, some-
thing wholly unfamiliar. She belonged to a type with
which I was not acquainted. Nor was it wonderful
that she should strike me in this fashion, since my
wanderings, although fairly extensive, had never in-
cluded the West Indies, nor had I been to Spain; and
this girl—I could have sworn that she was under
twenty—was one of those rare beauties, a golden
Spaniard.
That she was not purely Spanish I learned later.
She was small, and girlishly slight, with slender
ankles and exquisite little feet; indeed I think she had
the tiniest feet of any woman I had ever met. She
wore a sort of white pinafore over her dress, and her
arms, which were bare because of the short sleeves of
her frock, were of a child-like roundness, whilst her
creamy skin was touched with a faint tinge of bronze,
as though, I remember thinking, it had absorbed and
retained something of the Southern sunshine. She
had the swaying carriage which usually belongs to a
tall woman, and her head and neck were Grecian in
poise.
Her hair, which was of a curious dull gold colour,
presented a mass of thick, tight curls, and her beauty
140


Ysola Camber 143
which, curiously enough, was accentuated by the un-
shaven chin. I recognized that refusal would be re-
garded as a rebuff, and therefore:
"You are very kind," I said.
Colin Camber inclined his head gravely and court-
eously.
"We are very glad to have you with us, Mr. Knox,"
he replied.
He clapped his hands, and, silent as a shadow, Ah
Tsong appeared. I noted that although it was Camber
who had summoned him, it was to Mrs. Camber that
the Chinaman turned for orders. I had thought his
yellow face incapable of expression, but as his oblique
eyes turned in the direction of the girl I read in them a
sort of dumb worship, such as one sees in the eyes of a
dog.'
x She spoke to him rapidly in Chinese.
"Hoi, hoi," he muttered, "hoi. hoi," nodded his head,
and went out.
I saw that Colin Camber had detected my interest,
for:
"Ah Tsong is really my wife's servant," he explained.
"Oh," she said in a low voice, and looked at me
earnestly, "Ah Tsong nursed me when I was a little
baby so high." She held her hand about four feet
from the floor and laughed gleefully. "Can you
imagine what a funny little thing I was?"
"You must have been a wonder-child, Mrs. Camber,"
I replied with sincerity; "and Ah Tsong has remained
with you ever since?"
"Ever since," she echoed, shaking her head in a
vaguely pathetic way. "He will never leave me, do you
think, Colin?"
"Never," replied her husband; "you are all he loves


144 Bat Wing
in the world. A case, Mr. Knox," he turned to me, "of
deathless fidelity rarely met with nowadays and only
possible, perhaps, in its true form in an Oriental."
Mrs. Camber having seated herself upon one of the
few chairs which was not piled with books, her husband
had resumed his place by the writing desk, and I sought
in vain to interpret the glances which passed between
them.
The fact that these two were lovers none could have
mistaken. But here again, as at Cray's Folly, I de-
tected a shadow. I felt that something had struck at
the very root of their happiness, in fact, I wondered if
they had been parted, and were but newly reunited,
for there was a sort of constraint between them, the
more marked on the woman's side than on the man's.
I wondered how long they had been married, but felt
that it would have been indiscreet to ask.
Even as the idea occurred to me, however, an op-
portunity arose of learning what I wished to know. I
heard a bell ring, and:
"There is someone at the door, Colin," said Mrs.
Camber.
"I will go," he replied. "Ah Tsong has enough to
do."
Without another word he stood up and walked out of
the room.
"You see," said Mrs. Camber, smiling in her naive way, "we only have one servant, except Ah Tsong, hei
name is Mrs. Powis. She is visiting her daughter who
is married. We made the poor old lady take a holiday.
"It is difficult to imagine you burdened with house-
hold responsibilities, Mrs. Camber," I replied. "Please
forgive me but I cannot help wondering how long you
have been married?"


146 Bat Wing
"Because of me."
"You mean that you do not wish to settle in Amer, ica?"
"I could not—not where he comes from. They
would not have me."
Her eyes grew misty, and she quickly lowered her
lashes.
"Would not have you?" I exclaimed. "I don't
understand."
"No?" she said, and smiled up at me very gravely.
"It is simple. I am a Cuban, one, as they say, of an
inferior race—and of mixed blood."
She shook her golden head as if to dismiss the
subject, and stood up, as Camber entered, followed by
Ah Tsong bearing a tray of refreshments.
Of the ensuing conversation I remember nothing.
My mind was focussed upon the one vital fact that Mrs.
Camber was a Cuban Creole. Dimly I felt that here
was the missing link for which Paul Harley was groping.
For it was in Cuba that Colin Camber had met his
wife, it was from Cuba that the menace of Bat Wing
came.
What could it mean? Surely it was more than a
coincidence that these two families, both associated with
the West Indies, should reside within sight of one an-
other in the Surrey Hills. Yet, if it were the result of
design, the design must be on the part of Colonel
Menendez, since the Cambers had occupied the Guest
House before he had leased Cray's Folly.
I know not if I betrayed my absentmindedness
during the time that I was struggling vainly with these
maddening problems, but presently, Mrs. Camber
having departed about her household duties, I found
myself walking down the garden with her husband.


Ysola Camber 147
"This is the summer house of which I was speaking,
Mr. Knox," he said, and I regret to state that I retained
no impression of his having previously mentioned the
subject. "During the time that Sir James Appleton
resided at Cray's Folly, I worked here regularly in the
summer months. It was Sir James, of course, who laid
out the greater part of the gardens and who rescued the
property from the state of decay into which it had fal-
len."
I aroused myself from the profitless reverie in which
I had become lost. We were standing before a sort of
arbour which marked the end of the grounds of the
Guest House. It overhung the edge of a miniature
ravine, in which, over a pebbly course, a little stream
pursued its way down the valley to feed the lake in the
grounds of Cray's Folly.
From this point of vantage I could see the greater
part of Colonel Menendez's residence. I had an un-
obstructed view of the tower and of the Tudor
garden.
"I abandoned my work-shop," pursued Colin Cam-
ber, "when the—er—the new tenant took up his
residence. I work now in the room in which you found
me this morning."
He sighed, and turning abruptly, led the way back
to the house, holding himself very erect, and presenting
a queer figure in his threadbare dressing gown.
It was now a perfect summer's day, and I commented
upon the beauty of the old garden, which in places was
bordered by a crumbling wall.
"Yes, a quaint old spot," said Camber. "I thought
at one time, because of the name of the house, that it
might have been part of a monastery or convent. This
was not the case, however. It derives its name from a


148 Bat Wing
certain Sir Jaspar Guest, who flourished, I believe,
under King Charles of merry memory."
"Nevertheless," I added, "the Guest House is a
charming survival of more spacious days."
"True," returned Colin Camber, gravely. "Here it
is possible to lead one's own life, away from the noisy
world," he sighed again wearily. "Yes, I shall regret
leaving the Guest House."
"What! You are leaving?"
"I am leaving as soon as I can find another residence,
suited both to my requirements and to my slender purse.
But these domestic affairs can be of no possible interest
to you. I take it, Mr. Knox, that you will grant my
wife and myself the pleasure of your company at
lunch?"
"Many thanks," I replied, "but really I must return
to Cray's Folly."
As I spoke the words I had moved a little ahead at
a point where the path was overgrown by a rose bush,
for the garden was somewhat neglected.
"You will quite understand," I said, and turned.
Never can I forget the spectacle which I beheld.
Colin Camber's peculiarly pale complexion had
assumed a truly ghastly pallor, and he stood with tightly
clenched hands, glaring at me almost insanely.
"Mr. Camber," I cried, with concern, "are you
unwell?"
He moistened his dry lips, and:
"You are returning—to Cray's Folly?" he said,
speaking, it seemed, with difficulty.
"I am, sir. I am staying with Colonel Menendez."
"Ah!"
He clutched the collar of his pyjama jacket and
wrenched so strongly that the button was torn off.


Ysola Camber 149
His passion was incredible, insane. The power of
speech had almost left him.
"You are a guest of—of Devil Menendez," he whis-
pered, and the speaking of the name seemed almost to
choke him. "Of—Devil Menendez. You—you—are
a spy. You have stolen my hospitality—you have
obtained access to my house under false pretences.
God! if I had known!"
"Mr. Camber," I said, sternly, and realized that I, too,
had clenched my fists, for the man's language was
grossly insulting, "you forget yourself."
"Perhaps I do," he muttered, thickly; "and there-
fore"—he raised a quivering forefinger—"go! If you
have any spark of compassion in your breast, go!
Leave my house."
Nostrils dilated, he stood with that quivering
finger outstretched, and now having become as speech-
less as he, I turned and walked rapidly up to the
house.
"Ah Tsong! Ah Tsong!" came a cry from behind
me in tones which I can only describe as hysterical—
"Mr. Knox's hat and stick. Quickly."
As I walked in past the study door the Chinaman
came to meet me, holding my hat and cane. I took
them from him without a word, and, the door being
held open by Ah Tsong, walked out on to the road.
My heart was beating rapidly. I did not know what
to think nor what to do. This ignominious dismissal
afforded an experience new to me. I was humiliated,
mortified, but above all, wildly angry.
How far I had gone on my homeward journey I
cannot say, when the sound of quickly pattering foot-
steps intruded upon my wild reverie. I stopped,
turned, and there was Ah Tsong almost at my heels.


150 Bat Wing
"BUnga chit flom lilly missee," he said, and held the
note toward me.
I hesitated, glaring at him in a way that must have
been very unpleasant; but recovering myself I tore
open the envelope, and read the following note, written
in pencil and very shakily:
MR. KNOX.
Please forgive him. If you knew what we have suffered from
Senor Don Juan Menendez, I know you would forgive him. Please,
for my sake.
YSOLA CAMBER.
The Chinaman was watching me, that strangely
pathetic expression in his eyes, and:
"Tell your mistress that I quite understand and will
write to her," I said.
"Hoi, hoi."
Ah Tsong turned, and ran swiftly off, as I pursued
my way back to Cray's Folly in a mood which I shall
not attempt to describe.


CHAPTER XV
UNREST
I SAT in Paul Harley's room. Luncheon was over,
and although, as on the previous day, it had been a
perfect repast, perfectly served, the sense of tension
which I had experienced throughout the meal had made
me horribly ill at ease.
That shadow of which I have spoken elsewhere
seemed to have become almost palpable. In vain I had
ascribed it to a morbid imagination: persistently it
lingered.
Madame de Stamer's gaiety rang more false than
ever. She twirled the rings upon her slender fingers and
shot little enquiring glances all around the table.
This spirit of unrest, from wherever it arose, had com-
municated itself to everybody. Madame's several
bon mots one and all were failures. She delivered
them without conviction like an amateur repeating lines
learned by heart. The Colonel was unusually silent,
eating little but drinking much. There was something
unreal, almost ghastly, about the whole affair; and when
at last Madame de Sta'mer retired, bearing Val Beverley
with her, I felt certain that the Colonel would make
some communication to us. If ever knowledge of por-
tentous evil were written upon a man's face it "was written upon his, as he sat there at the head of the table,
staring straightly before him. However:
"Gentlemen," he said, "if your enquiries here have


152 Bat Wing
led to no result of, shall I say, a tangible character,
at least I feel sure that you must have realized one
thing."
Harley stared at him sternly.
"I have realized, Colonel Menendez," he replied,
"that something is pending."
"Ah!" murmured the Colonel, and he clutched the
edge of the table with his strong brown hands.
"But," continued my friend, "I have realized some-
thing more. You have asked for my aid, and I am
here. Now you have deliberately tied my hands."
"What do you mean, sir?" asked the other, softly.
"I will speak plainly. I mean that you know more
about the nature of this danger than you have ever
communicated to me. Allow me to proceed, if you
please, Colonel Menendez. For your delightful hos-
pitality I thank you. As your guest I could be happy,
but as a professional investigator whose services
have been called upon under most unusual circum-
stances, I cannot be happy and I do not thank you."
Their glances met. Both were angry, wilful, and
self-confident. Following a few moments of silence:
"Perhaps, Mr. Harley," said the Colonel, "you have
something further to say?"
"I have this to say," was the answer: "I esteem your
friendship, but I fear I must return to town without
delay."
The Colonel's jaws were clenched so tightly that I
could see the muscles protruding. He was fighting an
inward battle; then:
"What!" he said, "you would desert me?"
"I never deserted any man who sought my aid."
"I have sought your aid."
"Then accept it!" cried Harley. "This, or allow


Unrest 153
me to retire from the case. You ask me to find an
enemy who threatens you, and you withhold every clue
which could aid me in my search."
"What clue have I withheld?"
Paul Harley stood up.
"It is useless to discuss the matter further, Colonel
Menendez," he said, coldly.
The Colonel rose also, and:
"Mr. Harley," he replied, and his high voice was ill-
controlled, "if I give you my word of honour that I
dare not tell you more, and if, having done so, I beg of
you to remain at least another night, can you refuse me?"
Harley stood at the end of the table watching him.
"Colonel Menendez," he said, "this would appear to
be a game in which my handicap rests on the fact that
I do not know against whom I am pitted. Very well.
You leave me no alternative but to reply that I will
stay."
"I thank you, Mr. Harley. As I fear I am far from
well, dare I hope to be excused if I retire to my room for
an hour's rest?"
Harley and I bowed, and the Colonel, returning our
salutations, walked slowly out, his bearing one of grace
and dignity. So that memorable luncheon terminated,
and now we found ourselves alone and faced with a
problem which, from whatever point one viewed it,
offered no single opening whereby one might hope to
penetrate to the truth.
Paul Harley was pacing up and down the room in a
state of such nervous irritability as I never remembered
to have witnessed in him before.
I had just finished an account of my visit to the
Guest House and of the indignity which had been put
upon me, and:


154 Bat Wing
"Conundrums! conundrums!" my friend exclaimed.
"This quest of Bat Wing is like the quest of heaven,
Knox. A hundred open doors invite us, each one
promising to lead to the light, and if we enter where do
they lead?—to mystification. For instance, Colonel
Menendez has broadly hinted that he looks upon
Colin Camber as an enemy. Judging from your re-
ception at the Guest House to-day, such an enmity,
and a deadly enmity, actually exists. But whereas
Camber has resided here for three years, the Colonel
is a newcomer. We are, therefore, offered the spec-
tacle of a trembling victim seeking the sacrifice. Bah!
it is preposterous."
"If you had seen Colin Camber's face to-day, you
might not have thought it so preposterous."
"But I should, Knox! I should! It is impossible
to suppose that Colonel Menendez was unaware when
he leased Cray's Folly that Camber occupied the
Guest House."
"And Mrs. Camber is a Cuban," I murmured.
"Don't, Knox!" my friend implored. "This case is
driving me mad. I have a conviction that it is going to
prove my Waterloo."
"My dear fellow," I said, "this mood is new to you."
"Why don't you advise me to remember Auguste
Dupin?" asked Harley, bitterly. "That great man,
preserving his philosophical calm, doubtless by this
time would have pieced together these disjointed chies,
and have produced an elegant pattern ready to be
framed and exhibited to the admiring public."
He dropped down upon the bed, and taking his briar
from his pocket, began to load it in a manner which was
almost vicious. I stood watching him and offered no
remark, until, having lighted the pipe, he began to


Unrest 155
smoke. I knew that these "Indian moods" were of
short duration, and, sure enough, presently:
"God bless us all, Knox," he said, breaking into an
amused smile, "how we bristle when someone tries to
prove that we are not infallible! How human we are,
Knox, but how fortunate that we can laugh at our-
selves."
I sighed with relief, for Harley at these times im-
posed a severe strain even upon my easy-going dis-
position.
"Let us go down to the billiard room," he continued.
"I will play you a hundred up. I have arrived at a
point where my ideas persistently work in circles.
The best cure is golf; failing golf, billiards."
The billiard room was immediately beneath us, ad-
joining the last apartment in the east wing, and there
we made our way. Harley played keenly, deliberately,
concentrating upon the game. I was less successful,
for I found myself alternately glancing toward the
door and the open window, in the hope that Val
Beverley would join us. I was disappointed, however.
We saw no more of the ladies until tea-time, and if a
spirit of constraint had prevailed throughout luncheon,
a veritable demon of unrest presided upon the terrace
during tea.
Madame de Stamer made apologies on behalf of the
Colonel. He was prolonging his siesta, but he hoped to
join us at dinner.
"Is the Colonel's heart affected?" Harley asked.
Madame de Stamer shrugged her shoulders and
shook her head, blankly.
"It is mysterious, the state of his health," she re-
plied. "An old trouble, which began years and years
ago in Cuba."


156 Bat Wing
Harley nodded sympathetically, but I could see that
he was not satisfied. Yet, although he might doubt her
explanation, he had noted, and so had I, that Madame
de Stamer's concern was very real. Her slender hands
were strangely unsteady; indeed her condition bordered
on one of distraction.
Harley concealed his thoughts, whatever they may
have been, beneath that mask of reserve which I knew
so well, whilst I endeavoured in vain to draw Val
Beverley into conversation with me.
I gathered that Madame de Stamer had been to visit
the invalid, and that she was all anxiety to return was
a fact she was wholly unable to conceal. There was a
tired look in her still eyes, as though she had under-
taken a task beyond her powers to perform, and, so
unnatural a quartette were we, that when presently she
withdrew I was glad, although she took Val Beverley
with her.
Paul Harley resumed his seat, staring at me with
unseeing eyes. A sound reached us through the draw-
ing room which told us that Madame de Stamer's chair
was being taken upstairs, a task always performed when
Madame desired to visit the upper floors by Manoel
and Pedro's daughter, Nita, who acted as Madame's
maid. These sounds died away, and I thought how
silent everything had become. Even the birds were
still, and presently, my eye being attracted to a black
speck in the sky above, I learned why the feathered
choir was mute. A hawk was hovering loftily overhead.
Noting my upward glance, Paul Harley also raised
his eyes.
"Ah," he murmured, "a hawk. All the birds are
cowering in their nests. Nature is a cruel mistress,
Knox."


CHAPTER XVI
RED EVE
OVER the remainder of that afternoon I will pass
in silence. Indeed, looking backward now, I
cannot recollect that it afforded one incident
worthy of record. But because great things over-
shadow small, so it may be that whereas my recol-
lections of quite trivial episodes are sharp enough up
to a point, my memories from this point onward to the
horrible and tragic happening which I have set myself
to relate are hazy and indistinct. I was troubled by
the continued absence of Val Beverley. I thought
that she was avoiding me by design, and in Harley's
gloomy reticence I could find no shadow of comfort.
We wandered aimlessly about the grounds, Harley
staring up in a vague fashion at the windows of Cray's
Folly; and presently, when I stopped to inspect a very
perfect rose bush, he left me without a word, and I
found myself alone.
Later, as I sauntered toward the Tudor garden, where
I had hoped to encounter Miss Beverley, I heard the
clicking of billiard balls; and there was Harley at the
table, practising fancy shots.
He glanced up at me as I paused by the open window,
stopped to relight his pipe, and then bent over the table
again.
"Leave me alone, Knox," he muttered; "I am not
fit for human society."


