 Part 9 of BAT-WING, by Sachs Romer, read by Mark Nelson. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. BAT-WING CHAPTER XXV AILSBERRY'S THEORY There were strangers about craze 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 up 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 motion. I was longing to speak to Val Beverly and to learn what had taken place during her interview with Inspector Ailsbury, but Harley led the way toward the Tower Wing, and, by a tortuous path through the road-edendrons, we finally came out on the northeast front and inside 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 admit 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.' "'Sorry, sir,' replied the constable, but you will have to see Inspector Ailsbury.' My friend uttered an impatient exclamation, but turning aside. "'Very well, constable,' he muttered. I suppose I must submit. Our friend Ailsbury, he added to me as we walked away, would appear to be a martinet as well as a walrus. At every step knocks he proves himself a tragic nuisance. This means waste of priceless 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.' Manuel had just opened the doors to a sub-pulcral-looking person who proved to be the coroner's officer, and... "'Manuel,' cried Harley, tell Carter to bring the 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 knocks. Ailsbury must be superseded at whatever cost.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. Manuel, do your best to act as a buffer between Ailsbury 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 of dreamy abstraction dropped like a cloak discarded. It fully realized, as I did, that his unique reputation was at stake. I wondered, as I had wondered at the guest-house, whether, in undertaking to clear Cullen-Camber, he had acted upon sheer conviction, or, inbittered by the death of his client, had taken a gambler's chance. It was unlike him to do so. But now, beyond reach of that charm of manner which Cullen-Camber possessed, and discounting the pathetic sweetness of his girl-wife, I realized how black was the evidence against him. Occupied with these, and even more troubled thoughts, I was making my way toward the library, undetermined how to act when I saw Val Beverly coming along the corridor which communicated with Madame de Stemmer's room. I had a welcome in her eyes which made my heart beat the faster. Oh, Mr. Knox, she cried, I am so glad you have returned. Tell me all that has happened, for I feel in some way that I am responsible for it. I nodded gravely. You know, then, where Inspector Aylesbury went when he left here, after his interview with you? She looked at me pathetically. He went to the guest-house, of course. Yes, I said, he was close behind us. And she hesitated, Mr. Camber? He has been detained. Oh, she moaned, I could hate myself. Yet what could I say? What could I do? Just tell me all about it, I urged. What were the Inspector's questions? Well, explained the girl, he had evidently learned from someone, presumably one of the servants, that there was enmity between Mr. Camber and Colonel Menendez. He asked me if I knew of this, and, of course, I had to admit that I did. But when I told him that I had no idea of its cause, he did not seem to believe me. No, I murmured. Any evidence which fails to dovetail with his preconceived theories, he puts down as a lie. He seemed to have made up his mind for some reason, she continued, that I was intimately acquainted with Mr. Camber, whereas, of course, I have never spoken to him in my life, although, whenever he has passed me in the road, he has always saluted me with quite delightful courtesy. Oh, Mr. Knox, it is horrible to think of this great misfortune coming to those poor people. She looked at me pleadingly. How did his wife take it? Poor little girl, I replied, it was an awful blow. I feel that I want to set out this very minute, declared Val Beverly, and go to her and try to comfort her, because I feel in my very soul that her husband is innocent. She is such a sweet little thing. I have wanted to speak to her since the very first time I ever saw her, but on the rare occasions that we have met in the village she has hurried past as though she were afraid of me. Mr. Harley surely knows that her husband is not guilty. I think she does, I replied, but he may have great difficulty in proving it, and what else did Inspector Aylesbury wish to know? How can I tell you, she said in a low voice, and biting her lip agitatedly she turned her head aside. Perhaps I can guess. 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 Stemmer 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 Beverly'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'm glad you did, I said warmly. Before Inspector Aylesbury is through with his business, I fancy he will know more about his limitations than he knows at present. The fact of the matter is that he is badly out of his depth, but is not man enough to acknowledge the fact even to himself. She smiled at me pathetically. Whatever should I have done if I had been alone, she said. I was tempted to direct the conversation into a purely personal channel but common sense prevailed, and— Is Madame de Stemmer awake? I asked. Yes, the girl nodded, Dr. Rolston is with her now. And does she know? Yes, she sent for me directly she awoke and asked me. And you told her? How could I do otherwise? She was quite composed, wonderfully composed, and the way she heard the news was simply heroic. But here is Dr. Rolston coming now. I glanced along the corridor and there was the physician approaching briskly. Good morning, Mr. Knox, he said. Good morning, Doctor. I hear that your patient is much improved. Probably so, he answered. She has enough courage for ten men. She wishes to see you, Mr. Knox, and to hear your account of the tragedy. Do you think it would be wise? I think it would be best. Do you hold any hope of her permanently recovering the use of her limbs? Dr. Rolston shook his head doubtfully. It may have only been temporary, he replied. These obscure nervous affections are very fickle. It is unsafe to make predictions. But mentally, at least, she is quite restored from the effects of last night's