Bat-Wing (2 page)

An expression of embarrassment appeared upon the brown face, and now
Colonel Menendez paused and was plainly at a loss for words with which
to continue.

Harley replaced the tin in the cupboard and struck a match. Lighting
his pipe he nodded good humouredly as if to say, "I quite understand."
As a matter of fact, he probably thought, as I did, that this was a
familiar case of a man of possibly blameless life who had become
subject to that delusion which leads people to believe themselves
threatened by mysterious and unnameable danger.

Our visitor inhaled deeply.

"You, of course, are waiting for the facts," he presently resumed,
speaking with a slowness which told of a mind labouring for the right
mode of expression. "These are so scanty, I fear, of so, shall I say,
phantom a kind, that even when they are in your possession you will
consider me to be merely the victim of a delusion. In the first place,
then, I have reason to believe that someone followed me from my home to
your office."

"Indeed," said Paul Harley, sympathetically, for this I perceived was
exactly what he had anticipated, and merely tended to confirm his
suspicion. "Some member of your household?"

"Certainly not."

"Did you actually see this follower?"

"My dear sir," cried Colonel Menendez, excitement emphasizing his
accent, "if I had seen him, so much would have been made clear, so
much! I have never seen him, but I have heard him and felt him—felt
his presence, I mean."

"In what way?" asked Harley, leaning back in his chair and studying the
fierce face.

"On several occasions on turning out the light in my bedroom and
looking across the lawn from my window I have observed the shadow of
someone—how do you say?—lurking in the garden."

"The shadow?"

"Precisely. The person himself was concealed beneath a tree. When he
moved his shadow was visible on the ground."

"You were not deceived by a waving branch?"

"Certainly not. I speak of a still, moonlight night."

"Possibly, then, it was the shadow of a tramp," suggested Harley. "I
gather that you refer to a house in the country?"

"It was not," declared Colonel Menendez, emphatically; "it was not. I
wish to God I could believe it had been. Then there was, a month ago,
an attempt to enter my house."

Paul Harley exhibited evidence of a quickening curiosity. He had
perceived, as I had perceived, that the manner of the speaker differed
from that of the ordinary victim of delusion, with whom he had become
professionally familiar.

"You had actual evidence of this?" he suggested.

"It was due to insomnia, sleeplessness, brought about, yes, I will
admit it, by apprehension, that I heard the footsteps of this
intruder."

"But you did not see him?"

"Only his shadow"

"What!"

"You can obtain the evidence of all my household that someone had
actually entered," declared Colonel Menendez, eagerly. "Of this, at
least, I can give you the certain facts. Whoever it was had obtained
access through a kitchen window, had forced two locks, and was coming
stealthily along the hallway when the sound of his footsteps attracted
my attention."

"What did you do?"

"I came out on to the landing and looked down the stairs. But even the
slight sound which I made had been sufficient to alarm the midnight
visitor, for I had never a glimpse of him. Only, as he went swiftly
back in the direction from which he had come, the moonlight shining in
through a window in the hall cast his shadow on the carpet."

"Strange," murmured Harley. "Very strange, indeed. The shadow told you
nothing?"

"Nothing at all."

Colonel Menendez hesitated momentarily, and glanced swiftly across at
Harley.

"It was just a vague—do you say blur?—and then it was gone. But—"

"Yes," said Harley. "But?"

"Ah," Colonel Menendez blew a cloud of smoke into the air, "I come now
to the matter which I find so hard to explain."

He inhaled again deeply and was silent for a while.

"Nothing was stolen?" asked Harley.

"Nothing whatever."

"And no clue was left behind?"

"No clue except the filed fastening of a window and two open doors
which had been locked as usual when the household retired."

"Hm," mused Harley again; "this incident, of course, may have been an
isolated one and in no way connected with the surveillance of which you
complain. I mean that this person who undoubtedly entered your house
might prove to be an ordinary burglar."

"On a table in the hallway of Cray's Folly," replied Colonel Menendez,
impressively—"so my house is named—stands a case containing
presentation gold plate. The moonlight of which I have spoken was
shining fully upon this case, and does the burglar live who will pass
such a prize and leave it untouched?"

"I quite agree," said Harley, quietly, "that this is a very big point."

"You are beginning at last," suggested the Colonel, "to believe that my
suspicions are not quite groundless?"

"There is a distinct possibility that they are more than suspicions,"
agreed Harley; "but may I suggest that there is something else? Have
you an enemy?"

"Who that has ever held public office is without enemies?"

"Ah, quite so. Then I suggest again that there is something else."

He gazed keenly at his visitor, and the latter, whilst meeting the look
unflinchingly with his large dark eyes, was unable to conceal the fact
that he had received a home thrust.

"There are two points, Mr. Harley," he finally confessed, "almost
certainly associated one with the other, if you understand, but both
these so—shall I say remote?—from my life, that I hesitate to
mention them. It seems fantastic to suppose that they contain a clue."

"I beg of you," said Harley, "to keep nothing back, however remote it
may appear to be. It is sometimes the seemingly remote things which
prove upon investigation to be the most intimate."