158 Bat Wing
i
Understanding his moods so well as I did, I merely
laughed and withdrew.
I strolled around into the library and inspected scores
of books without forming any definite impression of the
contents of any of them. Manoel came in whilst I was
there and I was strongly tempted to send a message to
Miss Beverley, but common sense overcame the inclina-
tion.
When at last my watch told me that the hour for
dressing was arrived, I heaved a sigh of relief. I cannot
say that I was bored, my ill-temper sprang from a
deeper source than this. The mysterious disappear-
ance of the inmates of Cray's Folly, and a sort of brood-
ing stillness which lay over the great house, had utterly
oppressed me.
As I passed along the terrace I paused to admire the
spectacle afforded by the setting sun. The horizon
was on fire from north to south and the countryside was
stained with that mystic radiance which is sometimes
called the Blood of Apollo. Turning, I saw the disk
of the moon coldly rising in the heavens. I thought of
the silent birds and the hovering hawk, and I began my
preparations for dinner mechanically, dressing as an au-
tomaton might dress.
Paul Harley's personality was never more marked
than in his evil moods. His power to fascinate was
only equalled by his power to repel. Thus, although
there was a light in his room and I could hear him mov-
ing about, I did not join him when I had finished dress-
ing, but lighting a cigarette walked downstairs.
The beauty of the night called to me, although as I
stepped out upon the terrace I realized with a sort of
shock that the gathering dusk held a menace, so that I
found myself questioning the shadows and doubting


160 Bat Wing
"Do you really understand?"
"I think I do. Your woman's intuition has told you
that there is something wrong."
"In what way?"
"You are afraid of your thoughts. You can see that
Madame de Stamer and Colonel Menendez are de-
liberately concealing something from Paul Harley,
and you don't know where your duty lies. Am I
right?"
She met my glance for a moment in a startled way,
then:
"Yes," she said, softly; "you are quite right. How
have you guessed?"
"I have tried very hard to understand you," I re-
plied, "and so perhaps up to a point I have suc-
ceeded."
"Oh, Mr. Knox." She suddenly laid her hand upon
my arm. "I am oppressed with such a dreadful fore-
boding, yet I don't know how to explain it to you."
"I understand. I, too, have felt it."
"You have?" She paused, and looked at me eagerly.
"Then it is not just morbid imagination on my part.
If only I knew what to do, what to believe. Really,
I am bewildered. I have just left Madame de
Stamer"
"Yes?" I said, for she had paused in evident doubt.
"Well, she has utterly broken down."
"Broken down?"
"She came to my room and sobbed hysterically for
nearly an hour this afternoon."
"But what was the cause of her grief?"
"I simply cannot understand."
"Is it possible that Colonel Menendez is dangerously
ill?"


Red Eve 163
"Do not encourage her, Mr. Harley," said Madame,
"she is a desperate flirt."
"Oh, Madame," cried Val Beverley and blushed
deeply.
"You know you are, my dear, and you are very wise.
Flirt all your life, but never fall in love. It is fatal,
don't you think so, Mr. Knox?"—turning to me in her
rapid manner.
I looked into her still eyes, which concealed so much.
"Say, rather, that it is Fate," I murmured.
"Yes, that is more pretty, but not so true. If I
could live my life again, M. Knox," she said, for she
sometimes used the French and sometimes the English
mode of address, "I should build a stone wall around my
heart. It could peep over, but no one could ever
reach it."
Oddly enough, then, as it seems to me now, the spirit
of unrest seemed almost to depart for a while, and in the
company of the vivacious Frenchwoman time passed
very quickly up to the moment when Harley and I
walked slowly upstairs to join the Colonel.
During the latter part of dinner an idea had presented
itself to me which I was anxious to mention to Harley,
and:
"Harley," I said, "an explanation of the Colonel's
absence has occurred to me."
"Really!" he replied; "possibly the same one that
has occurred to me."
"What is that?"
Paul Harley paused on the stairs, turning to me.
"You are thinking that he has taken cover from the
danger which he believes particularly to threaten him
to-night?"
"Exactly."


164 Bat Wing
"You may be right," he murmured, proceeding up-
stairs.
He led the way to a little smoke-room which hitherto
I had never visited, and in response to his knock:
"Come in," cried the high voice of Colonel Menendez.
We entered to find ourselves in a small and very cosy
room. There was a handsome oak bureau against one
wall, which was littered with papers of various kinds,
and there was also a large bookcase occupied almost
exclusively by French novels. It occurred to me that
the Colonel spent a greater part of his time in this little
snuggery than in the more formal study below. At the
moment of our arrival he was stretched upon a settee
near which stood a little table; and on this table I
observed the remains of what appeared to me to have
been a fairly substantial repast. For some reason
which I did not pause to analyze at the moment I
noted with disfavour the presence of a bowl of roses
upon the silver tray.
Colonel Menendez was smoking a cigarette, and
Manoel was in the act of removing the tray.
"Gentlemen," said the Colonel, "I have no words in
which to express my sorrow. Manoel, pull up those
armchairs. Help yourself to port, Mr. Harley, and fill
Mr. Knox's glass. I can recommend the cigars in the
long box."
As we seated ourselves:
"I am extremely sorry to find you indisposed, sir,"
said Harley.
He was watching the dark face keenly, and probably
thinking, as I was thinking, that it exhibited no trace of
illness.
Colonel Menendez waved his cigarette gracefully,
settling himself amid the cushions.


Red Eve 165
"An old trouble, Mr. Harley," he replied, lightly;
"a legacy from ancestors who drank too deep of the
wine of life."
"You are surely taking medical advice?"
Colonel Menendez shrugged slightly.
"There is no doctor in England who would under-
stand the case," he replied. "Besides, there is nothing
for it but rest and avoidance of excitement."
"In that event, Colonel," said Harley, "we will not
disturb you for long. Indeed, I should not have con-
sented to disturb you at all, if I had not thought that
you might have some request to make upon this im-
portant night."
"Ah!" Colonel Menendez shot a swift glance in his
direction. "You have remembered about to-night?"
"Naturally."
"Your interest comforts me very greatly, gentlemen,
and I am only sorry that my uncertain health has
made me so poor a host. Nothing has occurred since
your arrival to help you, I am aware. Not that I am
anxious for any new activity on the part of my enemies.
But almost anything which should end this deathly
suspense would be welcome."
He spoke the final words with a peculiar intonation.
I saw Harley watching him closely.
"However," he continued, "everything is in the
hands of Fate, and if your visit should prove futile, I
can only apologize for having interrupted your original
plans. Respecting to-night"—he shrugged—"what can
I say?"
"Nothing has occurred," asked Harley, slowly,
"nothing fresh, I mean, to indicate that the danger
which you apprehend may really culminate to-
night?"


166 Bat Wing
"Nothing fresh, Mr. Harley, unless you yourself
have observed anything."
"Ah," murmured Paul Harley, "let us hope that the
threat will never be fulfilled."
Colonel Menendez inclined his head gravely.
"Let us hope so," he said.
On the whole, he was curiously subdued. He was
most solicitous for our comfort and his exquisite
courtesy had never been more marked. I often think
of him now—his big but graceful figure reclining upon
the settee, whilst he skilfully rolled his eternal ciga-
rettes and chatted in that peculiar, light voice. Be-
fore the memory of Colonel Don Juan Sarmiento
Menendez I sometimes stand appalled. If his Maker
had but endowed him with other qualities of mind
and heart equal to his magnificent courage, then truly
he had been a great man.


168 Bat Wing
Indeed, she was palpably disinclined to retire, but was
carried off by the masterful Madame, who declared
that she looked tired.
I wondered now, as I gazed down into the moon-
bathed gardens, if Harley and I were the only wakeful
members of the household at that hour. I should
have been prepared to wager that there were others. I
thought of the strange footsteps which so often passed
Miss Beverley's room, and I discovered this thought
to be an uncomfortable one.
Normally, I was sceptical enough, but on this night
of the full moon as I stood there at the window, the
horrors which Colonel Menendez had related to us grew
very real in my eyes, and I thought that the mysteries of
Voodoo might conceal strange and ghastly truths.
"The scientific employment of darkness against light."
Colin Camber's words leapt unbidden to my mind; and,
such is the magic of moonlight, they became invested
with a new and a deeper significance. Strange, that
theories which one rejects whilst the sun is shining
should assume a spectral shape in the light of the
moon. ,
Such were my musings, when suddenly I heard a faint
sound as of footsteps crunching upon gravel. I leaned
farther out of the window, listening intently. I could
not believe that Harley would be guilty of such an in-
discretion as this, yet who else could be walking upon
the path below?
As I watched, craning from the window, a tall figure
appeared, and, slowly crossing the gravel path, de-
scended the moss-grown steps to the Tudor garden.
It was Colonel Menendez!
He was bare-headed, but fully dressed as I had seen
him in the smoking-room; and not yet grasping the


Night of the Full Moon 169
portent of his appearance at that hour, but merely
wondering why he had not yet retired, I continued to
watch him. As I did so, something in his gait, some-
thing unnatural in his movements, caught hold of my
mind with a sudden great conviction. He had reached
the path which led to the sun-dial, and with short,
queer, ataxic steps was proceeding in its direction, a
striking figure in the brilliant moonlight which touched
his gray hair with a silvery sheen.
His unnatural, automatic movements told their own
story. He was walking in his sleep! Could it be in
obedience to the call of M'kombo?
My throat grew dry and I knew not how to act.
Unwillingly it seemed, with ever-halting steps, the figure
moved onward. I could see that his fists were tightly
clenched and that he held his head rigidly upright. All
horrors, real and imaginary, which I had ever expe-
rienced, culminated in the moment when I saw this man
of inflexible character, I could have sworn of indomit-
able will, moving like a puppet under the influence of
some unnameable force.
He was almost come to the sun-dial when I deter-
mined to cry out. Then, remembering the shock ex-
perienced by a suddenly awakened somnambulist, and
remembering that the Chinese ladder hung from the
window at my feet, I changed my mind. Checking
the cry upon my lips, I got astride of the window ledge,
and began to grope for the bamboo rungs beneath me.
I had found the first of these, and, turning, had begun
to descend, when:
"Knox! Knox!" came softly from the opening in the
box hedge, "what the devil are you about?"
It was Paul Harley returned from his tour of the
building.


170 Bat Wing
"Harley!" I whispered, descending, "quick! the
Colonel has just gone into the Tudor garden 1"
"What!" There was a note of absolute horror in the
exclamation. "You should have stopped him, Knox,
you should have stopped him!" cried Harley, and with
that he ran off in the same direction.
Disentangling my foot from the rungs of the ladder
which lay upon the ground, I was about to follow, when
it happened—that strange and ghastly thing toward
which^ secretly, darkly, events had been tending.
The crack of a rifle sounded sharply in the stillness,
echoing and re-echoing from wing to wing of Cray's
Folly and then, more dimly, up the wooded slopes be-
yond! Somewhere ahead of me I heard Harley cry out:
"My God, I am too late! They have got him!"
Then, hotfoot, I was making for the entrance to the
garden. Just as I came to it and raced down the steps
I heard another sound the memory of which haunts me
to this day.
Where it came from I had no idea. Perhaps I was
too confused to judge accurately. It might have come
from the house, or from the slopes beyond the house.
But it was a sort of shrill, choking laugh, and it set the
ultimate touch of horror upon a scene macabre which,
even as I write of it, seems unreal to me.
I ran up the path to where Harley was kneeling
beside the sun-dial. Analysis of my emotions at this
moment were futile; I can only say that I had come to a
state of stupefaction. Face downward on the grass,
arms outstretched and fists clenched, lay Colonel
Menendez. I think I saw him move convulsively, but
as I gained his side Harley looked up at me, and be-
neath the tan which he never lost his face had grown
pale. He spoke through clenched teeth.


Night of the Full Moon 171
"Merciful God," he said, "he is shot through the
head."
One glance I gave at the ghastly wound in the base of
the Colonel's skull, and then swayed backward in a sort
of nausea. To see a man die in the heat of battle, a
man one has known and called friend, is strange and
terrible. Here in this moon-bathed Tudor garden it
was a horror almost beyond my powers to endure.
Paul Harley, without touching the prone figure,
stood up. Indeed no examination of the victim was
necessary. A rifle bullet had pierced his brain, and he
lay there dead with his head toward the hills.
I clutched at Harley's shoulder, but he stood rigidly,
staring up the slope past the angle of the tower, to
where a gable of the Guest House jutted out from the
trees.
"Did you hear—that cry?" I whispered, "im-
mediately after the shot?"
"I heard it."
A moment longer he stood fixedly watching, and then:
"Not a wisp of smoke," he said. "You note the
direction in which he was facing when he fell?"
He spoke in a stern and unnatural voice.
"I do. He must have turned half right when he
came to the sun-dial."
"Where were you when the shot was fired?"
"Running in this direction."
"You saw no flash?"
"None."
"Neither did I," groaned Harley; "neither did I.
And short of throwing a cordon round the hills what
can be done? How can I move?"
He had somewhat relaxed, but now as I continued to
clutch his arm, I felt the muscles grow rigid again.


172 Bat Wing
"Look, Knox!" he whispered—"look!"
I followed the direction of his fixed stare, and through
the trees on the hillside a dim light shone out. Some-
one had lighted a lamp in the Guest House.
A faint, sibilant sound drew my glance upward, and
there overhead a bat circled—circled—dipped—and
flew off toward the distant woods. So still was the
night that I could distinguish the babble of the little
stream which ran down into the lake. Then, suddenly,
came a loud flapping of wings. The swans had been
awakened by the sound of the shot. Others had been
awakened, too, for now distant voices became audible,
and then a muffled scream from somewhere within
Cray's Folly.
"Back to the house, Knox," said Harley, hoarsely.
"For God's sake keep the women away. Get Pedro,
and send Manoel for the nearest doctor. It's useless
but usual. Let no one deface his footprints. My
worst anticipations have come true. The local police
must be informed."
Throughout the time that he spoke he continued to
search the moon-bathed landscape with feverish eager-
ness, but except for a faint movement of birds in the
trees, for they, like the swans on the lake, had been
alarmed by the shot, nothing stirred.
"It came from the hillside," he muttered. "Off you
go, Knox."
And even as I started on my unpleasant errand, he
had set out running toward the gate in the southern
corner of the garden.
For my part I scrambled unceremoniously up the
bank, and emerged where the yews stood sentinel beside
the path. I ran through the gap in the box hedge
just as the main doors were thrown open by Pedro.


Night of the Full Moon 173
He started back as he saw me.
"Pedro! Pedro!" I cried, "have the ladies been
awakened?"
"Yes, yes! there is terrible trouble, sir. What has
happened? What has happened?"
"A tragedy," I said, shortly. "Pull yourself to-
gether. Where is Madame de Stamer?"
Pedro uttered some exclamation in Spanish and stood,
pale-faced, swaying before me, a dishevelled figure in a
dressing gown. And now in the background Mrs.
Fisher appeared. One frightened glance she cast in
my direction, and would have hurried across the hall
but I intercepted her, and:
"Where are you going, Mrs. Fisher?" I demanded.
"What has happened here?"
"To Madame, to Madame," she sobbed, pointing
toward the corridor which communicated with Ma-
dame de Stamer's bedchamber.
I heard a frightened cry proceeding from that direc-
tion, and recognized the voice of Nita, the girl who
acted as Madame's maid. Then I heard Val Beverley.
"Go and fetch Mrs. Fisher, Nita, at once—and try
to behave yourself. I have trouble enough."
I entered the corridor and pulled up short. Val
Beverley, fully dressed, was kneeling beside Madame
de Stamer, who wore a kimono over her night-robe,
and who lay huddled on the floor immediately outside
the door of her room!
"Oh, Mr. Knox!" cried the girl, pitifully, and raised
frightened eyes to me. "For God's sake, what has
happened?"
Nita, the Spanish girl, who was sobbing hysterically,
ran along to join Mrs. Fisher.
"I will tell you in a moment," I said, quietly, ren-


174 Bat Wing
dered cool, as one always is, by the need of others.
"But first tell me—how did Madame de Stamer get
here?"
"I don't know, I don't know! I was startled by the
shot. It has awakened everybody. And just as I
opened my door to listen, I heard Madame cry out in
the hall below. I ran down, turned on the light, and
found her lying here. She, too, had been awakened, I
suppose, and was endeavouring to drag herself from her
room when her strength failed her and she swooned.
She is too heavy for me to lift," added the girl, patheti-
cally, "and Pedro is out of his senses, and Nita, who
was the first of the servants to come, is simply hysteri-
cal, as you can see."
I nodded reassuringly, and stooping, lifted the
swooning woman. She was much heavier than I
should have supposed, but, Val Beverley leading the
way, I carried her into her apartment and placed her
upon the bed.
"I will leave her to you," I said. "You have cour-
age, and so I will tell you what has happened."
"Yes, tell me, oh, tell me!"
She laid her hands upon my shoulders appealingly,
and looked up into my eyes in a way that made me long
to take her in my arms and comfort her, an insane
longing which I only crushed with difficulty.
"Someone has shot Colonel Menendez," I said, in a
low voice, for Mrs. Fisher had just entered.
"You mean"
I nodded.
"Oh!"
Val Beverley opened and closed her eyes, clutching
at me dizzily for a moment, then:
"I think," she whispered, "she must have known,


Night of the Full Moon 175
and that was why she swooned. Oh, my God! how
horrible."
I made her sit down in an armchair, and watched her
anxiously, but although every speck of colour had faded
from her cheeks, she was splendidly courageous, and
almost immediately she smiled up at me, very wanly,
but confidently.
"I will look after her," she said. "Mr. Harley will
need your assistance."
When I returned to the hall I found it already filled
with a number of servants incongruously attired.
Carter the chauffeur, who lived at the lodge, was just
coming in at the door, and:
"Carter," I said, "get a car out quickly, and bring
the nearest doctor. If there is another man who can
drive, send him for the police. Your master has been
shot."


Inspector Aylesbury of Market Hilton 177
uncomfortable—that I was seated upon the couch on
which the Colonel had reclined. Only one other was
present, Dr. Rolleston of Mid-Hatton, a slight, fair
man with a brisk, military manner, acquired perhaps
during six years of war service. He was standing
beside me smoking a cigarette.
"I have taken all the necessary particulars concerning
the position of the body," continued the Inspector,
"the nature of the wound, contents of pockets, etc.,
and I now turn to you, Mr. Harley, as the first person
to discover the murdered man."
Paul Harley lay back in the armchair watching the
speaker.
"Before we come to what happened here to-night
I should like to be quite clear about your own position
in the matter, Mr. Harley. Now"—Inspector Ayles-
bury raised one finger in forensic manner—"now,
you visited me yesterday afternoon, Mr. Harley, and
asked for certain information regarding the neighbour-
hood."
"I did," said Harley, shortly.
"The questions which you asked me were," con-
tinued the Inspector, slowly and impressively, "did I
know of any negro or coloured people living in, or about,
Mid-Hatton, and could I give you a list of the residents
within a two-mile radius of Cray's Folly. I gave you
the information which you required, and now it is your
turn to give me some. Why did you ask those ques-
tions?"
"For this reason," was the reply—"I had been
requested by Colonel Menendez to visit Cray's Folly,
accompanied by my friend, Mr. Knox, in order that I
might investigate certain occurrences which had taken
place here."


178 Bat Wing
"Oh," said the Inspector, raising his eyebrows, "I
see. You were here to make investigations?"
"Yes."
"And these occurrences, will you tell me what they
were?"
"Simple enough in themselves," replied Harley.
"Someone broke into the house one night."
"Broke into the house?"
"Undoubtedly."
"But this was never reported to us."
"Possibly not, but someone broke in, nevertheless.
Secondly, Colonel Menendez had detected someone
lurking about the lawns, and thirdly, the wing of a bat
was nailed to the main door."
Inspector Aylesbury lowered his eyebrows and con-
centrated a frowning glance upon the speaker.
"Of course, sir," he said, "I don't want to jump to
conclusions, but you are not by any chance trying to be
funny at a time like this?"
"My sense of humour has failed me entirely," re-
plied Harley. "I am merely stating bald facts in
reply to your questions."
"Oh, I see."
The Inspector cleared his throat.
"Someone broke into Cray's Folly, then, a fact which
was not reported to me, a suspicious loiterer was seen
in the grounds, again not reported, and someone played
a silly practical joke by nailing the wing of a bat, you
say, to the door. Might I ask, Mr. Harley, why you
mention this matter? The other things are serious, but
why you should mention the trick of some mischievous
boy at a time like this I can't imagine."
"No," said Harley, wearily, "it does sound absurd,
Inspector; I quite appreciate the fact. But, you see,


Inspector Aylesbury of Market Hilton 179
Colonel Menendez regarded it as the most significant
episode of them all."
"What! The bat wing nailed on the door?"
"The bat wing, decidedly. He believed it to be the
token of a negro secret society which had determined
upon his death, hence my enquiries regarding coloured
men in the neighbourhood. Do you understand, In-
spector?"
Inspector Aylesbury took a large handkerchief from
his pocket and blew his nose. Replacing the hand-
kerchief he cleared his throat, and:
"Am I to understand," he enquired, "that the late
Colonel Menendez had expected to be attacked?"
"You may understand that," replied Harley. "It
explains my presence in the house."
"Oh," said the Inspector, "I see. It looks as
though he might have done better if he had applied to
me."
Paul Harley glanced across in my direction and
smiled grimly.
"As I had predicted, Knoxi" he murmured, "my
Waterloo."
"What's that you say about Waterloo, Mr. Harley?"
demanded the Inspector.
"Nothing germaine to the case," replied Harley.
"It was a reference to a battle, not to a railway
station."
Inspector Aylesbury stared at him dully.
"You quite understand that you are giving evi-
dence?" he said.
"It were impossible not to appreciate the fact."
"Very well, then. The late Colonel Menendez
thought he was in danger from negroes. Why did he
think that?"