shock. You need to apprehend no hysteria or anything of that nature, Mr. Knox. Oh, I see! exclaimed a loud voice behind us. We all three turned and there was Inspector Aylesbury crossing the hall in our direction. Good morning, Dr. Rolston, he said, deliberately ignoring my presence. I hear that your patient is quite well again this morning. She is much improved, returned the physician dryly. Then I can get her testimony, which is most important to my case. She is somewhat better. If she cares to see you, I do not forbid the interview. Oh, that's good of you, doctor, he bowed to Miss Beverly. Perhaps, Miss, you would ask Madame de Stemmer to see me for a few minutes. While Beverly looked at me appealingly, then shrugged her shoulders, turned aside, and walked in the direction of Madame de Stemmer's door. Well, said Dr. Rolston, in his brisk way, shaking me by the hand, I must be getting along. Good morning, Mr. Cox. Good morning, Inspector Aylesbury. He walked rapidly out to his waiting-car. The presence of Inspector Aylesbury exercised upon Dr. Rolston a similar effect to that which a red rag has upon a bull. As he took his departure, the Inspector drew out his pocket-book, and humming gently to himself, began to consult certain entries therein, with a portentious air of reflection which would have been funny if it had not been so irritating. Thus we stood when Val Beverly returned, and— Madame de Stemmer will see you, Inspector Aylesbury, 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 26 In Madame's Room Madame de Stemmer'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 lamp-shades, and the carpet, it was French. Fately 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 Stemmer. The theme of the room was violet and silver, 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, and 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 décolleté 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 grand dame of that France which was swept away by the revolution. The 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 handsome, arrogant figure he made, uncannily like the Velasquez in the library. At the face of Madame de Stemmer I looked long and searchingly. She had not neglected the art of the toilet. Blinds tempered the sunlight which flooded her room, but that, failing the service of Rouge, Madame had been pale this morning, I perceived immediately. In some subtle way the night had changed her. Something was gone out of her face, and something come into it. I thought, and lived to remember the thought, that it was thus Marie Antoinette might have looked, when they told her how the drums had rolled in the Place de la Revolution on that morning of the twenty-first of January. Oh, Messieurs Knox, she said sadly, you are there, I see. Come and sit here beside me, my friend. Val, dear, remain. Is this Inspector Asbury who wishes to speak to me? The Inspector, who had entered with all the confidence in the world, seemed to lose some of it in the presence of this grand lady, who was so little impressed by the dignity of his office. She waved one slender hand in the direction of a violet-brocaded chair. Seat down, Monsieur le Inspecteur, she commanded, for it was rather a command than an invitation. Inspector Asbury cleared his throat and sat down. Ah, Messieurs Knox, exclaimed Madame, turning to me with one of her rapid movements, is your friend afraid to face me then? Does he think that he has failed? Does he think that I condemn him? He knows that he has failed Madame de Stemmer, I replied, but his absence is due to the fact that at this hour he is hot upon the trail of the assassin. What! She exclaimed, what! And bending forward touched my arm. Tell me again, tell me again! He is following a clue, Madame de Stemmer, 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 Beverly, 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, Monsion Knox, she continued, it was swift and mercefolé? 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, Monsion Knox, but I reply, not until I have seen him. Madame, began Val Beverly gently. Ah, my dear! Madame de Stemmer, without looking 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, no more of women than they know of themselves, is it not so? You will understand that I must see him again. Madame de Stemmer, I said, your courage is almost terrible. 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 sink. None, Madame de Stemmer. So Dr. Roston 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 who had faced death many times, would have counted it. She snapped her white 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 Aylesbury, 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 to 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 Ms. Beverly 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 tell you 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. And 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. Severo. Did you witness any of these? None of them. You know that they took place. Juan, Colonel Menendez, had told me so. And he suspected that there was someone lurking about his house? Yes. Also someone broke in. There were doors unfastened and a great disturbance, 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 mule-ish 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. He had 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 Aylesbury. 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'd 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. Only enough, the Inspector misunderstood, for— I don't follow what you mean, Madame, he declared. You say you forgot that you could not walk? No, no, I expressed myself wrongly, Madame replied in a weary voice. Ze fright, ze terror, gave me strength to stagger to the door, and there I fell and swooned. Oh! I see. You speak of fright and terror. Were these caused by the sound of the shot? For some reason my cousin believed himself to be in peril, explained Madame. He went in dread of assassination, you understand. Very well, he caused me to feel this dread also. When I heard the shot, something told me, something told me that— She paused, and suddenly placing her hands before her face, added in a whisper, that it had come. Val Beverly was watching Madame de Stemmer anxiously, and the fact that she was unfit to undergo further examination was so obvious that any other than an Inspector Aylesbury would have withdrawn. The latter, however, seemed now to be glued to his chair, and— Oh! I see! he said. And now there's another point. Have you any idea what took Colonel Menendez out into the grounds last night? Madame de Stemmer lowered her hands and gazed across at the speaker. What is that, Montseir de Inspecteur? 