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Bat Wing

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Throughout the time that he spoke he continued to search the moon-
bathed landscape with feverish eagerness, 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.

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 together. Where is Madame
de Stämer?"

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.

"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 Madame de Stämer's bedchamber.

I heard a frightened cry proceeding from that direction, 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 Stämer, 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, rendered cool, as one
always is, by the need of others. "But first tell me--how did Madame de
Stämer 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,
pathetically, "and Pedro is out of his senses, and Nita, who was the
first of the servants to come, is simply hysterical, 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 courage, 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, 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."




CHAPTER XVIII

INSPECTOR AYLESBURY OF MARKET HILTON



"Now, gentlemen," said Inspector Aylesbury, "I will take evidence."

Dawn was creeping grayly over the hills, and the view from the library
windows resembled a study by Bastien-Lepage. The lamps burned yellowly,
and the exotic appointments of the library viewed in that cold light
for some reason reminded me of a stage set seen in daylight. The
Velasquez portrait mentally translated me to the billiard room where
something lay upon the settee with a white sheet drawn over it; and I
wondered if my own face looked as wan and comfortless as did the faces
of my companions, that is, of two of them, for I must except Inspector
Aylesbury.

Squarely before the oaken mantel he stood, a large, pompous man, but in
this hour I could find no humour in Paul Harley's description of him as
resembling a walrus. He had a large auburn moustache tinged with gray,
and prominent brown eyes, but the lower part of his face, which
terminated in a big double chin, was ill-balanced by his small
forehead. He was bulkily built, and I had conceived an unreasonable
distaste for his puffy hands. His official air and oratorical manner
were provoking.

Harley sat in the chair which he had occupied during our last interview
with Colonel Menendez in the library, and I had realized--a realization
which had made me 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 Aylesbury raised one finger in forensic manner--"now, you
visited me yesterday afternoon, Mr. Harley, and asked for certain
information regarding the neighbourhood."

"I did," said Harley, shortly.

"The questions which you asked me were," continued 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 questions?"

"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."

"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 concentrated 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," replied 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, 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,
Inspector?"

Inspector Aylesbury took a large handkerchief from his pocket and blew
his nose. Replacing the handkerchief 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, Knox," he murmured, "my Waterloo."

"What's that you say about Waterloo, Mr. Harley?" demanded the
Inspector.

"Nothing germane 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 evidence?" 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?"

"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 Washington, was attacked
by a man with a knife. He maintained 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 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 Inspector.

"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 tonight, 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, raising a fat hand. "One
moment, Mr. Knox, one moment," 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?"

"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 purpose."

"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. 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 running 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 surrounded 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 that he had been shot through the head."

"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, tonelessly.

"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 ignorance, 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 Paul Harley. We sat in the
deserted dining room. I had contributed 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 permission to withdraw, and the physician was
visiting Madame de Stämer, who lay in a state of utter prostration.

"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 laughter, too."

"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 investigate," 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 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 reflectively 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.

"Ah, gentlemen," he said, "I wanted to see you before leaving. I have
just been to visit Madame de Stämer again."

"Yes," said Harley, eagerly; "how is she?"

Dr. Rolleston lighted a cigarette, frowning perplexedly 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.

"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 certainly 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, temporarily 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 Stämer is
in such good hands. I am calling 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 Stämer 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.

"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 consciousness have been,
'Don't leave me!'"

"Hm," muttered Harley. "You have not attended Madame de Stämer 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 interview: Madame de
Stämer 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 Stämer 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.

"I have expressed my opinion," he said, finally, walking out of the
room; "I shall leave the responsibility to you, Inspector Aylesbury.
Good morning, gentlemen."

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, Inspector," 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, disagreeably. "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, frowning 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 explained why I found you in
evening dress, Colonel Menendez, who can never explain, and there is
one other."

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