18o Bat Wing
"He was a retired West Indian planter," replied
Harley, patiently, "and he was under the impression
that he had offended a powerful native society, and
that for many years their vengeance had pursued him.
Attempts to assassinate him had already taken place
in Cuba and in the United States."
"What sort of attempts?"
"He was shot at, several times, and once, in Washing-
ton, was attacked by a man with a knife. He main-
tained in my presence and in the presence of my friend,
Mr. Knox, here, that these various attempts were due
to members of a sect or religion known as Voodoo."
"Voodoo?"
"Voodoo, Inspector, also known as Obeah, a cult
which has spread from the West Coast of Africa
throughout the West Indies and to parts of the United
States. The bat wing is said to be a sign used by
these people."
Inspector Aylesbury scratched his chin.
"Now let me get this thing clear," said he: "Colonel
Menendez believed that people called Voodoos wanted
to kill him? Before we go any farther, why?"
"Twenty years ago in the West Indies he had shot an
important member of this sect."
"Twenty years ago?"
"According to a statement which he made to me,
yes."
"I see. Then for twenty years these Voodoos have
been trying to kill him? Then he comes and settles
here in Surrey and someone nails a bat wing to his door?
Did you see this bat wing?"
"I did. I have it upstairs in my bag if you would
care to examine it."
"Oh," said the Inspector, "I see. And thinking he


Inspector Aylesbury of Market Hilton 181
had been followed to England he came to you to see if
you could save him?"
Paul Harley nodded grimly.
"Why did he go to you in preference to the local
police, the proper authorities?" demanded the Inspec-
tor.
"He was advised to do so by the Spanish ambassador,
or so he informed me."
"Is that so? Well, I suppose it had to be. Coming
from foreign parts. I expect he didn't know what our
police are for." He cleared his throat. "Very well.
I understand now what you were doing here, Mr.
Harley. The next thing is, what were you doing to-
night, as I see that both you and Mr. Knox are still
in evening dress?"
"We were keeping watch," I replied.
Inspector Aylesbury turned to me ponderously, rais-
ing a fat hand. "One moment, Mr. Knox, one mo-
ment," he protested. "The evidence of one witness at
a time."
"We were keeping watch," said Harley, deliberately
echoing my words.
"Why?"
"More or less we were here for that purpose. You
see, on the night of the full moon, according to Colonel
Menendez, Obeah people become particularly active."
"Why on the night of the full moon?"
"This I cannot tell you."
"Oh, I see. You were keeping watch. Where were
you keeping watch?"
"In my room."
"In which part of the house is your room?"
"Northeast. It overlooks the Tudor garden."
"At what time did you retire?"


182 Bat Wing
"About half-past ten."
"Did you leave the Colonel well?"
"No, he had been unwell all day. He had remained
in his room."
"Had he asked you to sit up?"
"Not at all; our vigil was quite voluntary."
"Very well, then, you were in your room when the
shot was fired?"
"On the contrary, I was on the path in front of the
house."
"Oh, I see. The front door was open, then?"
"Not at all. Pedro had locked up for the night."
"And locked you out?"
"No; I descended from my window by means of a
ladder which I had brought with me for the pur-
pose."
"With a ladder? That's rather extraordinary, Mr
Harley."
"It is extraordinary. I have strange habits."
Inspector Aylesbury cleared his throat again and
looked frowningly across at my friend.
"What part of the grounds were you in when the
shot was fired?" he demanded.
"Halfway along the north side."
"What were you doing?"
"I was running."
"Running?"
"You see, Inspector, I regarded it as my duty to
patrol the grounds of the house at nightfall, since, for
all I knew to the contrary, some of the servants might
be responsible for the attempts of which the Colonel
complained. I had descended from the window of my
room, had passed entirely around the house east to
west, and had returned to my starting-point when Mr.


Inspector Aylesbury of Market Hilton 183
Knox, who was looking out of the window, observed
Colonel Menendez entering the Tudor garden."
"Oh. Colonel Menendez was not visible to you?"
"Not from my position below, but being informed
by my friend, who was hurriedly descending the ladder,
that the Colonel had entered the garden, I set off run-
ning to intercept him."
"Why?"
"He had acquired a habit of walking in his sleep,
and I presumed that he was doing so on this occasion."
"Oh, I see. So being told by the gentleman at the
window that Colonel Menendez was in the garden, you
started to run toward him. While you were running
you heard a shot?"
"I did."
"Where do you think it came from?"
"Nothing is more difficult to judge, Inspector,
especially when one is near to a large building sur-
rounded by trees."
"Nevertheless," said the Inspector, again raising his
finger and frowning at Harley, "you cannot tell me
that you formed no impression on the point. For
instance, was it near, or a long way off?"
"It was fairly near."
"Ten yards, twenty yards, a hundred yards, a mile?"
"Within a hundred yards. I cannot be more exact."
"Within a hundred yards, and you have no idea from
which direction the shot was fired?"
"From the sound I could form none."
"Oh, I see. And what did you do?"
"I ran on and down into the sunken garden. I saw
Colonel Menendez lying upon his face near the sun-dial.
He was moving convulsively. Running up to him, I
saw that he had been shot through the head."


184 Bat Wing
"What steps did you take?"
"My friend, Mr. Knox, had joined me, and I sent him
for assistance."
"But what steps did you take to apprehend the
murderer?"
Paul Harley looked at him quietly.
"What steps should you have taken?" he asked.
Inspector Aylesbury cleared his throat again, and:
"I don't think I should have let my man slip through
my fingers like that," he replied. "Why! by now he
may be out of the county."
"Your theory is quite feasible," said Harley, tone-
lessly.
"You were actually on the spot when the shot was
fired, you admit that it was fired within a hundred
yards, yet you did nothing to apprehend the murderer."
"No," replied Harley, "I was ridiculously inactive.
You see, I am a mere amateur, Inspector. For my
future guidance I should be glad to know what the
correct procedure would have been."
Inspector Aylesbury blew his nose.
"I know my job," he said. "If I had been called in
there might have been a different tale to tell. But he
was a foreigner, and he paid for his ingorance, poor
fellow."
Paul Harley took out his pipe and began to load it in
a deliberate and lazy manner.
Inspector Aylesbury turned his prominent eyes in
my direction.


CHAPTER XIX
COMPLICATIONS
I AM afraid of this man Aylesbury," said PaulHarley.
We sat in the deserted dining room. I had con-
tributed my account of the evening's happenings,
Dr. Rolleston had made his report, and Inspector
Aylesbury was now examining the servants in the
library. Harley and I had obtained his official per-
mission to withdraw, and the physician was visiting
Madame de Stamer, who lay in a state of utter prostra-
tion.
"What do you mean, Harley?"
"I mean that he will presently make some tragic
blunder. Good God, Knox, to think that this man had
sought my aid, and that I stood by idly whilst he
walked out to his death. I shall never forgive myself."
He banged the table with his fist. "Even now that
these unknown fiends have achieved their object, I am
helpless, helpless. There was not a wisp of smoke to
guide me, Knox, and one man cannot search a county."
I sighed wearily.
"Do you know, Harley," I said, "I am thinking of a
verse of Kipling's."
"I know!" he interrupted, almost savagely.
"A Snider squibbed in the jungle.
Somebody laughed and fled"
"Oh, I know, Knox. I heard that damnable laugh-
ter, too."
185


186 Bat Wing
"My God," I whispered, "who was it? What was
it? Where did it come from?"
"As well ask where the shot came from, Knox. Out
amongst all those trees, with a house that might have
been built for a sounding-board, who could presume
to say where either came from? One thing we know,
that the shot came from the south."
He leaned upon a corner of the table, staring at me
intently.
"From the south ?" I echoed.
Harley glanced in the direction of the open door.
"Presently," he said, "we shall have to tell Aylesbury
everything that we know. After all, he represents the
law; but unless we can get Inspector Wessex down
from Scotland Yard, I foresee a miscarriage of justice.
Colonel Menendez lay on his face, and the line made
by his recumbent body pointed almost directly
toward"
I nodded, watching him.
"I know, Harley—toward the Guest House."
Paul Harley inclined his head, grimly.
"The first light which we saw," he continued, "was
in a window of the Guest House. It may have had
no significance. Awakened by the sound of a rifle-shot
near by, any one would naturally get up."
"And having decided to come downstairs and in-
vestigate," I continued, "would naturally light a
lamp."
"Quite so." He stared at me very hard. "Yet,"
he said, "unless Mr. Colin Camber can produce an alibi
I foresee a very stormy time for him."
"So do I, Harley. A deadly hatred existed between
these two men, and probably this horrible deed was
done on the spur of the moment. It is of his poor little


Complications 187
girl-wife that I am thinking. As though her troubles
were not heavy enough already."
"Yes," he agreed. "I am almost tempted to hold
my tongue, Knox, until I have personally interviewed
these people. But of course if our blundering friend
directly questions me, I shall have no alternative. I
shall have to answer him. His talent for examination,
however, scarcely amounts to genius, so that we may
not be called upon for further details at the moment.
I wonder how I can induce him to requisition Scotland
Yard?"
He rested his chin in his hand and stared down re-
flectively at the carpet. I thought that he looked very
haggard, as he sat there in the early morning light,
dressed as for dinner. There was something pathetic
in the pose of his bowed head.
Leaning across, I placed my hand on his shoulder.
"Don't get despondent, old chap," I said. "You
have not failed yet."
"Oh, but I have, Knox!" he cried, fiercely, "I have!
He came to me for protection. Now he lies dead in his
own house. Failed? I have failed utterly, miserably."
I turned aside as the door opened and Dr. Rolleston
came in.
u
Ah, gentlemen," he said, "I wanted to see you be-
fore leaving. I have just been to visit Madame de
Stamer again."
"Yes," said Harley, eagerly; "how is she?"
Dr. Rolleston lighted a cigarette, frowning per-
plexedly the while.
"To be honest," he replied, "her condition puzzles
me."
He walked across to the fireplace and dropped the
match, staring at Harley with a curious expression.


188 Bat Wing
"Has any one told her the truth?" he asked.
"You mean that Colonel Menendez is dead?"
"Yes," replied Dr. Rolleston. "I understood that
no one had told her?"
"No one has done so to my knowledge," said Harley.
"Then the sympathy between them must have been
very acute," murmured the physician, "for she cer-
tainly knows!"
"Do you really think she knows?" I asked.
"I am certain of it. She must have had knowledge
of a danger to be apprehended, and being awakened by
the sound of the rifle shot, have realized by a sort of
intuition that the expected tragedy had happened.
I should say, from the presence of a small bruise which
I found upon her forehead, that she had actually
walked out into the corridor."
"Walked?" I cried.
"Yes," said the physician. "She is a shell-shock
case, of course, and we sometimes find that a second
shock counteracts the effect of the first. This, tempo-
rarily at any rate, seems to have happened to-night.
She is now in a very curious state: a form of hysteria,
no doubt, but very curious all the same."
"Miss Beverley is with her?" I asked.
Dr. Rolleston nodded affirmatively.
"Yes, a very capable nurse. I am glad to know that
Madame de Stamer is in such good hands. I am call-
ing again early in the morning, and I have told Mrs.
Fisher to see that nothing is said within hearing of the
room which could enable Madame de Stamer to obtain
confirmation of the idea, which she evidently entertains,
that Colonel Menendez is dead."
"Does she actually assert that he is dead?" asked
Harley.


Complications 189
"My dear sir," replied Dr. Rolleston, "she asserts
nothing. She sits there like Niobe changed to stone,
staring straight before her. She seems to be unaware
of the presence of everyone except Miss Beverley.
The only words she has spoken since recovering con-
sciousness have been, 'Don't leave me!"'
"Hm," muttered Harley. "You have not attended
Madame de Stamer before, doctor?"
"No," was the reply, "this is the first time I have
entered Cray's Folly since it was occupied by Sir James
Appleton."
He was about to take his departure when the door
opened and Inspector Aylesbury walked in.
"Ah," said he, "I have two more witnesses to inter-
view: Madame de Stamer and Miss Beverley. From
these witnesses I hope to get particulars of the dead
man's life which may throw some light upon the identity
of his murderer."
"It is impossible to see either of them at present,"
replied Dr. Rolleston briskly.
"What's that, doctor?" asked the Inspector. "Are
they hysterical, or something?"
"As a result of the shock, Madame de Stamer is
dangerously ill," replied the physician, "and Miss
Beverley is remaining with her."
"Oh, I see. But Miss Beverley could come out for
a few minutes?"
"She could," admitted the physician, sharply, "but
I don't wish her to do so."
"Oh, but the law must be served, doctor."
"Quite so, but not at the expense of my patient's
reason."
He was a resolute man, this country practitioner, and
I saw Harley smiling in grim approval.


IQO Bat Wing
"I have expressed my opinion," he said, finally, walk-
ing out of the room; "I shall leave the responsibility
to you, Inspector Aylesbury. Good morning, gentle-
men."
Inspector Aylesbury scratched his chin.
"That's awkward," he muttered. "The evidence of
this woman is highly important."
He turned toward us, doubtingly, whereupon Harley
stood up, yawning.
"If I can be of any further assistance to you, In-
spector," said my friend, "command me. Otherwise, I
feel sure you will appreciate the fact that both Mr.
Knox and myself are extremely tired, and have passed
through a very trying ordeal."
"Yes," replied Inspector Aylesbury, "that's all very
well, but I find myself at a deadlock."
"You surprise me," declared Harley.
"I can see nothing to be surprised about," cried the
Inspector. "When I was called in it was already too
late."
"Most unfortunate," murmured Harley, disagree-
ably. "Come along, Knox, you look tired to death."
"One moment, gentlemen," the Inspector insisted,
as I stood up. "One moment. There is a little point
which you may be able to clear up."
Harley paused, his hand on the door knob, and
turned.
"The point is this," continued the Inspector, frown-
ing portentously and lowering his chin so that it almost
disappeared into the folds of his neck, "I have now
interviewed all the inmates of Cray's Folly except the
ladies. It appears to me that four people had not gone
to bed. There are you two gentlemen, who have ex-
plained why I found you in evening dress, Colonel


Complications
Menendez, who can never explain, and there is one
other."
He paused, looking from Harley to myself.
It had come, the question which I had dreaded, the
question which I had been asking myself ever since I
had seen Val Beverley kneeling in the corridor, dressed
as she had been when we had parted for the night.
"I refer to Miss Val Beverley," the police-court
voice proceeded. "This lady had evidently not re-
tired, and neither, it would appear, had the Colonel."
"Neither had I," murmured Harley, "and neither
had Mr. Knox."
"Your reason I understand," said the Inspector,
"or at least your explanation is a possible one. But if
the party broke up, as you say it did, somewhere about
half-past ten o'clock, and if Madame de Stamerhad gone
to bed, why should Miss Beverley have remained up?"
He paused significantly. "As well as Colonel Menen-
dez?" he added.
"Look here, Inspector Aylesbury," I interrupted,
speaking in a very quiet tone, I remember, "your
insinuations annoy me."
"Oh," said he, turning his prominent eyes in my
direction, "I see. They annoy you? If they annoy
you, sir, perhaps you can explain this point which is
puzzling me?"
"I cannot explain it, but doubtless Miss Beverley
can do so when you ask her."
"I should like to have asked her now, and I can't
make out why she refuses to see me."
"She has not refused to see you," replied Harley,
smoothly, "She is probably unaware of the fact that
you wish to see her."
"I don't know so much," muttered the Inspector.


192 Bat Wing
"In my opinion I am being deliberately baffled on all
sides. You can throw no light on this matter, then?"
"None," I answered, shortly, and Paul Harley shook
his head.
"But you must remember, Inspector," he explained,
"that the entire household was in a state of unrest,"
"In other words, everybody was waiting for this very
thing to happen?"
"Consciously, or subconsciously, everybody was."
"What do you mean by consciously or subconsci-
ously?"
"I mean that those of us who were aware of the
previous attempts on the life of the Colonel appre-
hended this danger. And I believe that something
of this apprehension had extended even to the ser-
vants."
"Oh, to the servants? Now, I have seen all the
servants, except the chef, who lives at a house on the
outskirts of Mid-Hatton, as you may know. Can you
give me any information about this man?"
"I have seen him," replied Harley, "and have con-
gratulated him upon his culinary art. His name, I
believe, is Deronne. He is a Spaniard, and a little fat
man. Quite an amiable creature," he added.
• "Hm." The Inspector cleared his throat noisily.
"If that is all," said Harley, "I should welcome an
opportunity of a few hours' sleep."
"Oh," said the Inspector. "Well, I suppose that is
quite natural, but I shall probably have a lot more
questions to ask you later."
"Quite," muttered Harley, "quite. Come on, Knox.
Good-night, Inspector Aylesbury."
"Good-night."
Harley walked out of the dining room and across the


Complications 193
deserted hall. He slowly mounted the stairs and I
followed him into his room. It was now quite light,
and as my friend dropped down upon the bed I thought
that he looked very tired and haggard.
"Knox, he said, "shut the door."
I closed the door and turned to him. "t
"You heard that question about Miss Beverley?" I
began.
"I heard it, and I am wondering what her answer will
be when the Inspector puts it to her personally."
"Surely it is obvious?" I cried. "A cloud of ap-
prehension had settled on the house last night, Har-
ley, which was like the darkness of Egypt. The poor
girl was afraid to go to bed. She was probably sitting
up reading." r
"Hm," said Harley, drumming his feet upon the
carpet. "Of course you realize that there is one person
in Cray's Folly who holds the clue to the heart of the
mystery?"
"Madame de Stamer?"
He nodded grimly.
"When the rifle cracked out, Knox, she knew!
Remember, no one had told her the truth. Yet can you
doubt that she knows?"
"I don't doubt it."
"Neither do I." He clenched his teeth tightly and
beat his fists upon the coverlet. "I was dreading that
our friend the Inspector would ask a question which to
my mind was very obvious."
"You mean?"
"Well, what investigator whose skull contained
anything more useful than bubbles would have failed
to ask if Colonel Menendez had an enemy in the neigh-
bourhood?"


194 Bat Wing
"No one," I admitted; "but I fear the poor man is
sadly out of his depth."
"He is wading hopelessly, Knox, but even he cannot
fail to learn about Camber to-morrow."
He stared at me in a curiously significant manner.
"Do you mean, Harley," I began, "that you really
think"
"My dear Knox," he interrupted, "forgetting, if you
like, all that preceded the tragedy, with what facts are
we left? That Colonel Menendez, at the moment when
the bullet entered his brain, must have been standing
facing directly toward the Guest House. Now, you
have seen the direction of the wound?"
"He was shot squarely between the eyes. A piece of
wonderful marksmanship."
"Quite," Harley nodded his head. "But the bullet
came out just at the vertex of the spine."
He paused, as if waiting for some comment, and:
"You mean that the shot came from above?" I said,
slowly.
"Obviously it came from above, Knox. Keep these
two points in your mind, and then consider the fact that
someone lighted a lamp in the Guest House only a few
moments after the shot had been fired."
"I remember. I saw it."
"So did I," said Harley, grimly, "and I saw some-
thing else."
"What was that?"
"When you went off to summon assistance I ran
across the lawn, scrambled through the bushes, and
succeeded in climbing down into the little gully in which
the stream runs, and up on the other side. I had pro-
ceeded practically in a straight line from the sun-
dial, and do you know where I found myself?"


