Bat-Wing (24 page)

"Ah. He would have to light a candle for that purpose, I suppose?"

"A candle, or a lamp," replied Colin Camber, staring at Paul Harley.
Then, his expression altering: "Of course!" he cried. "You saw the
light from Cray's Folly? I understand at last."

We were silent for a while, until:

"How long a time elapsed between the firing of the shot and Ah Tsong's
knocking at the study door?" asked Harley.

"I could not answer definitely. I was absorbed in my work. But probably
only a minute or two."

"Was the sound a loud one?"

"Fairly loud. And very startling, of course, in the silence of the
night."

"The shot, then, was fired from somewhere quite near the house?"

"I presume so."

"But you thought no more about the matter?"

"Frankly, I had forgotten it. You see, the neighbourhood is rich with
game; it might have been a poacher."

"Quite," murmured Harley, but his face was very stern. "I wonder if you
fully realize the danger of your position, Mr. Camber?"

"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
discovered, 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 myself. 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 leasing the Guest House.
Finally, he became my neighbour 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 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. "Apprehend his murderer?"

"Ultimately, yes. But, firstly, I must see that to the assassination of
Colonel Menendez a judicial murder is not added."

"You mean—?" asked Camber, eagerly.

"I mean that if you killed Menendez, you are a madman, 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.

"I am obliged to you, Mr. Harley," he replied. "But has Mr. Knox
informed you of my bibulous habits?"

Paul Harley nodded.

"They will, of course, be ascribed," continued Camber, "and there are
many suitable analogies, to deliberate contemplation of a murderous
deed. I would remind you that chronic alcoholism is a recognized form,
of insanity."

His mood changed again, and sighing wearily, he lay back in the chair.
Over his pale face crept an expression which I knew, instinctively, to
mean that he was thinking of his wife.

"Mr. Harley," he said, speaking in a very low tone which scorned to
accentuate the beauty of his voice, "I have suffered much in the quest
of truth. Suffering is the gate beyond which we find compassion.
Perhaps you have thought my foregoing remarks frivolous, in view of the
fact that last night a soul was sent to its reckoning almost at my
doors. I revere the truth, however, above all lesser laws and above all
expediency. I do not, and I cannot, regret the end of the man Menendez.
But for three reasons I should regret to pay the penalty of a crime
which I did not commit, These reasons are—one," he ticked them off
upon his delicate fingers—"It would be bitter to know that Devil
Menendez even in death had injured me; two—My work in the world,
which is unfinished; and, three—My wife."

I watched and listened, almost awed by the strangeness of the man who
sat before me. His three reasons were illuminating. A casual observer
might have regarded Colin Camber as a monument of selfishness. But it
was evident to me, and I knew it must be evident to Paul Harley, that
his egotism was quite selfless. To a natural human resentment and a
pathetic love for his wife he had added, as an equal clause, the claim
of the world upon his genius.

"I have heard you," said Paul Harley, quietly, "and you have led me to
the most important point of all."

"What point is that, Mr. Harley?"

"You have referred to your recent lapse from abstemiousness. Excuse me
if I discuss personal matters. This you ascribed to domestic troubles,
or so Mr. Knox has informed me. You have also referred to your
undisguised hatred of the late Colonel Juan Menendez. I am going to ask
you, Mr. Camber, to tell me quite frankly what was the nature of those
domestic troubles, and what had caused this hatred which survives even
the death of its object?"

Colin Camber stood up, angular, untidy, but a figure of great dignity.

"Mr. Harley," he replied, "I cannot answer your questions."

Paul Harley inclined his head gravely.

"May I suggest," he said, "that you will be called upon to do so under
circumstances which will brook no denial."

Colin Camber watched him unflinchingly.

"'The fate of every man is hung around his neck,'" he replied.

"Yet, in this secret history which you refuse to divulge, and which
therefore must count against you, the truth may lie which exculpates
you."

"It may be so. But my determination remains unaltered."

"Very well," answered Paul Harley, quietly, but I could see that he was
exercising a tremendous restraint 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."

"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 disapproval.

"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."

"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
removed."

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 produced a note-book.

"I am placing that statement on record, sir," he said.

He made an entry in the book, and then:

"Where did you first meet Colonel Menendez?" he asked.

"I never met him in my life."

"What's that?"

Colin Camber merely shrugged his shoulders.

"I will repeat my question," said the Inspector, pompously. "Where did
you first meet Colonel Juan Menendez?"

"I have answered you, Inspector."

"Oh, I see. You decline to answer that question. Very well, I will make
a note of this." He did so. "And now," said he, "what were you doing at
midnight last night?"

"I was writing."

"Where?"

"Here."

"What happened?"

Very succinctly Colin Camber repeated the statement which he had
already made to Paul Harley, and, at its conclusion:

"Send for the man, Ah Tsong," directed Inspector Aylesbury.

Colin Camber inclined his head, clapped his bands, and silently Ah
Tsong entered.

The Inspector stared at him for several moments as a visitor to the Zoo
might stare at some rare animal; then:

"Your name is Ah Tsong?" he began.

"Ah Tsong," murmured the Chinaman.

"I am going to ask you to give an exact account of your movements last
night."

"No sabby."

Inspector Aylesbury cleared his throat.

"I say I wish to know exactly what you did last night. Answer me."

Ah Tseng's face remained quite expressionless, and:

"No sabby," he repeated.

"Oh, I see," said the Inspector, "This witness refuses 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 pidgin."

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 Chinese?"

"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.

"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. "Anything 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.