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 in 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 Stemmer threw her arm around Val Beverly 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 elusive memory which the eyes of Madame so often had conjured up in my mind. Once, years before, I had seen a wounded Tigris 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 round the cowering cubs. It was not in shape nor in color, but in expression and in their stillness that the eyes of Madame de Stemmer resemble the eyes of the Tigris. Oh, Madame, Madame, moaned the girl, how dare he! Ah! Madame de Stemmer raised her head yet higher, a royal gesture, that unmoving stare set upon the face of the discomforted Inspector Aylesbury. Leave my apartment! Her left hand shout 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 incest that you go. Convulsively she held Val Beverly 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 assayed no further speech, but retired. I also rose, and— Madame de Stemmer, 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 Sr. de 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 oboe. 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 Sr. 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 Beverly 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 Beverly. I lighted my pipe and walked out onto 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 inside of that door which opened into the Rotodendron 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 vigor to his ridiculous and unpleasant suspicions. I passed on, and considering the matter impartially, found myself faced by the questions, Who was the shadow which Harley had seen upon the blind, and with what purpose did Colonel Menendez leave the house at midnight? Some nambulism 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 inside of a gable of the guest-house. I could obtain a glimpse of the hut which had once been Cullen Camber's work-room. 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 and 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 Isola Camber. Say for the faithful odd song 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 use when this idea, dreadfully complete, leapt to my mind. I pulled up short as though hindered by a palpable barrier. Vague musings, effanescent theories, vanish 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 anyone concerned in the tragedy until I should have submitted the matter to the keen analysis of Harley. Upon the sorrow of Madame Distemmer 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 midday the body was removed, after which an oppressive and awesome stillness seemed to descend upon Craze Folly. Inspector Aylesbury had not returned from his investigations at the guesthouse, and learning that Miss Beverly was remaining with Madame Distemmer 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. Wooten's excellent ale. Here I found the bar parlor full of local customers, and although a heated discussion was in progress as I opened the door, silence fell upon my appearance. Mrs. Wooten 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 Craze 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 farmhand. We know now why he was priming his self with the drink we do. I came a growling chorus. I came out of the lavender arms full of a knowledge that so far as Mithattin was concerned Cullen Camber was already found guilty. I had hoped to see something of Val Beverly on my return, but she remained closeted with Madame de Stemmer, 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 midday and the hour of Harley's return no fewer than five reporters, I believe, presented themselves at Craze Folly. Some of the more persistent continued to haunt the neighborhood, 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 to the door of the library. Hello, 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 have you 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 Chancellery Lane? I nodded. A very thankless job for the home office, Knox, but I received my reward today. Inspector Wessex had 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. As Aylesbury distinguished himself again. No, I replied, on the contrary. He interviewed Madame de Stemmer 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 today 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. Then I am all anxiety to hear it. Very well, then. I will endeavour to be brief. Do you recollect Miss Beverly's story of the unfamiliar footsteps which passed her door on several occasions? Perfectly. Do you recollect that you yourself heard someone crossing the hall, and that both of us heard a door close? We did. And finally you saw the shadow of a woman upon the blind of the Colonel's private study. Very well. Excluding the preposterous theory of Inspector Ellsbury, there is no woman in craze folly whose footsteps could possibly have been heard in that corridor, and whose shadow could possibly have been seen upon the blind of Colonel Menendez's room. I agree, said Harley quietly. I have definitely 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 Rotodendron shrubbery. This was the door used by Colonel Menendez in his some nambulistic rambles, according to his own account. Now assuming his statement 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 untrue? 