Complications 195
"I can guess," I replied.
"Of course you can. You have visited the place. I
came out immediately beside a little hut, Knox, which
stands at the end of the garden of the Guest House.
Ahead of me, visible through a tangle of bushes in the
neglected garden, a lamp was burning. I crept cau-
tiously forward, and presently obtained a view of the
interior of a kitchen. Just as I arrived at this point of
vantage the lamp was extinguished, but not before I
had had a glimpse of the only occupant of the room—
the man who had extinguished the lamp."
"Who was it?" I asked, in a low voice.
"It was a Chinaman."
"AhTsongP'Icried.
"Doubtless."
"Good heavens, Harley, do you think"
"I don't know what to think, Knox. A possible
explanation is that the household had been aroused
by the sound of the shot, and that Ah Tsong had been
directed to go out and see if he could learn what had
happened. At any rate, I waited no longer, but re-
turned by the same route. If our portly friend from
Market Hilton had possessed the eyes of an Auguste
Dupin, he could not have failed to note that my dress
boots were caked with light yellow clay; which also,
by the way, besmears my trousers."
He stooped and examined the garments as he
spoke.
"A number of thorns are also present," he continued.
"In short, from the point of view of an investigation,
I am a most provoking object."
He sighed wearily, and stared out of the window in
the direction of the Tudor garden. There was a slight
chilliness in the air, which, or perhaps a sudden memory


196 Bat Wing
of that which lay in the billiard room beneath us, may
have accounted for the fact that I shivered violently.
Harley glanced up with a rather sad smile.
"The morning after Waterloo," he said. "Sleep well,
Knox."


CHAPTER XX
A SPANISH CIGARETTE
SLEEP was not for me, despite Harley's injunc-
tion, and although I was early afoot, the big
house was already astir with significant move-
ments which set the imagination on fire, to conjure up
again the moonlight scene in the garden, making mock
of the song of the birds and of the glory of the morn-
ing.
Manoel replied to my ring, and prepared my bath, but
it was easy to see that he had not slept.
No sound came from Harley's room, therefore I did
not disturb him, but proceeded downstairs in the hope
of finding Miss Beverley about. Pedro was in the hall,
talking to Mrs. Fisher, and:
"Is Inspector Aylesbury here?" I asked.
"No, sir; but he will be returning at about half-past
eight, so he said."
"How is Madame de Stamer, Mrs. Fisher?" I en-
quired.
"Oh, poor, poor Madame," said the old lady, "she is
asleep, thank God. But I am dreading her awaken-
ing."
"The blow is a dreadful one," I admitted; "and Miss
Beverley?"
"She didn't go to her room until after four o'clock,
sir, but Nita tells me that she will be down any moment
now."


198 Bat Wing
I*
"Ah," said I, and lighting a cigarette, I walked out
of the open doors into the courtyard.
I dreaded all the ghastly official formalities which
the day would bring, since I realized that the brunt
of the trouble must fall upon the shoulders of Miss
Beverley in the absence of Madame de Stamen
I wandered about restlessly, awaiting the girl's ap-
pearance. A little two seater was drawn up in the
courtyard, but I had not paid much attention to it, until,
wandering through the opening in the box hedge and on
along the gravel path, I saw unfamiliar figures moving
in the billiard room, and turned, hastily retracing my
steps. Officialdom was at work already, and I knew
that there would be no rest for any of us from that hour
onward.
As I reentered the hall I saw Val Beverley coming
down the staircase. She looked pale, but seemed to be
in better spirits than I could have hoped for, although
there were dark shadows under her eyes.
"Good morning, Miss Beverley," I said.
"Good morning, Mr. Knox. It was good of you to
come down so early."
"I had hoped for a chat with you before Inspector
Aylesbury returned," I explained.
She looked at me pathetically.
"I suppose he will want me to give evidence?"
"He will. We had great difficulty in persuading him
not to demand your presence last night."
"It was impossible," she protested. "It would have
been cruel to make me leave Madame in the circum-
stances."
"We realized this, Miss Beverley, but you will have to
face the ordeal this morning."
We walked through into the library, where a maid


A Spanish Cigarette 199
white-faced and frightened looking, was dusting in a
desultory fashion. She went out as we entered, and
Val Beverley stood looking from the open window
out into the rose garden bathed in the morning sun-
light.
"Oh, Heavens," she said, clenching her hands des-
perately, "even now I cannot realize that the horrible
thing is true." She turned to me. "Who can possibly
have committed this cold-blooded crime?" she said in a
low voice. "What does Mr. Harley think? Has he
any idea, any idea whatever?"
"Not that he has confided to me," I said, watching
her intently. "But tell me, does Madame de Stamer
know yet?"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean has she been told the truth?"
The girl shook her head.
"No," she replied; "I am positive that no one has told
her. I was with her all the time, up to the very mo-
ment that she fell asleep. Yet"
She hesitated.
"Yes?"
"She knows! Oh, Mr. Knox! to me that is the most
horrible thing of all: that she knows, that she must have
known all along—that the mere sound of the shot told
her everything!"
"You realize, now,' I said, quietly, "that she had
anticipated the end?"
"Yes, yes. This was the meaning of the sorrow which
I had seen so often in her eyes, the meaning of so much
that puzzled me in her words, the explanation of lots
of little things which have made me wonder in the
past."
I was silent for a while, then:


2OO Bat Wing
"If she was so certain that no one could save him," I
said, "she must have had information which neither
he nor she ever imparted to us."
"I am sure she had," declared Val Beverley.
"But can you think of any reason why she should not
have confided in Paul Harley?"
"I cannot, I cannot—unless"
"Yes?"
"Unless, Mr. Knox," she looked at me strangely,
"they were both under some vow of silence. Oh!
it sounds ridiculous, wildly ridiculous, but what other
explanation can there be?"
"What other, indeed? And now, Miss Beverley,
I know one of the questions Inspector Aylesbury will
ask you."
"What is it?"
"He has learned, from one of the servants I presume,
as he did not see you, that you had not retired last
night at the time of the tragedy."
"I had not," said Val Beverley, quietly. "Is that so
singular?"
"To me it is no more than natural."
"I have never been so frightened in all my life as I was
last night. Sleep was utterly out of the question.
There was mystery in the very air. I knew, oh, Mr.
Knox, in some way I knew that a tragedy was going to
happen."
"I believe I knew, too," I said. "Good God, to think
that we might have saved him!"
"Do you think "began Val Beverley, and then
paused.
"Yes?" I prompted.
"Oh, I was going to say a strange thing that suddenly
occurred to me, but it is utterly foolish, I suppose.


A Spanish Cigarette 201
Inspector Aylesbury is coming back at nine o'clock, is
he not?"
"At half-past eight, so I understand."
"I am afraid I have very little to tell him. I was
sitting in my room in an appalling state of nerves when
the shot was fired. I was not even reading; I was just
waiting, waiting, for something to happen."
"I understand. My own experience was nearly
identical."
"Then," continued the girl, "as I unlocked my door
and peeped out, feeling too frightened to venture far-
ther in the darkness, I heard Madame's voice in the
hall below."
"Crying for help?"
"No," replied the girl, a puzzled frown appearing
between her brows. "She cried out something in
French. The intonation told me that it was French,
although I could not detect a single word. Then
I thought I heard a moan."
"And you ran down?"
"Yes. I summoned up enough courage to turn on
the light in the corridor and to run down to the hall.
And there she was lying just outside the door of her
room."
"Was her room in darkness?"
"Yes. I turned on the light and succeeded in partly
raising her, but she was too heavy for me to lift. I was
still trying to revive her when Pedro opened the door
of the servants' quarters. Oh," she closed her eyes
wearily, "I shall never forget it."
I took her hand and pressed it reassuringly.
"Your courage has been wonderful throughout,"
I declared, "and I hope it will remain so to the
end."


204 Bat Wing
movements of our blundering Aylesbury. In short, I
wish you to present me to Mr. Colin Camber."
"What?" I exclaimed, staring at him incredu-
lously.
"I am going to ask you," he began, and then, break-
ing off: "Quick, Knox, run!" he said.
And thereupon, to my amazement, he set off through
the rhododendron bushes in the direction of the
tower!
Utterly unable to grasp the meaning of his behaviour,
I followed, nevertheless, and as we rounded the corner
of the tower Harley pulled up short, andI "I am not mad," he explained rather breathlessly,
"but I wanted to avoid being seen by that constable
who is prowling about at the bottom of the lawn making
signals in the direction of the library. Presumably he
is replying to Inspector Aylesbury who wants to talk
to us. I am determined to interview Camber before
submitting to further official interrogation. It must
be a cross-country journey, Knox. I am afraid we shall
be a very muddy pair, but great issues may hang upon
the success of our expedition."
He set off briskly toward a belt of shrubbery which
marked the edge of the little stream. Appreciating
something of his intentions, I followed his lead un-
questioningly; and, scrambling through the bushes:
"This was the point at which I descended last night,"
he said. "You will have to wade, Knox, but the water
is hardly above one's ankles."
He dropped into the brook, waded across, and began
to climb up the opposite bank. I imitated his move-
ments, and presently, having scrambled up on the
farther side, we found ourselves standing on a narrow
bank immediately under that summer house which


206 Bat Wing
"Then you believe him to be innocent?" I cried,
eagerly.
"My dear fellow," he replied, somewhat irritably,
"I have not yet met Mr. Colin Camber. I will answer
your question at the conclusion of the interview."


CHAPTER XXI
THE WING OF A BAT
FOR a long time our knocking and ringing elicited
no response. The brilliant state of the door-
brass afforded evidence of the fact that Ah
Tsong had arisen, even if the other members of the
household were still sleeping, and Harley, growing irri-
table, executed a loud tattoo upon the knocker. This
had its effect. The door opened and Ah Tsong looked
out.
"Tell your master that Mr. Paul Harley has called to
see him upon urgent business."
"Master no got," replied Ah Tsong, and proceeded to
close the door.
Paul Harley thrust his hand against it and addressed
the man rapidly in Chinese. I could not have supposed
the face of Ah Tsong capable of expressing so much
animation. At the sound of his native tongue his eyes
lighted up, and:
"Tehee, tehee" he said, turned, and disappeared.
Although he had studiously avoided looking at me,
that Ah Tsong would inform his master of the identity
of his second visitor I did not doubt. If I had doubted
I should promptly have been disillusioned, for:
"Tell them to go away!" came a muffled cry from
somewhere within. "No spy of Devil Menendez shall
ever pass my doors again!"
The Chinaman, on retiring, had left the door wide
307


208 Bat Wing
open, and I could see right to the end of the gloomy hall.
Ah Tsong presently re-appeared, shuffling along in our
direction. Unemotionally:
"Master no got," he repeated.
Paul Harley stamped his foot irritably.
"Good God, Knox," he said, "this unreasonable fool
almost exhausts my patience."
Again he addressed Ah Tsong in Chinese, and al-
though the man's wrinkled ivory face exhibited no
trace of emotion, a deep understanding was to be read
in those oblique eyes; and a second time Ah Tsong
turned and trotted back to the study. I could hear a
muttered colloquy in progress, and suddenly the gaunt
figure of Colin Camber burst into view.
He was shaved this morning, but arrayed as I had
last seen him. Whilst he was not in that state of in-
coherent anger which I remembered and still resented,
he was nevertheless in an evil temper.
He strode along the hallway, his large eyes widely
opened, and fixing a cold stare upon the face of Harley.
"I learn that your name is Mr. Paul Harley," he said,
entirely ignoring my presence, "and you send me a very
strange message. I am used to the ways of Senor
Menendez, therefore your message does not deceive me.
The gateway, sir, is directly behind you."
Harley clenched his teeth, then:
"The scaffold, Mr. Camber," he replied, "is directly
in front of you."
"What do you mean, sir?" demanded the other, and
despite my resentment of the treatment which I had
received at his hands, I could only admire the lofty
disdain of his manner.
"I mean, Mr. Camber, that the police are close upon
my heels."


The Wing of a Bat 209
"The police? Of what interest can this be to me?"
Harley's keen eyes were searching the pale face of the
man before him.
"Mr. Camber," he said, "the shot was a good one."
Not a muscle of Colin Camber's face moved, but
slowly he looked Paul Harley up and down, then:
"I have been called a hasty man," he replied, coldly,
"but I can scarcely be accused of leaping to a conclusion
when I say that I believe you to be mad. You have
interrupted me, sir. Good morning."
He stepped back, and would have closed the door,
but:
"Mr. Camber," said Paul Harley, and the tone of
his voice was arresting.
Colin Camber paused.
"My name is evidently unfamiliar to you," Harley
continued. "You regard myself and Mr. Knox as
friends of the late Colonel Menendez"
At that Colin Camber started forward.
"The late Colonel Menendez?" he echoed, speaking
almost in a whisper.
But as if he had not heard him Harley continued:
"As a matter of fact, I am a criminal investigator,
and Mr. Knox is assisting me in my present case."
Colin Camber clenched his hands and seemed to be
fighting with some emotion which possessed him, then:
"Do you mean," he said, hoarsely—"do you mean
that Menendez is—dead?"
"I do," replied Harley. "May I request the privi-
lege of ten minutes' private conversation with you?"
Colin Camber stood aside, holding the door open, and
inclining his head in that grave salutation which I knew,
but on this occasion, I think, principally with intent to
hide his emotion.


2io Bat Wing
Not another word did he speak until the three of us
stood in the strange study where East grimaced at
West, and emblems of remote devil-worship jostled the
cross of the Holy Rose. The place was laden with
tobacco smoke, and scattered on the carpet about the
feet of the writing table lay twenty or more pages of
closely written manuscript. Although this was a bril-
liant summer's morning, an old-fashioned reading lamp,
called, I believe, a Victoria, having a nickel receptacle
for oil at one side of the standard and a burner with a
green glass shade upon the other, still shed its light upon
the desk. It was only reasonable to suppose that Colin
Camber had been at work all night.
He placed chairs for us, clearing them of the open vol-
umes which they bore, and, seating himself at the desk:
"Mr. Knox," he began, slowly, paused, and then stood
up, "I accused you of something when you last visited
my house, something of which I would not lightly ac-
cuse any man. If I was wrong, I wish to apologize."
"Only a matter of the utmost urgency could have
induced me to cross your threshold again," I replied,
coldly. "Your behaviour, sir, was inexcusable."
He rested his long white hands upon the desk, looking
across at me.
"Whatever I did and whatever I said," he continued,
"one insult I laid upon you more deadly than the rest:
I accused you of friendship with Juan Menendez. Was
I unjust?"
He paused for a moment.
"I had been retained professionally by Colonel
Menendez," replied Harley without hesitation, "and
Mr. Knox kindly consented to accompany me."
Colin Camber looked very hard at the speaker, and
then equally hard at me.


The Wing of a Bat 211
"Was it at behest of Colonel Menendez that you
called upon me, Mr. Knox?"
"It was not," said Harley, tersely; "it was at mine.
And he is here now at my request. Come, sir, we are
wasting time. At any moment"
Colin Camber held up his hand, interrupting him.
"By your leave, Mr. Harley," he said, and there was
something compelling in voice and gesture, "I must first
perform my duty as a gentleman."
He stepped forward in my direction.
"Mr. Knox, I have grossly insulted you. Yet if you
knew what had inspired my behaviour I believe you
could find it in your heart to forgive me. I do not ask
you to do so, however; I accept the humiliation of
knowing that I have mortally offended a guest."
He bowed to me formally, and would have returned to
his seat, but:
"Pray say no more," I said, standing up and extend-
ing my hand. Indeed, so impressive was the man's
strange personality that I felt rather as one receiving a
royal pardon than as an offended party being offered an
apology. "It was a misunderstanding. Let us forget
it."
His eyes gleamed, and he seized my hand in a warm
grip.
"You are generous, Mr. Knox, you are generous.
And now, sir," he inclined his head in Paul Harley's
direction, and resumed his seat.
Harley had suffered this odd little interlude in
silence but now:
"Mr. Camber," he said, rapidly, *1 sent you a mes-
sage by your Chinese servant to the effect that the police
would be here within ten minutes to arrest you."
"You did, sir," replied Colin Camber, drawing


The Wing of a Bat 213
He was evidently thinking rapidly. His manner had
grown quite cool, and I could see that he had focussed
his keen brain upon the abyss which he perceived to lie
in his path.
"Before I commit myself to any statements which
might be used as evidence," he said, "doubtless, Mr.
Harley, you will inform me of your exact standpoint
in this matter. Do you represent the late Colonel
Menendez, do you represent the law, or may I regard
you as a perfectly impartial enquirer?"
"You may regard me, Mr. Camber, as one to whom
nothing but the truth is of the slightest interest. I was
requested by the late Colonel Menendez to visit Cray's
Folly."
"Professionally?"
"To endeavour to trace the origin of certain oc-
currences which had led him to believe his life to be in
danger."
Harley paused, staring hard at Colin Camber.
"Since I recognize myself to be standing in the
position of a suspect," said the latter, "it is perhaps un-
fair to request you to acquaint me with the nature of
these occurrences?"
"The one, sir," replied Paul Harley, "which most
intimately concerns yourself is this: Almost exactly a
month ago the wing of a bat was nailed to the door of
Cray's Folly."
"What?" exclaimed Colin Camber, leaning forward
eagerly—"the wing of a bat? What kind of bat?"
"Of a South American Vampire Bat."
The effect of those words was curious. If any doubt
respecting Camber's innocence had remained with me
at this time I think his expression as he leaned forward
across the desk must certainly have removed it. That


214 Bat Wing
the man was intellectually unusual, and intensely dif-
ficult to understand, must have been apparent to the
most superficial observer, but I found it hard to believe
that these moods of his were simulated. At the words
"A South American Vampire Bat" the enthusiasm of
the specialist leapt into his eyes. Personal danger was
forgotten. Harley had trenched upon his particular
territory, and I knew that if Colin Camber had
actually killed Colonel Menendez, then it had been the
act of a maniac. No man newly come from so bloody
a deed could have acted as Camber acted now.
"It is the death-sign of Voodoo!" he exclaimed, ex-
citedly.
Yet again he arose, and crossing to one of the many
cabinets which were in the room, he pulled open a
drawer and took out a shallow tray.
My friend was watching him intently, and from the
expression upon his bronzed face I could deduce the fact
that in Colin Camber he had met the supreme puz-
zle of his career. As Camber stood there, holding up
an object which he had taken from the tray, whilst
Paul Harley sat staring at him, I thought the scene
was one transcending the grotesque. Here was the
suspected man triumphantly producing evidence to
hang himself.
Between his finger and thumb Camber held the wing
of a bat!


216 Bat Wing
"Ah, the black-hearted devil! But I fear I am
involving myself more deeply in suspicion. Perhaps,
Mr. Harley, the ends of justice would be better served
if you were to question me, and I to confine myself to
answering you."
"Very well," Harley agreed: "when and where did
you meet the late Colonel Menendez?"
"I never met him in my life."
"Do you mean that you had never spoken to
him?"
"Never."
"Hm. Tell me, Mr. Camber, where were you at
twelve o'clock last night?"
"Here, writing."
"And where was Ah Tsong?"
"Ah Tsong?" Colin Camber stared uncomprehend-
ingly. "Ah Tsong was in bed."
"Oh. Did anything disturb you?"
"Yes, the sound of a rifle shot."
"You knew it for a rifle shot?"
"It was unmistakable."
"What did you do?"
"I was in the midst of a most important passage, and
I should probably have taken no steps in the matter
but that Ah Tsong knocked upon the study door, to
inform me that my wife had been awakened by the
sound of the shot. She is somewhat nervous and had
rung for Ah Tsong, asking him to see if all were well
with me."
"Do I understand that she imagined the sound to
have come from this room?"
"When we are newly awakened from sleep, Mr.
Harley, we retain only an imperfect impression of that
which awakened us."


