Bat-Wing (28 page)

"Well, you don't think he might have gone out to talk to someone?"

"To someone? To what one?" demanded Madame, scornfully.

"Well, it isn't natural for a man to go walking about the garden at
midnight, when he's unwell, is it? Not alone. But if there was a lady
in the case he might go."

"A lady?" said Madame, softly. "Yes—continue."

"Well," resumed the Inspector, deceived by the soft voice, "the young
lady sitting beside you was still wearing her evening dress when I
arrived here last night. I found that out, although she didn't give me
a chance to see her."

His words had an effect more dramatic than he could have foreseen.

Madame de Stämer threw her arm around Val Beverley, and hugged her so
closely to her side that the girl's curly brown head was pressed
against Madame's shoulder. Thus holding her, she sat rigidly upright,
her strange, still eyes glaring across the room at Inspector Aylesbury.
Her whole pose was instinct with challenge, with defiance, and in that
moment I identified the illusive memory which the eyes of Madame so
often had conjured up in my mind.

Once, years before, I had seen a wounded tigress standing over her
cubs, a beautiful, fearless creature, blazing defiance with dying eyes
upon those who had destroyed her, the mother-instinct supreme to the
last; for as she fell to rise no more she had thrown her paw around the
cowering cubs. It was not in shape, nor in colour, but in expression
and in their stillness, that the eyes of Madame de Stämer resembled the
eyes of the tigress.

"Oh, Madame, Madame," moaned the girl, "how dare he!"

"Ah!" Madame de Stämer raised her head yet higher, a royal gesture,
that unmoving stare set upon the face of the discomfited Inspector
Aylesbury. "Leave my apartment." Her left hand shot out dramatically in
the direction of the door, but even yet the fingers remained curled.
"Stupid, gross fool!"

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 Stämer," 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.

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
breakfasted. 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 Señor the Colonel Don Juan in Cuba."

"And do you know anything of the previous attempts which had been made
upon his life, Pedro?"

"Nothing, sir. Nothing at all."

"But the bat wing, Pedro?"

He looked at me in a startled way.

"Yes, sir," he replied. "I found it pinned to the door here."

"And what did you think it meant?"

"I thought it was a joke, sir—not a nice joke—by someone who knew
Cuba."

"You know the meaning of Bat Wing, then?"

"It is Obeah. I have never seen it before, but I have heard of it."

"And what did you think?" said I, proceeding with my breakfast.

"I thought it was meant to frighten."

"But who did you think had done it?"

"I had heard Señor Don Juan say that Mr. Camber hated him, so I thought
perhaps he had sent someone to do it."

"But why should Mr. Camber have hated the Colonel?"

"I cannot say, sir. I wish I could tell."

"Was your master popular in the West Indies?" I asked.

"Well, sir—" Pedro hesitated—"perhaps not so well liked."

"No," I said. "I had gathered as much."

The man withdrew, and I continued my solitary meal, listening to the
song of the skylarks, and thinking how complex was human existence,
compared with any other form of life beneath the sun.

How to employ my time until Harley should return I knew not. Common
delicacy dictated an avoidance of Val Beverley until she should have
recovered from the effect of Inspector Aylesbury's gross insinuations,
and I was curiously disinclined to become involved in the gloomy
formalities which ensue upon a crime of violence. Nevertheless, I felt
compelled to remain within call, realizing that there might be
unpleasant duties which Pedro could not perform, and which must
therefore devolve upon Val Beverley.

I lighted my pipe and walked out on to the sloping lawn. A gardener was
at work with a big syringe, destroying a patch of weeds which had
appeared in one corner of the velvet turf. He looked up in a sort of
startled way as I passed, bidding me good morning, and then resuming
his task. I thought that this man's activities were symbolic of the way
of the world, in whose eternal progression one poor human life counts
as nothing.