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 craze Folly would have been a simple matter. Indeed, on the occasions of these visits he might have even 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 Heaven's knocks, said Harley, I believe you have it. His eyes were gleaming excitedly, and I proceeded. Hence the footsteps which passed Miss Beverly'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 door leading into the shrubbery which we heard being closed. Continue, said Harley, although I can plainly see to what this is leading. You can see, Harley, I cried, of course you can see. The enmity between Camber and Menendez is understandable, at least. You mean that Menendez was Mrs. Camber's lover? Don't you agree with me? It is feasible, Knox, dreadfully feasible, but go on. My theory also explains Cullen Camber's lapse from sobriety. It is legitimate to suppose that his wife, who is a Cuban, had been intimate with Menendez before meeting with Camber. Perhaps she had broken the tie at the time of her marriage, but this is mere supposition. Then, her old lover, his infatuation by no means abated, leases the property adjoining that of his successful rival. Knox, exclaimed Paul Harley, this is brilliant. I am all impatient for that Don Eumont. It is coming, I said triumphantly. Relations are re-established clandestinely. Cullen Camber learns of these. A passionate quarrel ensues, resulting in a long drinking-bout designed to drown his sorrows. His love for his wife is so great that he has forgiven her this infidelity. Accordingly, she has promised to see her lover no more. Hers was the figure which you saw outlined upon the blind on the night before the tragedy, Harley. The gestures, which you described as those of despair, furnish evidence to confirm my theory. It was a final meeting. Hmm, muttered Harley. It would be taking big chances, because we have to suppose, Knox, that these visits to Craze 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 have been compelled to promise, without necessarily intending to carry out the promise, that she would see him again on the following night. She failed to come, whereupon he, growing impatient, walked out into the grounds of Craze Folly to look for her. She may have even 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 favor 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 Batwing 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 Craze 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 several particulars I find myself nearer to the truth. But the definite establishment or shattering of your theory rests upon one thing. What's that, I asked. You are surely not thinking of the Batwing nailed upon the door. Not at all, he replied. I am thinking of the seventh yew tree from the northeast corner of the Tudor Garden. Chapter 29 A Lee and Field Rifle What reply I should have offered to this astonishing remark I cannot say. But at that moment the library door burst open unceremoniously, 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 incomplete. 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 it was totally alien to his character to score a rhetorical success at the expense of what he knew to be the truth. And so sure was I of the accuracy of my deductions that I no longer doubted Colin Camber to be the guilty man. At any rate, continue the Inspector, he is in detention and likely to remain there. If you are going 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 Otsong 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 important 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. Harley, and saying twice, one or two, I looked at every book on the shelves and at every page of those books. You must have materially added to your information.� �Ah, very likely. But my inquiries didn't stop there. I had the floor up.� �The floor of the hut? The floor of the hut, sir. The planks were quite loose. I had satisfied myself that it was a likely hiding place.� �What did you find there, a dead rat?� Inspector Aylesbury turned and �Sgt. 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 and field,� charge or loader. It contains four cartridges, three undischarged and one discharged. He had not even trouble to eject it.� The Inspector dropped the weapon into the bag with a dramatic movement. �Fancy theories about bat-wings and voodoo's,� 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 after him. Even when the door had closed he did not change his position at once. Then turning slowly he walked to an arm-chair 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 seem to regard my theory a sound,� I continued rather resentfully, �all the time you continue to believe Cullen Camber to be innocent.� �I believe it so still.� �What?� �I thought we had determined, Knox,� he said wearily, �that a man of Camber's genius, having decided upon murder, must have arranged for an unassailable alibi. Very well. Are we now to leap to the other end of the scale and to credit him with such utter stupidity as to place hanging evidence where it could not fail to be discovered by the most idiotic policeman? Reserve 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 foresee 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 conversation?� He suggested that I recognize his resemblance to Edgar Allan Poe. Quite. What had led him to make this suggestion? The matter in which I had looked at him, I suppose. �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 Stemmer,� 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. �Your hypothesis,� I said. �Then you really have a theory which is entirely different from mine?� �Not entirely different, Knox, merely not so comprehensive. I have contented myself thus far with a negative theory, if I may so express it.� �Negative theory? �Exactly. We are dealing, my dear fellow, with a case of bewildering intricacies. For the moments I have focused upon one feature only. What is that?� Upon proving that Cullen Camber did not do the murder. �Did not do it?� Precisely, Knox. Respecting the person or persons who did do it, I had preserved a moderately open mind, up to the moment that Inspector Aylesbury entered the library with the Lee-Enfield. �And then,� I said eagerly. �Then� he replied, �I began to think hard. However, since I practice what I preach, or endeavour to do so, I must not permit myself to speculate upon this aspect of the matter until I have tested my theory of Camber's innocence.