218 Bat Wing
"Believe me," was the reply, "I can anticipate almost
every question which I shall be called upon to answer."
Paul Harley stared at him in a way which told me
that he was comparing his features line for line with the
etching of Edgar Allen Poe which hung in his office in
Chancery Lane, and:
"I do believe you," he replied, "and I am wondering
if you are in a position to clear yourself?"
"On the contrary," Camber assured him, "I am only
waiting to hear that Juan Menendez was shot in the
grounds of Cray's Folly, and not within the house, to
propose to you that unless the real assassin be dis-
covered, I shall quite possibly pay the penalty of his
crime."
"He was shot in the Tudor garden," replied Harley,
"within sight of your windows."
"Ah!" Colin Camber resumed the task of stuffing
shag into his corn-cob. "Then if it would interest you,
Mr. Harley, I will briefly outline the case against my-
self. I had never troubled to disguise the fact that I
hated Menendez. Many witnesses can be called to
testify to this. He was in Cuba when I was in Cuba,
and evidence is doubtless obtainable to show that we
stayed at the same hotels in various cities of the
United States prior to my coming to England and leas-
ing the Guest House. Finally, he became my neigh-
bour in Surrey."
He carefully lighted his pipe, whilst Harley and I
watched him silently, then:
"Menendez had the bat wing nailed to the door of his
house," he continued. "He believed himself to be in
danger, and associated this sign with the source of his
danger. Excepting himself and possibly certain other
members of his household it is improbable that any


Colin Camber's Secret 219
one else in Surrey understands the significance of the
token save myself. The unholy rites of Voodoo are a
closed book to the Western nations. I have opened that
book, Mr. Harley. The powers of the Obeah man, and
especially of the arch-magician known and dreaded by
every negro as 'Bat Wing,' are familiar to me. Since
I was alone at the time that the shot was fired, and for
some few minutes afterward, and since the Tudor
garden of Cray's Folly is within easy range of the Guest
House, to fail to place me under arrest would be an act
of sheer stupidity."
He spoke the words with a sort of triumph. Like the
fakir, he possessed the art of spiritual detachment,
which is an attribute of genius. From an intellectual
eminence he was surveying his own peril. Colin
Camber in the flesh had ceased to exist; he was merely
a pawn in a fascinating game.
Paul Harley glanced at his watch.
"Mr. Camber," he said, "I have just sustained the
most crushing defeat of my career. The man who had
summoned me to his aid was killed almost before my
eyes. One thing I must do or accept professional
oblivion."
"I understand." Colin Camber nodded. "Ap-
prehend his murderer?"
"Ultimately, yes. But, firstly, I must see that to
the assassination of Colonel Menendez a judicial mur-
der is not added."
"You mean ?" asked Camber, eagerly. v
"I mean that if you killed Menendez, you are a mad-
man, and I have formed the opinion during our brief
conversation that you are brilliantly sane."
Colin Camber rose and bowed in that old-world
fashion which was his.


222 Bat Wing
upon himself. "I respect your decision, but you have
given me a giant's task, and for this I cannot thank you,
Mr. Camber."
I heard a car pulled up in the road outside the Guest
House. Colin Camber clenched his hands and sat
down again in the carved chair.
"The opportunity has passed," said Harley. "The
police are here." -


CHAPTER XXIII
INSPECTOR AYLESBURY CROSS-EXAMINES
OH, I see," said Inspector Aylesbury, "a little
private confab, eh?"
He sank his chin into its enveloping folds,
treating Harley and myself each to a stare of disap-
proval.
"These gentlemen very kindly called to advise me of
the tragic occurrence at Cray's Folly," explained Colin
Camber. "Won't you be seated, Inspector?"
"Thanks, but I can conduct my examination better
standing."
He turned to Paul Harley.
"Might I ask, Mr. Harley," he said, "what concern
this is of yours?"
"I am naturally interested in anything appertaining
to the death of a client, Inspector Aylesbury."
"Oh, so you slip in ahead of me, having deliberately
withheld information from the police, and think you are
going to get all the credit. Is that it?"
"That is it, Inspector," replied Harley, smiling.
"An instance of professional jealousy."
"Professional jealousy?" cried the Inspector.
"Allow me to remind you that you have no official
standing in this case whatever. You are merely a
member of the public, nothing more, nothing less."
"I am happy to be recognized as a member of that
much-misunderstood body."
223


224 Bat Wing
"Ah, well, we shall see. Now, Mr. Camber, your
attention, please."
He raised his finger impressively.
"I am informed by Miss Beverley that the late
Colonel Menendez looked upon you as a dangerous
enemy."
"Were those her exact words?" I murmured.
"Mr. Knox!"
The Inspector turned rapidly, confronting me. "I
have already warned your friend. But if I have
any interruptions from you, I will have you re-
moved."
He continued to glare at me for some moments, and
then, turning again to Colin Camber:
"I say, I have information that Colonel Menendez
looked upon you as a dangerous neighbour."
"In that event," replied Colin Camber, "why did he
lease an adjoining property?"
"That's an evasion, sir. Answer my first question,
if you please."
"You have asked me no question, Inspector."
"Oh, I see. That's your attitude, is it? Very well,
then. Were you, or were you not, an enemy of the late
Colonel Menendez?"
"I was."
"What's that?"
"I say I was. I hated him, and I hate him no less in
death than I hated him living."
I think that I had never seen a man so taken aback.
Inspector Aylesbury, drawing out a large handkerchief,
blew his nose. Replacing the handkerchief, he pro-
duced a note-book.
"I am placing that statement on record, sir," he said.
He made an entry in the book, and then:


226 Bat Wing
Ah Tsong's face remained quite expressionless, and:
"No sabby," he repeated.
"Oh, I see," said the Inspector. "This witness re-
fuses to answer at all."
"You are wrong," explained Colin Camber, quietly.
"Ah Tsong is a Chinaman, and his knowledge of
English is very limited. He does not understand
you."
"He understood my first question. You can't draw
wool over my eyes. He knows well enough. Are you
going to answer me?" he demanded, angrily, of the
Chinaman.
"No sabby, master," he said, glancing aside at Colin
Camber. "Number-one p'licee-man gotchee no pid-
gin."
Paul Harley was leisurely filling his pipe, and:
"If you think the evidence of Ah Tsong important,
Inspector," he said, "I will interpret if you wish."
"You will do what?"
"I will act as interpreter."
"Do you want me to believe that you speak Chi-
nese?"
"Your beliefs do not concern me, Inspector; I am
merely offering my services."
"Thanks," said the Inspector, dryly, "but I won't
trouble you. I should like a few words with Mrs.
Camber."
"Very good."
Colin Camber bent his head gravely, and gave an
order to Ah Tsong, who turned and went out.
"And what firearms have you in the house?" asked
Inspector Aylesbury.
"An early Dutch arquebus, which you see in the
corner," was the reply.



Inspector Aylesbury Cross-Examines 227
"That doesn't interest me. I mean up-to-date
weapons."
"And a Colt revolver which I have in a drawer
here."
As he spoke, Colin Camber opened a drawer in his
desk and took out a heavy revolver of the American
Army Service pattern.
"I should like to examine it, if you please."
Camber passed it to the Inspector, and the latter,
having satisfied himself that none of the chambers were
loaded, peered down the barrel, and smelled at the
weapon suspiciously.
"If it has been recently used it has been well cleaned,"
he said, and placed it on a cabinet beside him. "Any-
thing else?"
"Nothing."
"No sporting rifles?"
"None. I never shoot."
"Oh, I see."
The door opened and Mrs. Camber came in. She was
very simply dressed, and looked even more child-like
than she had seemed before. I think Ah Tsong had
warned her of the nature of the ordeal which she was
to expect, but her wide-eyed timidity was nevertheless
pathetic to witness.
She glanced at me with a ghost of a smile, and:
"Ysola," said Colin Camber, inclining his head
toward me in a grave gesture of courtesy, "Mr.
Knox has generously forgiven me a breach of good
manners for which I shall never forgive myself. I
beg you to thank him, as I have done."
"It is so good of you," she said, sweetly, and held out
her hand. "But I knew you would understand that
it was just a great mistake."


228 Bat Wing
-i
"Mr. Paul Harley," Camber continued, "my wife
welcomes you; and this, Ysola, is Inspector Aylesbury,
who desires a few moments' conversation upon a
rather painful matter."
"I have heard, I have heard," she whispered. "Ah
Tsong has told me."
The pupils of her eyes dilated, as she fixed an appeal-
ing glance upon the Inspector.
In justice to the latter he was palpably abashed by
the delicate beauty of the girl who stood before him,
by her naivete, and by that childishness of appearance
and manner which must have awakened the latent
chivalry in almost any man's heart.
"I am sorry to have to trouble you with this dis-
agreeable business, Mrs. Camber," he began; "but I
believe you were awakened last night by the sound of a
shot."'
"Yes," she replied, watching him intently, "that is
so."
"May I ask at what time this was heard?"
"Ah Tsong told me it was after twelve o'clock."
"Was the sound a loud one?"
"Yes. It must have been to have awakened
me."
"I see. Did you think it was in the house?"
"Oh, no."
"In the garden?"
"I really could not say, but I think that it was farther
away than that."
"And what did you do?"
"I rang the bell for Ah Tsong."
"Did he come immediately?"
"Almost immediately."
"He was dressed, then?"


Inspector Aylesbury Cross-Examines 229
"No, I don't think he was. He had quickly put on
an overcoat. He usually answers at once, when I ring
for him, you see."
"I see. What did you do then?"
"Well, I was frightened, you understand, and I told
him to find out if all was well with my husband. He
came back and told me that Colin was writing. But
the sound had alarmed me very much."
"Oh, and now perhaps you will tell me, Mrs. Camber,
when and where your husband first met Colonel
Menendez?"
Every vestige of colour fled from the girl's face.
"So far as I know—they never met," she replied,
haltingly.
"Could you swear to that?"
"Yes."
I think that hitherto she had not fully realized the
nature of the situation; but now something in the In-
spector's voice, or perhaps in our glances, told her the
truth. She moved to where Colin Camber was sit-
ting, looking down at him questioningly, pitifully.
He put his arm about her and drew her close.
Inspector Aylesbury cleared his throat and returned
his note-book to his pocket.
"I am going to take a look around the garden," he
announced.
My respect for him increased slightly, and Harley and
I followed him out of the study. A police sergeant was
sitting in the hall, and Ah Tsong was standing just
outside the door.
"Show me the way to the garden," directed the
Inspector.
Ah Tsong stared stupidly, whereupon Paul Harley
addressed him in his native language, rapidly and in a


230 Bat Wing
low voice, in order, as I divined, that the Inspector
should not hear him.
"I feel dreadfully guilty, Knox," he confessed, in a
murmured aside. "For any Englishman, fictitious
characters excepted, to possess a knowledge of Chinese
is almost indecent."
Presently, then, I found myself once more in that
unkempt garden of which I retained such unpleasant
memories.
Inspector Aylesbury stared all about and up at the
back of the house, humming to himself and generally
behaving as though he were alone. Before the little
summer study he stood still, and:
"Oh, I see," he muttered.
What he had seen was painfully evident. The right-
hand window, beneath which there was a permanent
wooden seat, commanded an unobstructed view of the
Tudor garden in the grounds of Cray's Folly. Clearly
I could detect the speck of high-light upon the top of
the sun-dial.
The Inspector stepped into the hut. It contained a
bookshelf upon which a number of books remained, a
table and a chair, with some few other dilapidated
appointments. I glanced at Harley and saw that he
was staring as if hypnotized at the prospect in the valley
below. I observed a constable on duty at the top of the
steps which led down into the Tudor garden, but I could
see nothing to account for Harley's fixed regard, until:
"Pardon me one moment, Inspector," he muttered,
brusquely.
Brushing past the indignant Aylesbury, who was
examining the contents of the shelves in the hut, he
knelt upon the wooden seat and stared intently through
the open window.


232 Bat Wing
Tsong sleeps in a room adjoining the kitchen on the
ground floor. We passed his quarters on our way to the
garden a moment ago. Of course, you had noted this?
Mr. Camber is therefore eliminated from our list of
suspects."
The Inspector was growing very red, but ere he had
time to speak Harley continued:
"The first of these three persons to have heard a shot
fired at the end of the garden would have been Ah
Tsong, and not Mrs. Camber, whose room is upstairs
and in the front of the house. If it had been fired by
Mr. Camber from the spot upon which we now stand,
he would still have been in the garden at the moment
when Mrs. Camber was ringing the bell for Ah Tsong.
Mr. Camber must therefore have returned from the
end of the garden to the study, and have passed Ah
Tsong's room—unheard by the occupant—between the
time that the bell rang and the time that Ah Tsong
went upstairs. This I submit to be impossible. There
is an alternative: it is that he slipped in whilst Ah
Tsong, standing on the landing above, was receiving
his mistress's orders. I submit that the alternative
is also impossible. We thus eliminate Mr. Camber
from the case, as I have already mentioned."
"Eliminate—eliminate!" cried the Inspector, be-
ginning to recover power of speech. "Do you think
you can fuddle me with a mass of words, Mr. Harley?
Allow me to point out to you, sir, that you are in no way
officially associated with this matter."
"You have already drawn my attention to the
fact, Inspector, but it can do no harm to jog my
memory."
Harley spoke entirely without bitterness, and I, who
knew his every mood, realized that he was thoroughly


Inspector Aylesbury Cross-Examines 233
enjoying himself. Therefore I knew that at last he had
found a clue.
"I may add, Inspector," said he, "that upon further
reflection I have also eliminated Ah Tsong from the
case. I forgot to mention that he lacks the first and
second fingers of his right hand; and I have yet to meet
the marksman who can shoot a man squarely between
the eyes, by moonlight, at a hundred yards, employing
his third finger as trigger-finger. There are other
points, but these will be sufficient to show you that
this case is more complicated than you had assumed it
to be."
Inspector Aylesbury did not deign to reply, or could
not trust himself to do so. He turned and made his way
back to the house.


CHAPTER XXIV
AN OFFICIAL MOVE
WE REENTERED the study to find Mrs.
Camber sitting in a chair very close to her
husband. Inspector Aylesbury stood in the
open doorway for a moment, and then, stepping back
into the hall:
"Sergeant Butler," he said, addressing the man who
waited there.
"Yes, sir."
"Go out to the gate and get Edson to relieve you.
I shall want you to go back to headquarters in a few
minutes."
"Very good, sir."
I scented what was coming, and as Inspector Ayles-
bury reentered the room:
"I should like to make a statement," announced Paul
Harley, quietly.
The Inspector frowned, and lowering his chin, re-
garded him with little favour.
"I have not invited any statement from you, Mr.
Harley," said he.
"Quite," returned Harley. "I am volunteering it.
It is this: I gather that you are about to take an im-
portant step officially. Having in view certain steps
which I, also, am about to take, I would ask you to
defer action, purely in your own interests, for at least
twenty-four hours."
234


An Official Move 235
"I hear you." said the Inspector, sarcastically.
"Very well, Inspector. You have come newly into
this case, and I assure you that its apparent simplicity
is illusive. As new facts come into your possession you
will realize that what I say is perfectly true, and if you
act now you will be acting hastily. All that I have
learned I am prepared to place at your disposal. But I
predict that the interference of Scotland Yard will be
necessary before this enquiry is concluded. There-
fore I suggest, since you have rejected my coopera-
tion, that you obtain that of Detective Inspector
Wessex, of the Criminal Investigation Department.
In short, this is no one-man job. You will do yourself
harm by jumping to conclusions, and cause unnecessary
trouble to perfectly innocent people."
"Is your statement concluded?" asked the Inspector.
"For the moment I have nothing to add."
"Oh, I see. Very good. Then we can now get to
business. Always with your permission, Mr. Harley."
He took his stand before the fireplace, very erect, and
invested with his most official manner. Mrs. Camber
watched him in a way that was pathetic. Camber
seemed to be quite composed, although his face was un-
usually pale.
"Now, Mr. Camber," said the Inspector, "I find
your answers to the questions which I have put to you
very unsatisfactory."
"I am sorry," said Colin Camber, quietly.
"One moment, Inspector," interrupted Paul Harley,
"you have not warned Mr. Camber."
Thereupon the long-repressed wrath of Inspector
Aylesbury burst forth.
"Then I will warn you, sir!" he shouted. "One
more word and you leave this house."


236 Bat Wing
"Yet I am going to venture on one more word," con-
tinued Harley, unperturbed. He turned to Colin
Camber. "I happen to be a member of the Bar, Mr.
Camber," he said, "although I rarely accept a brief.
Have I your authority to act for you?"
"I am grateful, Mr. Harley, and I leave this un-
pleasant affair in your hands with every confidence."
Camber stood up, bowing formally.
The expression upon the inflamed face of Inspector
Aylesbury was really indescribable, and recognizing his
mental limitations, I was almost tempted to feel sorry
for him. However, he did not lack self-confidence, and:
"I suppose you have scored, Mr. Harley," he said, a
certain hoarseness perceptible in his voice, "but I know
my duty and I am not afraid to perform it. Now, Mr.
Camber, did you, or did you not, at about twelve o'clock
last night"
"Warn the accused," murmured Harley.
Inspector Aylesbury uttered a choking sound, but:
"I have to warn you," he said, "that your answers
may be used as evidence. I will repeat: Did you,
or did you not, at about twelve o'clock last night, shoot,
with intent to murder, Colonel Juan Menendez?"
Ysola Camber leapt up, clutching at her husband's
arm as if to hold him back.
"I did not," he replied, quietly.
"Nevertheless," continued the Inspector, looking
aggressively at Paul Harley whilst he spoke, "I am
going to detain you pending further enquiries."
Colin Camber inclined his head.
"Very well," he said; "you only do your duty."
The little fingers clutching his sleeve slowly relaxed,
and Mrs. Camber, uttering a long sigh, sank in a
swoon at his feet.


An Official Move 239
"You preposterous fool!" I exclaimed, hotly.
It was the last straw. Inspector Aylesbury strode to
the door and throwing it open once more, turned to me:
"Be good enough to leave the house, Mr. Knox," he
said. "I am about to have it officially searched, and I
will have no strangers present."
I think I could have strangled him with pleasure, but
even in my rage I was not foolhardy enough to lay my-
self open to that of which the Inspector was quite
capable at this moment.
Without another word I walked out of the study, took
my hat and stick, and opening the front door, quitted
the Guest House, from which I had thus a second time
been dismissed ignominiously.
Appreciation of this fact, which came to me as I
stepped into the porch, awakened my sense of humour
—a gift truly divine which has saved many a man from
desperation or worse. I felt like a schoolboy who had
been turned out of a class-room, and I was glad that I
could laugh at myself.
A constable was standing in the porch, and he looked
at me suspiciously. No doubt he perceived something
very sardonic in my merriment.
I walked out of the gate, before which a car was
standing, and as I paused to light a cigarette I heard the
door of the Guest House open and close. I glanced
back, and there was Paul Harley coming to join me.
"Now, Knox," he said, briskly, "we have got our
hands full."
"My dear Harley, I am both angry and bewildered.
Too angry and too bewildered to think clearly."
"I can quite understand it. I should become homi-
cidal if I were forced to submit for long to the company
of Inspector Aylesbury. Of course, I had anticipated


240 Bat Wing
the arrest of Colin Camber, and I fear there is worse to
come."
"What do you mean, Harley?"
"I mean that failing the apprehension of the real
murderer, I cannot see, at the moment, upon what the
case for the defence is to rest."
"But surely you demonstrated out there in the gar-
den that he could not possibly have fired the shot?"
"Words, Knox, words. I could pick a dozen loop-
holes in my own argument. I had only hoped to defer
the inevitable. I tell you, there is worse to come. Two
things we must do at once."
"What are they?"
"We must persuade the man on duty to allow us to
examine the Tudor garden, and we must see the Chief
Constable, whoever he may be, and prevail upon him to
requisition the assistance of Scotland Yard. With
Wessex in charge of the case I might have a chance.
Whilst this disastrous man Aylesbury holds the keys
there is none."
"You heard what he said about Miss Beverley?"
We were now walking rapidly along the high road,
and Harley nodded.
"I did," he said. "I had expected it. He was
inspired with this brilliant idea last night, and his ideas
are too few to be lightly scrapped. If the Chief Con-
stable is anything like the Inspector, what we are going
to do heaven only knows."
"I take it, Harley, that you are convinced of Colin
Camber's innocence?"
Harley did not answer for a moment, whereupon I
glanced at him anxiously, then: •
"Colin Camber," he replied, "is of so peculiar a type
that I could not presume to say of what he is capable


An Official Move 241
or is not capable. The most significant point in his
favour is this: He is a man of unusual intellect.
The planning of this cunning crime to such a man would
have been child's play—child's play, Knox. But is it
possible to believe that his genius would have failed
him upon the most essential detail of all, namely, an
alibi?"
"It is not."
"Of course it is not. Which, continuing to regard
Camber as an assassin, reduces us to the theory that the
crime was committed in a moment of passion. This I
maintain to be also impossible. It was no deed of im-
pulse."
"I agree with you."
"Now, I believe that the enquiry is going to turn
upon a very delicate point. If I am wrong in this, then
perhaps I am wrong in my whole conception of the case.
But have you considered the mass of evidence against
Colin Camber?"
"I have, Harley," I replied, sadly, "I have."
"Think of all that we know, and which the Inspector
does not know. Every single datum points in the same
direction. No prosecution could ask for a more perfect
case. Upon this fact I pin my hopes. Where an
Aylesbury rushes in I fear to tread. The analogy with
an angel was accidental, Knox!" he added, smilingly.
"In other words, it is all too obvious. Yet I have
failed once, Knox, failed disastrously, and it may be
that in my anxiety to justify myself I am seeking for
subtlety where no subtlety exists."


