Bat Wing by Sax Rohmer

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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 retired, 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 Staemer had
gone to bed, why should Miss Beverley have remained up?" He paused
significantly. "As well as Colonel Menendez?" he added.

"Look here, Inspector Aylesbury," I interrupted, I 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. "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 subconsciously?"

"I mean that those of us who were aware of the previous attempts on
the life of the Colonel apprehended this danger. And I believe that
something of this apprehension had extended even to the servants."

"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 congratulated 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 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.

"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 apprehension had settled
on the house last night, Harley, which was like the darkness of Egypt.
The poor girl was afraid to go to bed. She was probably sitting up
reading."

"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 Staemer?"

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 neighbourhood?"

"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 something 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
proceeded practically in a straight line from the sun-dial, and do you
know where I found myself?"

"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 cautiously 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."

"Ah Tsong!" I cried.

"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 returned 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 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 injunction, and although I was
early afoot, the big house was already astir with significant movements
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 morning.

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 Staemer, Mrs. Fisher?" I enquired.

"Oh, poor, poor Madame," said the old lady, "she is asleep, thank God.
But I am dreading her awakening."

"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."

"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 Staemer.

I wandered about restlessly, awaiting the girl's appearance. 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 circumstances."

"We realized this, Miss Beverley, but you will have to face the ordeal
this morning."

We walked through into the library, where a maid 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 sunlight.

"Oh, Heavens," she said, clenching her hands desperately, "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 Staemer 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 moment 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:

"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. 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 farther 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."

She smiled, and flushed slightly, as I released her hand again.

"I must go and take a peep at Madame now," she said, "but of course I
shall not disturb her if she is still sleeping."

We turned and walked slowly back to the hall, and there just entering
from the courtyard was Inspector Aylesbury.

"Ah!" he exclaimed, "good morning, Mr. Knox. This is Miss Beverley, I
presume?"

"Yes, Inspector," replied the girl. "I understand that you wish to
speak to me?"

"I do, Miss, but I shall not detain you for many minutes."

"Very well," she said, and as she turned and retraced her steps, he
followed her back into the library.

I walked out to the courtyard, and avoiding the Tudor garden and the
billiard room, turned in the other direction, passing the stables where
Jim, the negro groom, saluted me very sadly, and proceeded round to the
south side of the house.

Inspector Aylesbury, I perceived, had wasted no time. I counted no
fewer than four men, two of them in uniform, searching the lawns and
the slopes beyond, although what they were looking for I could not
imagine.

Giving the library a wide berth, I walked along the second terrace, and
presently came in sight of the east wing and the tower. There,
apparently engaged in studying the rhododendrons, I saw Paul Harley.

He signalled to me, and, crossing the lawn, I joined him where he
stood.

Without any word of greeting:

"You see, Knox," he said, speaking in the eager manner which betokened
a rapidly working brain, "this is the path which the Colonel must have
followed last night. Yonder is the door by which, according to his own
account, he came out on a previous occasion, walking in his sleep. Do
you remember?"

"I remember," I replied.

"Well, Pedro found it unlocked this morning. You see it faces
practically due south, and the Colonel's bedroom is immediately above
us where we stand." He stared at me queerly. "I must have passed this
door last night only a few moments before the Colonel came out, for I
was just crossing the courtyard and could see you at my window at the
moment when you saw poor Menendez enter the Tudor garden. He must have
actually been walking around the east wing at the same time that I was
walking around the west. Now, I am going to show you something, Knox,
something which I have just discovered."

From his waistcoat pocket he took out a half-smoked cigarette. I stared
at it uncomprehendingly.

"Of course," he continued, "the weather has been bone dry for more than
a week now, and it may have lain there for a long time, but to me,
Knox, to me it looks suspiciously fresh."

"What is the point?" I asked, perplexedly.

"The point is that it is a hand-made cigarette, one of the Colonel's.
Don't you recognize it?"

"Good heavens!" I said; "yes, of course it is."

He returned it to his pocket without another word.

"It may mean nothing," he murmured, "or it may mean everything. And
now, Knox, we are going to escape."

"To escape?" I cried.

"Precisely. We are going to anticipate the probable movements of our
blundering Aylesbury. In short, I wish you to present me to Mr. Colin
Camber."

"What?" I exclaimed, staring at him incredulously.

"I am going to ask you," he began, and then, breaking 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, and:

"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 unquestioningly; 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 movements, and presently, having
scrambled up on the farther side, we found ourselves standing on a
narrow bank immediately under that summer house which Colin Camber had
told me he had formerly used as a study.

"We can scarcely present ourselves at the kitchen door," murmured
Harley; "therefore we must try to find a way round to the front. There
is barbed wire here. Be careful."

I had now entered with zest into the business, and so the pair of us
waded through rank grass which in places was waist high, and on through
a perfect wilderness of weeds in which nettles dominated. Presently we
came to a dry ditch, which we negotiated successfully, to find
ourselves upon the high road some hundred yards to the west of the
Guest House.

"I predict an unfriendly reception," I said, panting from my exertions,
and surveying my friend, who was a mockery of his ordinarily spruce
self.

"We must face it," he replied, grimly. "He has everything to gain by
being civil to us."

We proceeded along the dusty high road, almost overarched by trees.

"Harley," I said, "this is going to be a highly unpleasant ordeal for
me."

Harley stopped short, staring at me sternly.

"I know, Knox," he replied; "but I suppose you realize that a man's
life is at stake."

"You mean--?"

"I mean that when we are both compelled to tell all we know, I doubt if
there is a counsel in the land who would undertake the defence of Mr.
Colin Camber."

"Good God! then you think he is guilty?"

"Did I say so?" asked Harley, continuing on his way. "I don't recollect
saying so, Knox; but I do say that it will be a giant's task to prove
him innocent."

"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 irritable, 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:

"_Tchee, tchee,_" 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 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 although 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 incoherent 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 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 privilege 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.

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 brilliant 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.

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