� �In other words,� I said bitterly, �although you encouraged me to unfold my ideas regarding Mrs. Camber, you were merely laughing at me all the time.� �My dear Knox,� exclaimed Harley, jumping up impulsively. �Please don�t be unjust. Is it like me?� On the contrary, Knox. He looked me squarely in the eyes. �You have given me a platform on which already I have begun to erect one corner of a theory of the crime. Without new facts I can go no further. But this much at least you have done.� �Thanks, Harley,� I murmured, �and indeed I was gratified. But where do your other corners rest?� �They rest,� he said slowly. �They rest,� respectively, upon a bat-wing, a yew tree, and a lee-and-field charger-loader. Chapter 30 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 as a student of character. I knew Essex 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 least 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 inquiries, 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 library for a moment?� The Inspector entered, frowning heavily followed by my friend. �There is no earthly reason why we should get at loggerheads over this business,� Harley continued. �But the fact of the matter is, Inspector Aylesbury, that there are depths in this case to which neither you nor I have yet succeeded in penetrating. You have a reputation to consider, and so have I. Therefore I am sure you will welcome the cooperation of Detective Inspector Wessex of Scotland Yard as I do. �What's this? What's this?� said Aylesbury. �I have made no application to London.� �Nevertheless, Inspector, it is quite in order,� declared Wessex. �I have my instructions here, and I have reported to Mark Hilton already. You see, the man you have detained is an American citizen.� �What of that?� �Well, he seems to have communicated with his Embassy,� Wessex glanced significantly at Paul Harley. �And the Embassy communicated with the Home Office. You mustn't regard my arrival as any reflection on your ability,� Inspector Aylesbury. �I am sure we can work together quite agreeably.� �Oh!� muttered the other, in evident bewilderment. �I see. Well, if that's the way of it, I suppose we must make the best of things.� �Good!� cried Wessex heartily. �Now, perhaps you will like to state your case against the detained man.� �A sound idea,� Wessex, said Paul Harley. �But perhaps, Inspector Aylesbury, before you begin, you would be good enough to speak to the Constable on duty at the entrance to the Tudor Garden. I am anxious to take another look at the spot where the body was found.� Inspector Aylesbury took out his handkerchief and blew his nose loudly, continuing throughout the operation to glare at Paul Harley, and finally, �You are wasting your time, Mr. Harley,� he declared, �as Detective Inspector Wessex will be the first to admit when I have given him the facts of my case. Nevertheless, if you want to examine the Garden, do so by all means.� He turned without another word and stamped out of the library across the hall and into the courtyard. �I will join you again in a few minutes,� Wessex,� said Paul Harley, following. �Very good, Mr. Harley,� Wessex answered. �I know you wouldn't have had me down if the case had been as simple as he seems to think it is.� I joined Harley and we walked together up the gravel path, meeting Inspector Aylesbury and the Constable returning. �Go ahead, Mr. Harley,� cried the Inspector, �if you could find any stronger evidence than the rifle, I shall be glad to take a look at it.� Harley nodded good-humoredly, and together we descended the steps to the sunken garden. I was intensely curious respecting the investigation which Harley had been so anxious to make here, for I recognized that it was associated with something which he had seen from the window of Camber's hut. We walked along the moss-grown path to the sundial and stood for a moment looking down at the spot where Menendez had lain. Then he stared up the hill toward the guest-house, and finally directing his attention to the use which lined the sloping bank. �One, two, three, four,� he counted, checking them with his fingers. �Five, six, seven.� He mounted the bank and began to examine the trunk of one of the trees, whilst I watched him in growing astonishment. Presently he turned and looked down at me. �Not a trace, Knox,� he murmured, �not a trace. Let's try again.� He moved along to the U 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 U 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 prosecution 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-end field 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. �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 U from the northeast corner of the Tudor Garden, did I not? �You did, and it is there,� a bullet fired from a lee-end field on a rifle, beyond any possible shadow of a 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 U-tree from the northeast 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, recrossing the hall, we entered the library again, to find Inspector Aylesbury posed squarely before the mantelpiece stating his case to Essex. �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 in London. See what that means? Her room is at the back of the house, and her evidence would have been fatal. �A song, 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 Essex, 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 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 Essex 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 Essex, �I am waiting to hear, Inspector, where you found the bullet lodged.� �Hey,� 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?� �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 Essex. �It is. I found it embedded in one of the U-trees. �There you are!� exclaimed Aylesbury. �There isn't the ghost of a doubt.�� Essex looked at Harley in undisguised perplexity. �I must say, Mr. Harley,� he admitted, �that I have never met with a clear 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, �when you have witnessed the experiment which I propose to make this evening, you will realize, as I have already realized, that we are faced by a tremendous task.� �What tremendous task!� The task of discovering who shot Colonel Menendez. End of Chapter 30