CHAPTER XXV
AYLESBURY'S THEORY
THERE were strangers about Cray's Folly and a
sort of furtive activity, horribly suggestive.
We had not pursued the circular route by the
high road which would have brought us to the lodge,
but had turned aside where the swing-gate opened upon
a footpath into the meadows. It was the path which
I had pursued upon the day of my visit to the Lavender
Arms. A second private gate here gave access to the
grounds at a point directly opposite the lake; and as we
crossed the valley, making for the terraced lawns, I saw
unfamiliar figures upon the veranda, and knew that the
cumbersome processes of the law were already in mo-
tion.
I was longing to speak to Val Beverley and to learn
what had taken place during her interview with In-
spector Aylesbury, but Harley led the way toward
the tower wing, and by a tortuous path through the
rhododendrons we finally came out on the northeast
front and in sight of the Tudor garden.
Harley crossed to the entrance, and was about to
descend the steps, when the constable on duty there
held out his arm.
"Excuse me, sir," he said, "but I have orders to ad-
mit no one to this part of the garden."
"Oh," said Harley, pulling up short, "but I am acting
in this case. My name is Paul Harley."
242


Aylesbury's Theory 243
"Sorry, sir," replied the constable, "but you will have
to see Inspector Aylesbury."
My friend uttered an impatient exclamation, but,
turning aside:
"Very well, constable," he muttered; "I suppose I
must submit. Our friend, Aylesbury," he added to
me, as we walked away, "would appear to be a martinet
as well as a walrus. At every step, Knox, he proves
himself a tragic nuisance. This means waste of price-
less time."
"What had you hoped to do, Harley?"
"Prove my theory," he returned; "but since every
moment is precious, I must move in another direction."
He hurried on through the opening in the box hedge
and into the courtyard. Manoel had just opened the
doors to a sepulchral-looking person who proved to be
the coroner's officer, and:
"Manoel!" cried Harley, "tell Carter to bring a car
round at once."
"Yes, sir."
"I haven't time to fetch my own," he explained.
"Where are you off to?"
"I am off to see the Chief Constable, Knox. Ayles-
bury must be superseded at whatever cost. If the
Chief Constable fails I shall not hesitate to go higher.
I will get along to the garage. I don't expect to be
more than an hour. Meanwhile, do your best to act as
a buffer between Aylesbury and the women. You
understand me?"
"Quite," I returned, shortly. "But the task may
prove no light one, Harley."
"It won't," he assured me, smiling grimly. "How
you must regret, Knox, that we didn't go fishing!"
With that he was off, eager-eyed and alert, the mood


246 Bat Wing
"Can you?" she asked, looking at me quickly.
"Well,then, he seemed to attach a ridiculous importance
to the fact that I had not retired last night at the time
of the tragedy."
"I know," said I, grimly. "Another preconceived
idea of his."
"I told him the truth of the matter, which is surely
quite simple, and at first I was unable to understand
the nature of his suspicions. Then, after a time, his
questions enlightened me. He finally suggested, quite
openly, that I had not come down from my room to the
corridor in which Madame de Stamer was lying, but had
actually been there at the time!"
"In the corridor outside her room?"
"Yes. He seemed to think that I had just come in
from the door near the end of the east wing and beside
the tower, which opens into the shrubbery."
"That you had just come in?" I exclaimed. "He
thinks, then, that you had been out in the grounds?"
Val Beverley's face had been very pale, but now she
flushed indignantly, and glanced away from me as she
replied:
"He dared to suggest that I had been to keep an
assignation."
"The fool!" I cried. "The ignorant, impudent fool!"
"Oh," she declared, "I felt quite ill with indignation.
I am afraid I may regard Inspector Aylesbury as an
enemy from now onward, for when I had recovered
from the shock I told him very plainly what I thought
about his intellect, or lack of it."
"I am glad you did," I said, warmly. "Before
Inspector Aylesbury is through with this business I
fancy he will know more about his limitations than he
knows at present. The fact of the matter is that he is


Aylesbury's Theory 249
"Madame de Stamer will see you, Inspector Ayles-
bury," she said, "but wishes Mr. Knox to be present
at the interview."
"Oh," said the Inspector, lowering his chin, "I see.
Oh, very well."


CHAPTER XXVI
IN MADAME'S ROOM
MADAME DE STAMER'S apartment was a
large and elegant one. From the window-
drapings, which were of some light, figured
satiny material, to the bed-cover, the lampshades
and the carpet, it was French. Faintly perfumed, and
decorated with many bowls of roses, it reflected, in its
ornaments, its pictures, its slender-legged furniture, the
personality of the occupant. In a large, high bed,
reclining amidst a number of silken pillows, lay Madame
de Stamer. The theme of the room was violet and sil-
ver, and to this everything conformed. The toilet
service was of dull silver and violet enamel. The
mirrors and some of the pictures had dull silver frames.
There was nothing tawdry or glittering. The bed
itself, which I thought resembled a bed of state, was
of the same dull silver, with a coverlet of delicate violet
hue. But Madame's decollete robe was trimmed with
white fur, so that her hair, dressed high upon her head,
seemed to be of silver, too.
Reclining there upon her pillows, she looked like some
grande dame of that France which was swept away by
the Revolution. Immediately above the dressing-table
I observed a large portrait of Colonel Menendez dressed
as I had imagined he should be dressed when I had
first set eyes on him, in tropical riding kit, and holding
a broad-brimmed hat in his hand. A strikingly hand-
250


252 Bat Wing
"What!" she exclaimed, "what!"—and bending for-
ward touched my arm. "Tell me again! Tell me
again!"
"He is following a clue, Madame de Stamer, which
he hopes will lead to the truth."
"Ah! if I could believe it would lead to the truth,"
she said. "If I dared to believe this."
"Why should it not?"
She shook her head, smiling with such a resigned
sadness that I averted my gaze and glanced across at
Val Beverley who was seated on the opposite side of the
bed.
"If you knew—if you knew."
I looked again into the tragic face, and realized
that this was an older woman than the brilliant hostess
I had known. She sighed, shrugged, and:
"Tell me, M. Knox," she continued, "it was swift
and merciful, eh?"
"Instantaneous," I replied, in a low voice.
"A good shot?" she asked, strangely.
"A wonderful shot," I answered, thinking that she
imposed unnecessary torture upon herself.
"They say he must be taken away, M. Knox, but I
reply: not until I have seen him."
"Madame," began Val Beverley, gently.
"Ah, my dear!" Madame de Stamer, without look-
ing at the speaker, extended one hand in her direction,
the fingers characteristically curled. "You do not
know me. Perhaps it is a good job. You are a man,
Mr. Knox, and men, especially men who write, know
more of women than they know of themselves, is it not so? You will understand that I must see him again?"
"Madame de Stamer," I said, "your courage is al-
most terrible."


In Madame's Room v 253
She shrugged her shoulders.
"I am not proud to be brave, my friend. The
animals are brave, but many cowards are proud.
Listen again. He suffered no pain, you think?"
"None, Madame de Stamer."
"So Dr. Rolleston assures me. He died in his sleep?
You do not think he was awake, eh?"
"Most certainly he was not awake."
"It is the best way to die," she said, simply. "Yet
he, who was brave and had faced death many times,
would have counted it" she snapped herwhite fingers,
glancing across the room to where Inspector Aylesbury,
very subdued, sat upon the brocaded chair twirling his
cap between his hands. "And now, Inspector Ayles-
bury," she asked, "what is it you wish me to tell you?"
"Well, Madame," began the Inspector, and stood up,
evidently in an endeavour to recover his dignity, but:
"Sit down, Mr. Inspector! I beg of you be seated,"
cried Madame. "I will not be questioned by one who
stands. And if you were to walk about I should
shriek."
He resumed his seat, clearing his throat nervously.
"Very well, Madame," he continued, "I have come
to you particularly for information respecting a certain
Mr. Camber."
"Oh, yes," said Madame.
Her vibrant voice was very low.
"You know him, no doubt?"
"I have never met him."
"What?" exclaimed the Inspector.
Madame shrugged and glanced at me eloquently.
"Well," he continued, "this gets more and more
funny. I am told by Pedro, the butler, that Colonel
Menendez looked upon Mr. Camber as an enemy, and


254 &a
Miss Beverley, here, admitted that it was true. Yet,
although he was an enemy, nobody ever seems to have
spoken to him, and he swears that he had never spoken
to Colonel Menendez."
"Yes?" said Madame, listlessly, "is that so?"
"It is so, Madame, and now you tell me that you
have never met him."
"I did tellyou so, yes."
"His wife, then?"
"I never met his wife," said Madame, rapidly.
"But it is a fact that Colonel Menendez regarded him
as an enemy?"
"It is a fact—yes."
"Ah, now we are coming to it. What was the cause
of this?"
"I cannot tell you."
"Do you mean that you don't know?"
"I mean that I cannot tell you."
"Oh," said the Inspector, blankly, "I see. That's not
helping me very much, is it?"
"No, it is no help," said Madame, twirling a ring
upon her finger.
The Inspector cleared his throat again, then:
"There had been other attempts, I believe, at
assassination?" he asked.
Madame nodded.
"Several."
"Did you witness any of these?"
"None of them."
"But you know that they took place?"
"Juan—Colonel Menendez—had told me so."
"And he suspected that there was someone lurking
about this house?"
"Yes."


In Madame's Room 25$
"Also, someone broke in?"
"There were doors unfastened, and a great disturb-
ance, so I suppose someone must have done so."
I wondered if he would refer to the bat wing nailed
to the door, but he had evidently decided that this clue
was without importance, nor did he once refer to the
aspect of the case which concerned Voodoo. He
possessed a sort of mulish obstinacy, and was evidently
determined to use no scrap of information which he had
obtained from Paul Harley.
"Now, Madame," said he, "you heard the shot fired
last night?"
"I did."
"It woke you up?"
"I was already awake."
"Oh, I see: you were awake?"
"I was awake."
"Where did you think the sound came from?"
"From back yonder, beyond the east wing."
"Beyond the east wing?" muttered Inspector Ayles-
bury. "Now, let me see." He turned ponderously
in his chair, gazing out of the windows. "We look
out on the south here? You say the sound of the shot
came from the east?"
"So it seemed to me."
"Oh." This piece of information seemed badly to
puzzle him. "And what then?"
"I was so startled that I ran to the door before I
remembered that I could not walk."
She glanced aside at me with a tired smile, and laid
her hand upon my arm in an oddly caressing way, as if
to say, "He is so stupid; I should not have expressed
myself in that way."
Truly enough the Inspector misunderstood, for:


258 Bat Wing
Inspector Aylesbury stood up, his face very flushed.
"I am only doing my duty, Madame," he said.
"Go, go!" commanded Madame, "I insist that you
go!"
Convulsively she held Val Beverley to her side, and
although I could not see the girl's face, I knew that she
was weeping.
Those implacable flaming eyes followed with their
stare the figure of the Inspector right to the doorway,
for he essayed no further speech, but retired.
I, also, rose, and:
"Madame de Stamer," I said, speaking, I fear, very
unnaturally, "I love your spirit."
She threw back her head, smiling up at me. I shall
never forget that look, nor shall I attempt to portray
all which it conveyed—for I know I should fail.
"My friend!" she said, and extended her hand to be
kissed.


CHAPTER XXVII
AN INSPIRATION
INSPECTOR AYLESBURY had disappeared when
I came out of the hall, but Pedro was standing there
to remind me of the fact that I had not break-
fasted. I realized that despite all tragic happenings,
I was ravenously hungry, and accordingly I agreed
to his proposal that I should take breakfast on the
south veranda, as on the previous morning.
To the south veranda accordingly I made my way,
rather despising myself because I was capable of
hunger at such a time and amidst such horrors. The
daily papers were on my table, for Carter drove into
Market Hilton every morning to meet the London
train which brought them down; but I did not open
any of them.
Pedro waited upon me in person. I could see that
the man was pathetically anxious to talk. Accordingly,
when he presently brought me a fresh supply of hot
rolls:
"This has been a dreadful blow to you, Pedro?" I
said.
"Dreadful, sir," he returned; "fearful. I lose a
splendid master, I lose my place, and I am far, far from
home."
"You are from Cuba?"
"Yes, yes. I was with Senor the Colonel Don Juan
in Cuba."


An Inspiration 263
barrier. Vague musings, evanescent theories, vanished
like smoke, and a ghastly, consistent theory of the
crime unrolled itself before me, with all the cold logic of
truth.
"My God!" I groaned aloud, "I see it all. I see it
all."


My Theory of the Crime 265
"I have, madam," I replied, perceiving that she did
not know me to be a guest at Cray's Folly.
"Well, well!" She shook her head. "It had to
come, with all these foreign folk about."
She retired to some sanctum at the rear of the bar,
and I drank my beer amid one of those silences which
sometimes descend upon such a gathering when a
stranger appears in its midst. Not until I moved to
depart was this silence broken, then:
"Ah, well," said an old fellow, evidently a farm-hand,
"we know now why he was priming of hisself with the
drink, we do."
"Aye!" came a growling chorus.
I came out of the Lavender Arms full of a knowledge
that so far as Mid-Hatton was concerned, Colin Camber
was already found guilty.
I had hoped to see something of Val Beverley on my
return, but she remained closeted with Madame de
Stamer, and I was left in loneliness to pursue my own
reflections, and to perfect that theory which had pre-
sented itself to my mind.
In Harley's absence I had taken it upon myself to
give an order to Pedro to the effect that no reporters
were to be admitted; and in this I had done well. So
quickly does evil news fly that, between mid-day and
the hour of Harley's return, no fewer than five re-
porters, I believe, presented themselves at Cray's Folly.
Some of the more persistent continued to haunt the
neighbourhood, and I had withdrawn to the deserted
library, in order to avoid observation, when I heard a
car draw up in the courtyard, and a moment later heard
Harley asking for me.
I hurried out to meet him, and as I appeared at the
door of the library:


266 Bat Wing
"Hullo, Knox," he called, running up the steps
"Any developments?"
"No actual development," I replied, "except tha
several members of the Press have been here."
"You told them nothing?" he asked, eagerly.
"No; they were not admitted."
"Good, good," he muttered.
"I had expected you long before this, Harley."
"Naturally," he said, with a sort of irritation
"I have been all the way to Whitehall and back."
"To Whitehall! What, you have been to London?"
"I had half anticipated it, Knox. The Chief
Constable, although quite a decent fellow, is a stickler
for routine. On the strength of those facts which I
thought fit to place before him he could see no reason
for superseding Aylesbury. Accordingly, without fur-
ther waste of time, I headed straight for Whitehall.
You may remember a somewhat elaborate report which
I completed upon the eve of our departure from
Chancery Lane?"
I nodded.
"A very thankless job for the Home Office, Knox.
But I received my reward to-day. Inspector Wessex
has been placed in charge of the case and I hope he will
be down here within the hour. Pending his arrival I
am tied hand and foot."
We had walked into the library, and, stopping, sud-
denly, Harley stared me very hard in the face.
"You are bottling something up, Knox," he declared.
"Out with it. Has Aylesbury distinguished himself
again?"
"No," I replied; "on the contrary. He interviewed
Madame de Stamer, and came out with a flea in his
ear."


268 Bat Wing
eliminated all the servants from the case. Therefore;
proceed, Knox, I am all attention."
"I will do so. There is a door on the south side of the
house, close to the tower and opening into the rho-
dodendron shrubbery. This was the door used by
Colonel Menendez in his somnambulistic rambles, ac-
cording to his own account. Now, assuming his state-
ment to have been untrue in one particular, that is,
assuming he was not walking in his sleep, but was
fully awake"
"Eh ?" exclaimed Harley, his expression undergoing a
subtle change. "Do you think his statement was un-
true?"
"According to my theory, Harley, his statement was
untrue, in this particular, at least. But to proceed:
Might he not have employed this door to admit a
nocturnal visitor?"
"It is feasible," muttered Harley, watching me
closely.
"For the Colonel to descend to this side door when
the household was sleeping," I continued, "and to
admit a woman secretly to Cray's Folly, would have
been a simple matter. Indeed, on the occasions of these
visits he might even have unbolted the door himself
after Pedro had bolted it, in order to enable her to enter
without his descending for the purpose of admitting
her."
"By heavens! Knox," said Harley, "I believe you
have it!"
His eyes were gleaming excitedly, and I proceeded:
"Hence the footsteps which passed Miss Beverley's
door, hence the shadow which you saw upon the blind;
and the sounds which you detected in the hall were
caused, of course, by this woman retiring. It was the


270 Bat Wing
chances, because we have to suppose, Knox, that these
visits to Cray's Folly were made whilst her husband was
at work in the study. If he had suddenly decided to
turn in, all would have been discovered."
"True," I agreed, "but is it impossible?"
"No, not a bit. Women are dreadful gamblers. But
continue, Knox."
"Very well. Colonel Menendez has refused to accept
his dismissal, and Mrs. Camber had been compelled to
promise, without necessarily intending to carry out
the promise, that she would see him again on the follow-
ing night. She failed to come; whereupon he, growing
impatient, walked out into the grounds of Cray's Folly
to look for her. She may even have intended to come
and have been intercepted by her husband. But in any
event, the latter, seeing the man who had wronged him,
standing out there in the moonlight, found temptation
to be too strong. On the whole, I favour the idea that
he had intercepted his wife, and snatching up a rifle, had
actually gone out into the garden with the intention of
shooting Menendez."
"I see," murmured Harley in a low voice. "This
hypothesis, Knox, does not embrace the Bat Wing
episodes."
"If Menendez has lied upon one point," I returned,
"it is permissible to suppose that his entire story was
merely a tissue of falsehood."
"I see. But why did he bring me to Cray's Folly?"
"Don't you understand, Harley?" I cried, excitedly.
"He really feared for his life, since he knew that
Camber had discovered the intrigue."
Paul Harley heaved a long sigh.
"I must congratulate you, Knox," he said, gravely,
"upon a really splendid contribution to my case. In


CHAPTER XXIX
A LEE-ENFIELD RIFLE
WHAT reply I should have offered to this as-
tonishing remark I cannot say, but at that
moment the library door burst open uncere-
moniously, and outlined against the warmly illuminated
hall, where sunlight poured down through the dome,
I beheld the figure of Inspector Aylesbury.
"Ah!" he cried, loudly, "so you have come back, Mr.
Harley? I thought you had thrown up the case."
"Did you?" said Harley, smilingly. "No, I am still
persevering in my ineffectual way."
"Oh, I see. And have you quite convinced yourself
that Colin Camber is innocent?"
"In one or two particulars my evidence remains in-
complete."
"Oh, in one or two particulars, eh? But generally
speaking you don't doubt his innocence?"
"I don't doubt it for a moment."
Harley's words surprised me. I recognized, of course
that he might merely be bluffing the Inspector, but i
was totally alien to his character to score a rhetorica
success at the expense of what he knew to be the truth
and so sure was I of the accuracy of my deductions tha
I no longer doubted Colin Camber to be the guilty
man.
"At any rate," continued the Inspector, "he is in
detention, and likely to remain there. If you are going
272