Presently I came in sight of that door which opened into the
rhododendron shrubbery, the door by which Colonel Menendez had come out
to meet his death. His bedroom was directly above, and as I picked my
way through the closely growing bushes, which at an earlier time I had
thought to be impassable, I paused in the very shadow of the tower and
glanced back and upward. I could see the windows of the little smoke-
room in which we had held our last interview with Menendez; and I
thought of the shadow which Harley had seen upon the blind. I was
unable to disguise from myself the fact that when Inspector Aylesbury
should learn of this occurrence, as presently he must do, it would give
new vigour to his ridiculous and unpleasant suspicions.

I passed on, and considering the matter impartially, found myself faced
by the questions—Whose was the shadow which Harley had seen upon the
blind? And with what purpose did Colonel Menendez leave the house at
midnight?

Somnambulism might solve the second riddle, but to the first I could
find no answer acceptable to my reason. And now, pursuing my aimless
way, I presently came in sight of a gable of the Guest House. I could
obtain a glimpse of the hut which had once been Colin Camber's
workroom. The window, through which Paul Harley had stared so intently,
possessed sliding panes. These were closed, and a ray of sunlight,
striking upon the glass, produced, because of an over-leaning branch
which crossed the top of the window, an effect like that of a giant eye
glittering evilly through the trees. I could see a constable moving
about in the garden. Ever and anon the sun shone upon the buttons of
his tunic.

By such steps my thoughts led me on to the pathetic figure of Ysola
Camber. Save for the faithful Ah Tsong she was alone in that house to
which tragedy had come unbidden, unforeseen. I doubted if she had a
woman friend in all the countryside. Doubtless, I reflected, the old
housekeeper, to whom she had referred, would return as speedily as
possible, but pending the arrival of someone to whom she could confide
all her sorrows, I found it almost impossible to contemplate the
loneliness of the tragic little figure.

Such was my mental state, and my thoughts were all of compassion, when
suddenly, like a lurid light, an inspiration came to me.

I had passed out from the shadow of the tower and was walking in the
direction of the sentinel yews when this idea, dreadfully complete,
leapt to my mind. I pulled up short, as though hindered by a palpable
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."

The afternoon was well advanced before Paul Harley returned.

So deep was my conviction that I had hit upon the truth, and so well
did my theory stand every test which I could apply to it, that I felt
disinclined for conversation with any one concerned in the tragedy
until I should have submitted the matter to the keen analysis of
Harley. Upon the sorrow of Madame de Stämer I naturally did not
intrude, nor did I seek to learn if she had carried out her project of
looking upon the dead man.

About mid-day the body was removed, after which an oppressive and
awesome stillness seemed to descend upon Cray's Folly.

Inspector Aylesbury had not returned from his investigations at the
Guest House, and learning that Miss Beverley was remaining with Madame
de Stämer, I declined to face the ordeal of a solitary luncheon in the
dining room, and merely ate a few sandwiches, walking over to the
Lavender Arms for a glass of Mrs. Wootton's excellent ale.

Here I found the bar-parlour full of local customers, and although a
heated discussion was in progress as I opened the door, silence fell
upon my appearance. Mrs. Wootton greeted me sadly.

"Ah, sir," she said, as she placed a mug before me; "of course you've
heard?"

"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 Stämer, and I was left in loneliness
to pursue my own reflections, and to perfect that theory which had
presented 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 reporters, 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:

"Hullo, Knox," he called, running up the steps. "Any developments?"

"No actual development?" I replied, "except that 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 further 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, suddenly, 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 Stämer, and
came out with a flea in his ear."

"Good," said Harley, smiling. "A clever woman, and a woman of spirit,
Knox."

"You are right," I replied, "and you are also right in supposing that I
have a communication to make to you."

"Ah, I thought so. What is it?"

"It is a theory, Harley, which appears to me to cover the facts of the
case."

"Indeed?" said he, continuing to stare at me. "And what inspired it?"

"I was staring up at the window of the smoke-room to-day, and I
remembered the shadow which you had seen upon the blind."

"Yes?" he cried, eagerly; "and does your theory explain that, too?"

"It does, Harley."