A Lee-Enfield Rifle 273
to defend him at the Assizes, I don't envy you your job,
Mr. Harley."
He was blatantly triumphant, so that the fact was
evident enough that he had obtained some further piece
of evidence which he regarded as conclusive.
"I have detained the man Ah Tseng as well," he
went on. "He was an accomplice of your innocent
friend, Mr. Harley."
"Was he really?" murmured Harley.
"Finally," continued the Inspector, "I have only to
satisfy myself regarding the person who lured Colonel
Menendez out into the grounds last night, to have my
case complete."
I turned aside, unable to trust myself, but Harley
remarked quite coolly:
"Your industry is admirable, Inspector Aylesbury,
but I seem to perceive that you have made a very im-
portant discovery of some kind."
"Ah, you have got wind of it, have you?"
"I have no information on the point," replied Harley,
"but your manner urges me to suggest that perhaps
success has crowned your efforts?"
"It has," replied the Inspector. "I am a man that
doesn't do things by halves. I didn't content myself
with just staring out of the window of that little hut in
the grounds of the Guest House, like you did, Mr. Har-
ley, and saying 'twice one are two'—I looked at every
book on the shelves, and at every page of those books."
"You must have materially added to your informa-
tion?"
"Ah, very likely, but my enquiries didn't stop there.
I had the floor up."
"The floor of the hut?"
"The floor of the hut, sir. The planks were quite


274 Bat Wing
loose. I had satisfied myself that it was a likely hiding-
place."
"What did you find there, a dead rat?"
Inspector Aylesbury turned, and:
"Sergeant Butler," he called.
The sergeant came forward from the hall, carrying a
cricket bag. This Inspector Aylesbury took from him,
placing it upon the floor of the library at his feet.
"Now, sir," said he, "I borrowed this bag in which to
bring the evidence away—the hanging evidence which I
discovered beneath the floor of the hut."
I had turned again, when the man had referred to his
discovery; and now, glancing at Harley, I saw that his
face had grown suddenly very stern.
"Show me your evidence, Inspector?" he asked,
shortly.
"There can be no objection," returned the Inspector.
Opening the bag, he took out a rifle!
Paul Harley's hands were thrust in his coat pockets.
By the movement of the cloth I could see that he had
clenched his fists. Here was confirmation of my theory!
"A Service rifle," said the Inspector, triumphantly,
holding up the weapon. "A Lee-Enfield charger-
loader. It contains four cartridges, three undischarged,
and one discharged. He had not even troubled to
eject it."
The Inspector dropped the weapon into the bag with
a dramatic movement.
"Fancy theories about bat wings and Voodoos," he
said, scornfully, "may satisfy you, Mr. Harley, but I
think this rifle will prove more satisfactory to the
Coroner."
He picked up the bag and walked out of the library.
Harley stood posed in a curiously rigid way, looking


A Lee-Enfield Rifle 27$
after him. Even when the door had closed he did not
change his position at once. Then, turning slowly, he
walked to an armchair and sat down.
"Harley," I said, hesitatingly, "has this discovery
surprised you?"
"Surprised me?" he returned in a low voice. "It has
appalled me."
"Then, although you seemed to regard my theory as
sound," I continued rather resentfully, "all the time
you continued to believe Colin Camber to be inno-
cent?"
"I believe so still."
"What?"
"I thought we had determined, Knox," he said,
wearily, "that a man of Camber's genius, having de-
cided upon murder, must have arranged for an unassail-
able alibi. Very well. Are we now to leap to the other
end of the scale, and to credit him with such utter stu-
pidity as to place hanging evidence where it could not
fail to be discovered by the most idiotic policeman?
Preserve your balance, Knox. Theories are wild horses.
They run away with us. I know that of old, for which
very reason I always avoid speculation until I have a
solid foundation of fact upon which to erect it."
"But, my dear fellow," I cried, "was Camber to fore-
see that the floor of the hut would be taken up?"
Harley sighed, and leaned back in his chair.
"Do you recollect your first meeting with this man,
Knox?"
"Perfectly."
"What occurred?"
"He was slightly drunk."
"Yes, but what was the nature of his conversa-
tion?"


276 Bat Wing
"He suggested that I had recognized his resemblance
to Edgar Allan Poe."
"Quite. What had led him to make this sugges-
tion?'
"The manner in which I had looked at him, I sup-
pose."
"Exactly. Although not quite sober, from a mere
glance he was able to detect what you were thinking.
Do you wish me to believe, Knox, that this same man
had not foreseen what the police would think when
Colonel Menendez was found shot within a hundred
yards of the garden of the Guest House?"
I was somewhat taken aback, for Harley's argument
was strictly logical, and:
"It is certainly very puzzling," I admitted.
"Puzzling!" he exclaimed; "it is maddening. This
case is like a Syrian village-mound. Stratum lies under
stratum, and in each we meet with evidence of more
refined activity than in the last. It seems we have
yet to go deeper."
He took out his pipe and began to fill it.
"Tell me about the interview with Madame de
Stamer," he directed.
I took a seat facing him, and he did not once interrupt
me throughout my account of Inspector Aylesbury's
examination of Madame.
"Good," he commented, when I had told how the
Inspector was dismissed. "But at least, Knox, he has a
working theory, to which he sticks like an express to
the main line, whereas I find myself constantly called
upon to readjust my perspective. Directly I can enjoy
freedom of movement, however, I shall know whether
my hypothesis is a house of cards or a serviceable
structure."


CHAPTER XXX
THE SEVENTH YEW TREE
DETECTIVE-INSPECTOR WESSEX arrived at
about five o'clock; a quiet, resourceful man,
highly competent, and having the appearance
of an ex-soldier. His respect for the attainments of
Paul Harley alone marked him a student of character.
I knew Wessex well, and was delighted when Pedro
showed him into the library.
"Thank God you are here, Wessex," said Harley,
when we had exchanged greetings. "At last I can
move. Have you seen the local officer in charge?"
"No," replied the Inspector, "but I gather that I
have been requisitioned over his head."
"You have," said Harley, grimly, "and over the head
of the Chief Constable, too. But I suppose it is unfair
to condemn a man for the shortcoming with which
nature endowed him, therefore we must endeavour to
let Inspector Aylesbury down as lightly as possible.
I have an idea that I heard him return a while ago."
He walked out into the hall to make enquiries, and a
few moments later I heard Inspector Aylesbury's voice.
"Ah, there you are, Inspector Aylesbury," said
Harley, cheerily. "Will you please step into the li-
brary for a moment?"
The Inspector entered, frowning heavily, followed
by my friend.
"There is no earthly reason why we should get at
279


282 Bat Wing
"Not a trace, Knox," he murmured; "not a trace.
Let us try again."
He moved along to the yew adjoining that which he
had already inspected, but presently shook his head
and passed to the next. Then:
"Ah!" he cried. "Come here, Knox!"
I joined him where he was kneeling, staring at what I
took to be a large nail, or bolt, protruding from the
bark of the tree.
"You see!" he exclaimed, "you see!"
I stooped, in order to examine the thing more closely,
and as I did so, I realized what it was. It was the bullet
which had killed Colonel Menendez!'
Harley stood upright, his face slightly flushed and his
eyes very bright.
"We shall not attempt to remove it, Knox," he said.
"The depth of penetration may have a tale to tell. The
wood of the yew tree is one of the toughest British
varieties."
"But, Harley," I said, blankly, as we descended to
the path, "this is merely another point for the prosecu-
tion of Camber. Unless"—I turned to him in sudden
excitement, "the bullet was of different"
"No, no," he murmured, "nothing so easy as that,
Knox. The bullet was fired from a Lee-Enfield beyond
doubt."
I stared at him uncomprehendingly.
"Then I am utterly out of my depth, Harley. It
appears to me that the case against Camber is finally
and fatally complete. Only the motive remains to be
discovered, and I flatter myself that I have already
detected this."
"I am certainly inclined to think," admitted Harley,
"that there is a good deal in your theory."


The Seventh Yew Tree 283
"Then, Harley," I said in bewilderment, "you do
believe that Camber committed the murder?"
"On the contrary," he replied, "I am certain that he
did not."
I stood quite still.
"You are certain?" I began.
"I told you that the test of my theory, Knox, was to
be looked for in the seventh yew from the northeast
corner of the Tudor garden, did I not?"
"You did. And it is there. A bullet fired from a
Lee-Enfield rifle; beyond any possible shadow of doubt
the bullet which killed Colonel Menendez."
"Beyond any possible shadow of doubt, as you say,
Knox, the bullet which killed Colonel Menendez."
"Therefore Camber is guilty?"
"On the contrary, therefore Camber is innocent!"
"What!"
"You are persistently overlooking one little point,
Knox," said Harley, mounting the steps on to the gravel
path. "I spoke of the seventh yew tree from the north-
east corner of the garden."
"Well?"
"Well, my dear fellow, surely you observed that the
bullet was embedded in the ninth?"
I was still groping for the significance of this point
when, re-crossing the hall, we entered the library again,
to find Inspector Aylesbury posed squarely before the
mantelpiece stating his case to Wessex.
"You see," he was saying, in his most oratorical
manner, as we entered, "every little detail fits perfectly
into place. For instance, I find that a woman, called
Mrs. Powis, who for the past two years had acted as
housekeeper at the Guest House and never taken a
holiday, was sent away recently to her married daughter


284 Bat Wing
in London. See what that means? Her room is at the
back of the house, and her evidence would have been
fatal. Ah Tsong, of course, is a liar. I made up my
mind about that the moment I clapped eyes on him.
Mrs. Camber is the only innocent party. She was
asleep in the front of the house when the shot was fired,
and I believe her when she says that she cannot swear
to the matter of distance."
"A very interesting case, Inspector," said Wessex,
glancing at Harley. "I have not examined the body
yet, but I understand that it was a clean wound through
the head."
"The bullet entered at the juncture of the nasal and
frontal bones," explained Harley, rapidly, "and it came
out between the base of the occipital and first cervical.
Without going into unpleasant surgical details, the
wound was a perfectly straight one. There was no
ricochet."
"I understand that a regulation rifle was used?"
"Yes," said Inspector Aylesbury; "we have it."
"And at what range did you say, Inspector?"
"Roughly, a hundred yards."
"Possibly less," murmured Harley.
"Hundred yards or less," said Wessex, musingly;
"and the obstruction met with in the case of a man shot in
that way would be "He looked towards Paul Harley.
"Less than if the bullet had struck the skull higher
up," was the reply. "It passed clean through."
"Therefore," continued Wessex, "I am waiting to
hear, Inspector, where you found the bullet lodged?"
"Eh?" said the Inspector, and he slowly turned his
prominent eyes in Harley's direction. "Oh, I see.
That's why you wanted to examine the Tudor garden,
is it?"


The Seventh Yew Tree 285
"Exactly," replied Harley.
The face of Inspector Aylesbury grew very red.
"I had deferred looking for the bullet," he explained,
"as the case was already as clear as daylight. Probably
Mr. Harley has discovered it."
"I have," said Harley, shortly.
"Is it the regulation bullet?" asked Wessex.
"It is. I found it embedded in one of the yew
trees."
"There you are!" exclaimed Aylesbury. "There
isn't the ghost of a doubt."
Wessex looked at Harley in undisguised perplexity.
"I must say, Mr. Harley," he admitted, "that I have
never met with a clearer case."
"Neither have I," agreed Harley, cheerfully. "I am
going to ask Inspector Aylesbury to return here after
nightfall. There is a little experiment which I should
like to make, and which would definitely establish my
case."
"Your case?" said Aylesbury.
"My case, yes."
"You are not going to tell me that you still persist in
believing Camber to be innocent?"
"Not at all. I am merely going to ask you to return
at nightfall to assist me in this minor investigation."
"If you ask my opinion," said the Inspector, "no
further evidence is needed."
"I don't agree with you," replied Harley, quietly.
"Whatever your own ideas upon the subject may be, I,
personally, have not yet discovered one single piece of
convincing evidence for the prosecution of Camber."
"What!" exclaimed Aylesbury, and even Detective-
Inspector Wessex stared at the speaker incredulously.
"My dear Inspector Aylesbury," concluded Harley,


288 Bat Wing
"But whatever will happen if he persists in dragging
me into this horrible case?"
"He will not drag you into it," I said, quietly.
"He has been superseded by a cleverer man, and
the case is practically under Harley's direction
now."
"Thank Heaven for that," she murmured. "I won-
der "She looked at me hesitatingly.
"Yes?" I prompted.
"I have been thinking about poor Mrs. Camber all alone in that gloomy house, and wondering"
"Perhaps I know. You are going to visit her?"
Val Beverley nodded, watching me.
"Can you leave Madame de Stamer with safety?"
"Oh, yes, I think so. Nita can attend to her."
"And may I accompany you, Miss Beverley? For
more reasons than one, I, too, should like to call upon
Mrs. Camber."
"We might try," she said, hesitatingly. "I really
only wanted to be kind. You won't begin to cross-
examine her, will you?"
"Certainly not," I answered; "although there are
many things I should like her to tell us."
"Well, suppose we go," said the girl, "and let
events take their own course."
As a result, I presently found myself, Val Beverley
by my side, walking across the meadow path. With the
unpleasant hush of Cray's Folly left behind, the day
seemed to grow brighter. I thought that the skylarks
had never sung more sweetly. Yet in this same instant
of sheerly physical enjoyment I experienced a pang of
remorse, remembering the tragic woman we had left
behind, and the poor little sorrowful girl we were going
to visit. My emotions were very mingled, then, and


Ysola Camber's Confession 289
I retain no recollection of our conversation up to the
time that we came to the Guest House.
We were admitted by a really charming old lady, who
informed us that her name was Mrs. Powis and that she
was but an hour returned from London, whither she had
been summoned by telegram.
She showed us into a quaint, small drawing room
which owed its atmosphere quite clearly to Mrs.
Camber, for whereas the study was indescribably
untidy, this was a model of neatness without being
formal or unhomely. Here, in a few moments, Mrs.
Camber joined us, an appealing little figure of wistful,
almost elfin, beauty. I was surprised and delighted
to find that an instant bond of sympathy sprang up
between the two girls. I diplomatically left them to-
gether for a while, going into Camber's room to smoke
my pipe. And when I returned:
"Oh, Mr. Knox," said Val Beverley, "Mrs. Camber
has something to tell you which she thinks you ought to
know."
"Concerning Colonel Menendez?" I asked, eagerly.
Mrs. Camber nodded her golden head.
"Yes," she replied, but glancing at Val Beverley as if
to gather confidence. "The truth can never hurt
Colin. He has nothing to conceal. May I tell
you?"
"I am all anxiety to hear," I assured her.
"Would you rather I went, Mrs. Camber?" asked
Val Beverley.
Mrs. Camber reached across and took her hand.
"Please, no," she replied. "Stay here with me.
I am afraid it is rather a long story."
"Never mind," I said. "It will be time well spent if
it leads us any nearer to the truth."


290 Bat Wing
"Yes?" she questioned, watching me anxiously, "you
think so? I think so, too."
She became silent, sitting looking straight before her,
the pupils of her blue eyes widely dilated. Then, at
first in a queer, far-away voice, she began to speak
again.
"I must tell you," she commenced "that before—
my marriage, my name was Isabella de Valera."
I started.
"Ysola was my baby way of saying it, and so I came
to be called Ysola. My father was manager of one of
Senor Don Juan's estates, in a small island near the
coast of Cuba. My mother"—she raised her little
hands eloquently—"was half-caste. Do you know?
And she and my father"
She looked pleadingly at Val Beverley.
"I understand," whispered the latter with deep
sympathy; "but you don't think it makes any differ-
ence, do you?"
"No ?" said Mrs. Camber with a quaint little gesture.
"To you, perhaps not, but there, where I was born, oh!
so much. Well, then, my mother died when I was very
little. Ah Tsong was her servant. There are many
Chinese in the West Indies, you see, and I can just
remember he carried me in to see her. Of course I
didn't understand. My father quarrelled bitterly
with the priests because they would not bury her in holy
ground. I think he no longer believed afterward. I
loved him very much. He was good to me; and I was
a queen in that little island. All the negroes loved me,
because of my mother, I think, who was partly de-
scended from slaves, as they were. But I had not be-
gun to understand how hard it was all going to be when
my father sent me to a convent in Cuba.


296 Bat Wing
—because spies of Senor Menendez were searching
for me—that I met—my husband. He was studying
in Cuba the strange things he writes about, you see.
And before I knew what had happened—I found I
loved him more than all else in the world. It is so
wonderful, that feeling," she said, looking across at Val
Beverley. "Do you know?"
The girl flushed deeply, and lowered her eyes, but
made no reply.
"Because you are a woman, too, you will perhaps
understand," she resumed. "I did not tell him. I
did not dare to tell him at first. I was so madly happy
I had no courage to speak. But when"—her voice
sank lower and lower—"he asked me to marry him, I
told him. Nothing he could ever do would change my
love for him now, because he forgave me and made me
his wife."
I feared that at last she was going to break down, for
her voice became very tremulous and tears leapt again
into her eyes. She conquered her emotion, however,
and went on:
"We crossed over to the States, and Colin's family
who had heard of his marriage—some friend of Senor
Menendez had told them—would not know us. It
meant that Colin, who would have been a rich man, was
very poor. It made no difference. He was splendid.
And I was so happy it was all like a dream. He made
me forget I was to blame for his troubles. Then we
were in Washington—and I saw Senor Menendez in the
hotel!
"Oh, my heart stopped beating. For me it seemed
like the end of everything. I knew, I knew, he was
following me. But he had not seen me, and without
telling Colin the reason, I made him leave Washington.


CHAPTER XXXII
PAUL HARLEY'S EXPERIMENT
I RECOGNIZE that whosoever may have taken the
trouble to follow my chronicle thus far will be little
disposed to suffer any intrusion of my personal
affairs at such a point. Therefore I shall pass lightly
over the walk back to Cray's Folly, during which I con-
trived to learn much about Val Beverley's personal
history but little to advance the investigation which
I was there to assist.
As I had surmised, Miss Beverley had been amply
provided for by her father, and was bound to Madame
de Stamer by no other ties than those of friendship and
esteem. Very reluctantly I released her, on our re-
turning to the house; for she, perforce, hurried off to
Madame's room, leaving me looking after her in a state
of delightful bewilderment, the significance of which
I could not disguise from myself. The absurd suspicions
of Inspector Aylesbury were forgotten; so was the
shadow upon the blind of Colonel Menendez's study.
I only knew that love had come to me, an unbidden
guest, to stay for ever.
Manoel informed me that a number of pressmen, not
to be denied, had taken photographs of the Tudor gar-
den and of the spot where Colonel Menendez had been
found, but Pedro, following my instructions, had re-
ferred them all to Market Hilton.
I was standing in the doorway talking to the man


300 Bat Wing
when I heard the drone of Harley's motor in the avenue,
and a moment later he and Wessex stepped out in front
of the porch and joined me. I thought that Wessex
looked stern and rather confused, but Harley was quite
his old self, his keen eyes gleaming humorously, and an
expression of geniality upon his tanned features.
"Hullo, Knox!" he cried, "any developments?"
"Yes," I said. "Suppose we go up to your room and
talk."
"Good enough."
Inspector Wessex nodded without speaking, and the
three of us mounted the staircase and entered Paul
Harley's room. Harley seated himself upon the bed
and began to load his pipe, whilst Wessex, who seemed
very restless, stood staring out of the window. I sat
down in the armchair, and:
"I have had an interesting interview with Mrs.
Camber," I said.
"What?" exclaimed Harley. "Good. Tell us all about it."
Wessex turned, hands clasped behind him, and
listened in silence to an account which I gave of my
visit to the Guest House. When I had finished:
"It seems to me," said the Inspector, slowly, "that
the only doubtful point in the case against Camber is
cleared up; namely, his motive."
"It certainly looks like it," agreed Harley. "But
how strangely Mrs. Camber's story differs from that of
Menendez—although there are points of contact. I
regret, however, that you were unable to settle the most
important matter of all."
"You mean whether or not she had visited Cray's
Folly?"
"Exactly."


302 Bat Wing
Menendez, and once, at least, actually in the same hotel
in the United States. Consider the rifle found under
the floor of the hut; and, having weighed all these points
judicially, Wessex, tell me frankly, if in the whole course
of your experience, you have ever met with a more per-
fect frame-up?"
"What!" shouted Wessex, in sudden excitement.
"What!"
"I said a frame-up," repeated Harley, quietly. "An
American term, but one which will be familiar to you."
"Good God!" muttered the detective, "you have
turned all my ideas upside down."
"What may be termed the physical evidence," con-
tinued Harley, "is complete, I admit: too complete.
There lies the weak spot. But what I will call the
psychological evidence points in a totally different di-
rection. A man clever enough to have planned this
crime, and Camber undoubtedly is such a man, could
not—it is humanly impossible—have been fool enough
deliberately to lay such a train of damning facts. It's a
frame-up, Wessex! I had begun to suspect this even
before I met Camber. Having met him, I knew that
I was right. Then came an inspiration. I saw where
there must be a flaw in the plan. It was geographically
impossible that this could be otherwise."
"Geographically impossible?" I said, in a hushed
voice, for Harley had truly astounded me.
"Geographical is the term, Knox. I admit that the
discovery of the rifle beneath the floor of the hut ap-
palled me."
"I could see that it did."
"It was the crowning piece of evidence, Knox, evi-
dence of such fiendish cleverness on the part of those
who had plotted Menendez's death that I began to


PaulHarley's Experiment 303
wonder whether after all it would be possible to defeat
them. I realized that Camber's life hung upon a hair.
For the production of that rifle before a jury of twelve
moderately stupid men and true could not fail to carry
enormous weight. Whereas the delicate point upon
which my counter case rested might be more difficult to
demonstrate in court. To-night, however, we shall
put it to the test, and there are means, no doubt, which
will occur to me later, of making its significance evident
to one not acquainted with the locality. The press
photographs, which I understand have been taken,
may possibly help us in this."
Bewildered by my friend's revolutionary ideas, which
explained the hitherto mysterious nature of his en-
quiries, I scarcely knew what to say; but:
"If it's a frame-up, Mr. Harley," said Wessex, "and
the more I think about it the more it has that look to
me, practically speaking, we have not yet started on the
search for the murderer."
"We have not," replied Harley, grimly. "But I
have a dawning idea of a method by which we shall be
enabled to narrow down this enquiry."
It must be unnecessary for me to speak of the state
of suppressed excitement in which we passed the
remainder of that afternoon and evening. Dr.
Rolleston called again to see Madame de Stamer, and
reported that she was quite calm. In fact, he almost
echoed Val Beverley's words spoken earlier in the
day.
"She is unnaturally calm, Mr. Knox," he said in con-
fidence. "I understand that the dead man was a
cousin, but I almost suspect that she was madly in love
with him."
I nodded shortly, admiring his acute intelligence.


304 Bat Wing
"I think you are right, doctor," I replied, "and if it
is so, her amazing fortitude is all the more admirable."
"Admirable?" he echoed. "As I said before, she has
the courage of ten men."
A formal dinner was out of the question, of course;
indeed, no one attempted to dress. Val Beverley ex-
cused herself, saying that she would dine in Madame's
room, and Harley, Wessex, and I, partook of wine and
sandwiches in the library.
Inspector Aylesbury arrived about eight o'clock in a
mood of repressed irritation. Pedro showed him in to
where the three of us were seated, and:
"Good evening, gentlemen," said he, "here I am, as
arranged, but as I am up to my eyes in work on the
case, I will ask you, Mr. Harley, to carry out this ex-
periment of yours as quickly as possible."
"No time shall be lost," replied my friend, quietly.
"May I request you to accompany Detective-Inspector
Wessex and Mr. Knox to the Guest House by the high
road? Do not needlessly alarm Mrs. Camber. Indeed,
I think you might confine your attention to Mrs. Powis.
Merely request permission to walk down the garden to
the hut, and be good enough to wait there until I join
you, which will be in a few minutes after your arrival."
Inspector Aylesbury uttered an inarticulate, grunting
sound, but I, who knew Harley so well, could see that
he felt himself to be upon the eve of a signal triumph.
What he proposed to do, I had no idea, save that it was
designed to clear Colin Camber. I prayed that it
might also clear his pathetic girl-wife; and in a sort of
gloomy silence I set out with Wessex and Aylesbury,
down the drive, past the lodge, which seemed to be
deserted to-night, and along the tree-lined high road,
cool and sweet in the dusk of evening.


308 Bat Wing
"Very well," said Harley, tersely. "And now, gentle-
men, we take to the rough ground, proceeding due east.
Will you be good enough to follow?"
Walking around the hut he found an opening in the
hedge, and scrambled down into the place where rank
grass grew and through which he and I on a previous
occasion had made our way to the high road. To-night,
however, he did not turn toward the high road, but
proceeded along the crest of the hill.
I followed him, excited by the novelty of the pro-
ceedings. Wessex, very silent, came behind me, and
Inspector Aylesbury, swearing under his breath, waded
through the long grass at the rear.
"Will you all turn your attention to the garden again,
please?" cried Harley.
We all paused, looking to the right.
"Anything unusual?"
We were agreed that there was not.
"Very well," said my friend. "You will kindly note
that from this point onward the formation of the ground
prevents our obtaining any other view of Cray's
Folly or its gardens until we reach the path to the
valley, or turn on to the high road. From a point on
the latter the tower may be seen but that is all.
The first part of my experiment is concluded, gentlemen.
We will now return."
Giving us no opportunity for comment, he plunged
on in the direction of the stream, and at a point which I
regarded as unnecessarily difficult, crossed it, to the
great discomfiture of the heavy Inspector Aylesbury.
A few minutes later we found ourselves once more in
the grounds of Cray's Folly.
Harley, evidently with a definite objective in view,
led the way up the terraces, through the rhododendrons,


CHAPTER: XXXIII
PAUL HARLEY'S EXPERIMENT CONCLUDED
UP TO the very moment that Paul Harley, who
had withdrawn, rejoined us in the garden, In-
spector Aylesbury had not grasped the signifi-
cance of that candle burning upon the yew tree. He
continued to stare at it as if hypnotized, and when
my friend re-appeared, carrying a long ash staff and
a sheet of cardboard, I could have laughed to witness
the expression upon the Inspector's face, had I not been
too deeply impressed with that which underlay this
strange business.
Wessex, on the other hand, was watching my friend
eagerly, as an earnest student in the class-room might
watch a demonstration by some celebrated lecturer.
"You will notice," said Paul Harley, "that I have
had a number of boards laid down upon the ground
yonder, near the sun-dial. They cover a spot where the
turf has worn very thin. Now, this garden, because of
its sunken position, is naturally damp. Perhaps, Wes-
sex, you would take up these planks for me."
Inspector Wessex obeyed, and Harley, laying the ash
stick and cardboard upon the ground, directed the ray of
an electric torch upon the spot uncovered.
"The footprints of Colonel Menendez!" he explained.
"Here he turned from the tiled path. He advanced
three paces in the direction of the sun-dial, you ob-
serve, then stood still, facing we may suppose, since
311


Paul Harley's Experiment Concluded 313
ing the nail upward he raised the flame of the candle
level with the base of the embedded bullet.
"By heavens!" cried Wessex, suddenly divining the
object of these proceedings, "Mr. Harley, this is
genius!"
"Thank you, Wessex," Harley replied, quietly, but
nevertheless he was unable to hide his gratification.
"You see my point?"
"Certainly."
"In ten minutes we shall know the truth."
"Oh, I see," muttered Inspector Aylesbury; "we
shall know the truth, eh? If you ask me the truth, it's
this, that we are a set of lunatics."
"My dear Inspector Aylesbury," said Harley, good
humouredly, "surely you have grasped the lesson of
experiment number one?"
"Well," admitted the other, "it's funny, certainly.
I mean, it wants a lot of explaining, but I can't say
I'm convinced."
"That's a pity," murmured Wessex, "because I am."
"You see, Inspector," Harley continued, patiently,
"the body of Colonel Menendez as it lay formed a
straight line between the sun-dial and the hut in the
garden of the Guest House. That is to say: a line
drawn from the window of the hut to the sun-dial must
have passed through the body. Very well. Such an
imaginary line, if continued beyond the sun-dial, would
have terminated near the base of the seventh yew tree.Accordingly, I naturally looked for the bullet there.
It was not there. But I found it, as you know, in the
ninth tree. Therefore, the shot could not possibly
have been fired from the Guest House, because the
spot in the ninth yew where the bullet had lodged is not
visible from the Guest House."


316 Bat Wing
I stood upright, knowing that I had grown pale, and
conscious of a moist sensation upon my forehead.
"Merciful God!" I said in a hollow voice. "It was
from this window that the shot was fired which killed
him!"
-


CHAPTER XXXIV
THE CREEPING SICKNESS
FROM the ensuing consultation in the library
we did not rise until close upon midnight.
To the turbid intelligence of Inspector Ayles-
bury the fact by this time had penetrated that Colin
Camber was innocent, that he was the victim of a
frame-up, and that Colonel Juan Menendez had been
shot from a window of his own house.
By a process of lucid reasoning which must have con-
vinced a junior schoolboy, Paul Harley, there in the big
library, with its garish bookcases and its Moorish
ornaments, had eliminated every member of the house-
hold from the list of suspects. His concluding words, I
remember, were as follows:
"Of the known occupants of Cray's Folly on the night
of the tragedy we now find ourselves reduced to four,
any one of whom, from the point of view of an im-
partial critic uninfluenced by personal character, ques-
tion, or motive, or any consideration other than that of
physical possibility, might have shot Colonel Menen-
dez. They are, firstly: Myself.
"In order to believe me guilty, it would be necessary
to discount the evidence of Knox, who saw me on the
gravel path below at the time that the shot was fired
from the tower window.
"Secondly: Knox; whose guilt, equally, could only
be assumed by means of eliminating my evidence, since
317


318 Bat Wing
I saw him at the window of my room at the time that
the shot was fired.
"Thirdly: Madame de Stamer. Regarding this
suspect, in the first place she could not have gained ac-
cess to the tower room without assistance, and in the
second place she was so passionately devoted to the late
Colonel Menendez that Dr. Rolleston is of opinion
that her reason may remain permanently impaired by
the shock of his death. Fourthly and lastly: Miss
Val Beverley."
Over my own feelings, as he had uttered the girl's
name, I must pass in silence.
"Miss Val Beverley is the only one of the four sus-
pects who is not in a position to establish a sound alibi
so far as I can see at the moment; but in this case entire
absence of motive renders the suspicion absurd. Hav-
ing dealt with the known occupants, I shall not touch
upon the possibility that some stranger had gained
access to the house. This opens up a province of specu-
lation which we must explore at greater leisure, for it
would be profitless to attempt such an exploration now."
Thus the gathering had broken up, Inspector
Aylesbury returning to Market Hilton to make his re-
port and to release Colin Camber and Ah Tsong, and
Wessex to seek his quarters at the Lavender Arms.
I remember that having seen them off, Harley and I
stood in the hall, staring at one another in a very odd
way, and so we stood when Val Beverley came quietly
from Madame de Stamer's room and spoke to us.
"Pedro has told me what you have done, Mr. Har-
ley," she said in a low voice. "Oh, thank God you
have cleared him. But what, in Heaven's name, does
your new discovery mean?"
"You may well ask," Harley answered, grimly. "If


The Creeping Sickness 321
reach me. Now, Mr. Harley, tell me of this wonderful
discovery of yours."
Harley inclined his head gravely, and in that succinct
fashion which he had at command acquainted Madame
with the result of his two experiments. As he com-
pleted the account:
"Ah," she sighed, and lay back upon her pillows,
"so to-night he is again a free man, the poor Colin
Camber. And his wife is happy once more?"
"Thank God," I murmured. "Her sorrow was
pathetic."
"Only the pure in heart can thank God," said Mad-
ame, strangely, "but I, too, am glad. I have written
here"—she pointed to a little heap of violet note-
paper upon a table placed at the opposite side of the
bed—"how glad I am."
Harley and I stared vaguely across at the table. I
saw Val Beverley glancing uneasily in the same direc-
tion. Save for the writing materials and little heap of
manuscript, it held only a cup and saucer, a few sand-
wiches, and a medicine bottle containing the prescrip-
tion which Dr. Rolleston had made up for the in-
valid.
"I am curious to know what you have written,
Madame," declared Harley.
"Yes, you are curious?" she said. "Very well, then,
I will tell you, and afterward you may read if you
wish." She turned to me. "You, my friend," she
whispered, and reaching over she laid her jewelled hand
upon my arm, "you have spoken with Ysola de Valera
this afternoon, they tell me?"
"With Mrs. Camber?" I asked, startled. "Yes,
that is true."
"Ah, Mrs. Camber," murmured Madame. "I knew


The Creeping Sickness 323
other, and yet a third. I have pride. If I had seemed
to forget it, still it was there. I left him, and went back
to France. I tried to forget. I entered upon works of
charity for the soldiers at a time when others were be-
coming tired. I spent a great part of my fortune upon
establishing a hospital, and this child "—she threw her
arm around Val Beverley—"worked with me night and
day. I think I wanted to die. Often I tried to die.
.Did I not, dear?"
"You did, Madame," said the girl in a very low voice.
"Twice I was arrested in the French lines, where I
had crept dressed like a poilu, from where I shot down
many a Prussian. Is it not so?"
"It is true," answered the girl, nodding her head.
"They caught me and arrested me," said Madame,
with a sort of triumph. "If it had been the British"—
she raised her hand in that Bernhardt gesture—"with
me it would have gone hard. But in France a woman's
smile goes farther than in England. I had had my
fun. They called me 'good comrade!' Perhaps I paid
with a kiss. What does it matter? But they heard of
me, those Prussian dogs. They knew and could not
forgive. How often did they come over to bomb us,
Val, dear?"
"Oh, many, many times," said the girl, shudderingly.
"And at last they succeeded," added Madame, bit-
terly. "God! the black villains! Let me not think of
:it."
v She clenched her hands and closed her eyes entirely,
but presently resumed again:
"If they had killed me I should have been glad,
but they only made of me a cripple. M. de Stamer
had been killed a few weeks before this. I am sorry I
forgot to mention it. I was a widow. And when after


The Creeping Sickness 325
She lay back, shaking her finger characteristically.
"In one year, in two, three, a swift pain comes, like
a needle, you understand? Perhaps in the foot, in the
hand, in the arm. It is exquisite, deathly, while it
lasts, but it only lasts for a few moments. It is agony.
And then it goes, leaving nothing to show what has
caused it. But, my friends, it is a death warning!
"If it comes here"—she raised one delicate white
hand—"you may have five years to live; if in the foot,
ten, or more. But"—she sank her voice dramatically
—"the nearer it is to the heart, the less are the days that
remain to you of life."
"You mean that it recurs?" asked Harley.
"Perhaps in a week, perhaps not for another year,
it comes again, that quick agony. This time in the
shoulder, in the knee. It is the second warning. Three
times it may come, four times, but at last"—she laid
her hand upon her breast—"it comes here, in the heart,
and all is finished."
She paused as if exhausted, closing her eyes again,
whilst we three who listened looked at one another in an
awestricken silence, until the vibrant voice resumed:
"There is only one man in Europe who understands
this thing, this Creeping Sickness. He is a Frenchman
who lives in Paris. To him Juan had been, and he had
told him, this clever man, 'If you are very quiet and do
not exert yourself, and only take as much exercise as is
necessary for your general health, you have one year to
live'"
"My God!" groaned Harley.
"Yes, such was the verdict. And there is no cure.
The poor sufferer must wait and wait, always wait, for
that sudden pang, not knowing if it will come in his
heart and be the finish. Yes. This living death, then,


The Creeping Sickness 327
Harley nodded dumbly, and suddenly I found Val
Beverley's little fingers twined about mine.
"I agreed," continued the deep voice. "It was a
boon which I, too, would have asked from one who
loved me. But to die, knowing another cherished the
woman who had been torn from him, was an impossi-
bility for Juan Menendez. What he had schemed to do
at first I never knew. But presently, because of our
situation here, and because of that which he had asked
of me, it came, the great plan.
"On the night he told me, a night I shall never forget,
I drew back in horror from him—I, Marie de Stamer,
who thought I knew the blackest that was in him. I
shrank. And because of that scene it came to him
again in the early morning—the moment of agony,
the needle pain, here, low down in his left breast.
"He pleaded with me to do the wicked thing that he
had planned, and because I dared not refuse, knowing
he might die at my feet, I consented. But, my friends,
I had my own plan, too, of which he knew nothing.
On the next day he went to Paris, and was told he had
two months to live, with great, such great care, but
perhaps only a week, a day, if he should permit his hot
passions to inflame that threatened heart. Very well.
"I said yes, yes, to all that he suggested, and he began
to lay the trail—the trail to lead to his enemy. It
was his hobby, this vengeance. He was like a big, cruel
boy. It was he, himself, Juan Menendez, who broke
into Cray's Folly. It was he who nailed the bat wing
to the door. It was he who bought two rifles of a kind
of which so many millions were made during the war
that anybody might possess one. And it was he who
concealed the first of these, one cartridge discharged,!
under the floor of the hut in the garden of the Guest]


"328 Bat Wing
House. The other, which was to be used, he
placed"
"In the shutter-case of one of the tower rooms,"
continued Paul Harley. "I know! I found it there
to-night."
"What?" I asked, "you found it, Harley?"
"I returned to look for it," he said. "At the pres-
ent moment it is upstairs in my room."
, "Ah, M. Harley," exclaimed Madame, smiling at
him radiantly, "I love your genius. Then it was," she
continued, "that he thought himself ready, ready for
revenge and ready for death. He summoned you, M.
Harley, to be an expert witness. He placed with you
evidence which could not fail to lead to the arrest of M.
Camber. Very well. I allowed him to do all this.
His courage, man Dieu, how I worshipped his cour-
age!
"At night, when everyone slept, and he could drop
the mask, I have seen what he suffered. I have begged
him, begged him upon my knees, to allow me to end it
then and there; to forget his dream of revenge, to die
without this last stain upon his soul. But he, ex-
pecting at any hour, at any minute, to know again the
agony which cannot be described, which is unlike any
other suffered by the flesh—refused, refused! And
I"—she raised her eyes ecstatically—"I have worship-
ped this courage of his, although it was evil—bad.
"The full moon gives the best light, and so he planned
it for the night of the full moon. But on the night
before, because of some scene which he had with you,
M. Harley, nearly I thought his plans would come to
'nothing. Nearly I thought the last act of love which
he asked of me would never be performed. He sat
'there, up in the little room which he liked best, the


'330 Bat Wing
1 It was no heavier than some which I had used before,
and to good purpose."
Again she paused, and I saw her lips trembling.
Before my mind's eye the picture arose which I had
seen from Harley's window, the picture of Colonel Juan
Menendez walking in the moonlight along the path to
. the sun-dial, with halting steps, with clenched fists, but
upright as a soldier on parade. Walking on, daunt-
lessly, to his execution. Out of a sort of haze, which
seemed to obscure both sight and hearing, I heard
Madame speaking again.
"He turned his head toward me. He threw me a
kiss—and I fired. Did you think a woman lived who
could perform such a deed, eh? If you did not think so,
it is because you have never looked into the eyes of one
who loved with her body, her mind, and with her soul.
I think, yes, I think I went mad. The rifle I remember
•I replaced. But I remember no more. Ah!"
She sighed in a resigned, weary way, untwining
her arm from about Val Beverley, and falling back
upon her pillows.
!"It is all written here," she said; "every word of
it, my friends, and signed at the bottom. I am a
murderess, but it was a merciful deed. You see, I had
a plan of which Juan knew nothing. This was my
plan." She pointed to the heap of manuscript. "I
would give him relief from his agonies, yes. For al-
though he was an evil man, I loved him better than
life. I would let him die happy, thinking his revenge
complete. But others to suffer? No, no! a thou-
sand times no! Ah, I am so tired."
She took up the little medicine bottle, poured its
contents into the glass, and emptied it at a draught.
Paul Harley, as though galvanized, sprang to his feet


An Afterword 333
as she was beautiful. Therefore, except for the many
grim memories which it had left with me, nothing but
personal good fortune resulted from my sojourn at
Cray's Folly, beneath the shadow of that Bat Wing
which had had no existence outside the cunning im-
agination of Colonel Juan Menendez.
THE END


•