"Very well," resumed Colonel Menendez, beginning to roll a second
cigarette whilst continuing to smoke the first, "I know that you are
right, of course, but it is nevertheless very difficult for me to
explain. I mentioned the attempted burglary, if so I may term it, in
order to clear your mind of the idea that my fears were a myth. The
next point which I have concerns a man, a neighbour of mine in Surrey.
Before I proceed I should like to make it clear that I do not believe
for a moment that he is responsible for this unpleasant business."

Harley stared at him curiously. "Nevertheless," he said, "there must be
some data in your possession which suggest to your mind that he has
some connection with it."

"There are, Mr. Harley, but they belong to things so mystic and far
away from ordinary crime that I fear you will think me," he shrugged
his great shoulders, "a man haunted by strange superstitions. Do you
say 'haunted?' Good. You understand. I should tell you, then, that
although of pure Spanish blood, I was born in Cuba. The greater part of
my life has been spent in the West Indies, where prior to '98 I held an
appointment under the Spanish Government. I have property, not only in
Cuba, but in some of the smaller islands which formerly were Spanish,
and I shall not conceal from you that during the latter years of my
administration I incurred the enmity of a section of the population. Do
I make myself clear?"

Paul Harley nodded and exchanged a swift glance with me. I formed a
rapid mental picture of native life under the governorship of Colonel
Juan Menendez and I began to consider his story from a new viewpoint.
Seemingly rendered restless by his reflections, he stood up and began
to pace the floor, a tall but curiously graceful figure. I noticed the
bulldog tenacity of his chin, the intense pride in his bearing, and I
wondered what kind of menace had induced him to seek the aid of Paul
Harley; for whatever his failings might be, and I could guess at the
nature of several of them, that this thin-lipped Spanish soldier knew
the meaning of fear I was not prepared to believe.

"Before you proceed further, Colonel Menendez," said Harley, "might I
ask when you left Cuba?"

"Some three years ago," was his reply. "Because—" he hesitated
curiously—"of health motives, I leased a property in England,
believing that here I should find peace."

"In other words, you were afraid of something or someone in Cuba?"

Colonel Menendez turned in a flash, glaring down at the speaker.

"I never feared any man in my life, Mr. Harley," he said, coldly.

"Then why are you here?"

The Colonel placed the stump of his first cigarette in an ash tray and
lighted that which he had newly made.

"It is true," he admitted. "Forgive me. Yet what I said was that I
never feared any man."

He stood squarely in front of the Burmese cabinet, resting one hand
upon his hip. Then he added a remark which surprised me.

"Do you know anything of Voodoo?" he asked.

Paul Harley took his pipe from between his teeth and stared at the
speaker silently for a moment. "Voodoo?" he echoed. "You mean negro
magic?"

"Exactly."

"My studies have certainly not embraced it," replied Harley, quietly,
"nor has it hitherto come within my experience. But since I have lived
much in the East, I am prepared to learn that Voodoo may not be a
negligible quantity. There are forces at work in India which we in
England improperly understand. The same may be true of Cuba."

"The same
is
true of Cuba."

Colonel Menendez glared almost fiercely across the room at Paul Harley.

"And do I understand," asked the latter, "that the danger which you
believe to threaten you is associated with Cuba?"

"That, Mr. Harley, is for you to decide when all the facts shall be in
your possession. Do you wish that I proceed?"

"By all means. I must confess that I am intensely interested."

"Very well, Mr. Harley. I have something to show you."

From an inside breast pocket Colonel Menendez drew out a gold-mounted
case, and from the case took some flat, irregularly shaped object
wrapped in a piece of tissue paper. Unfolding the paper, he strode
across and laid the object which it had contained upon the blotting pad
in front of my friend.

Impelled by curiosity I stood up and advanced to inspect it. It was of
a dirty brown colour, some five or six inches long, and appeared to
consist of a kind of membrane. Harley, his elbow on the table, was
staring down at it questioningly.

"What is it?" I said; "some kind of leaf?"

"No," replied Harley, looking up into the dark face of the Spanish
colonel; "I think I know what it is."

"I, also, know what it is." declared Colonel Menendez, grimly. "But
tell me what to you it seems like, Mr. Harley?"

Paul Harley's expression was compounded of incredulity, wonder, and
something else, as, continuing to stare at the speaker, he replied:

"It is the wing of a bat."

Often enough my memory has recaptured that moment in Paul Harley's
office, when Harley, myself, and the tall Spaniard stood looking down
at the bat wing lying upon the blotting pad.

My brilliant friend at times displayed a sort of prescience, of which I
may have occasion to speak later, but I, together with the rest of pur-
blind humanity, am commonly immune from the prophetic instinct.
Therefore I chronicle the fact for what it may be worth, that as I
gazed with a sort of disgust at the exhibit lying upon the table I
became possessed of a conviction, which had no logical basis, that a
door had been opened through which I should step into a new avenue of
being; I felt myself to stand upon the threshold of things strange and
terrible, but withal alluring. Perhaps it is true that in the great
crises of life the inner eye becomes momentarily opened.

With intense curiosity I awaited the Colonel's next words, but, a
cigarette held nervously between his fingers, he stood staring at
Harley, and it was the latter who broke that peculiar silence which had
fallen upon us.

"The wing of a bat," he murmured, then touched it gingerly. "Of what
kind of bat, Colonel Menendez? Surely not a British species?"

"But emphatically not a British species," replied the Spaniard. "Yet
even so the matter would be strange."

"I am all anxiety to learn the remainder of your story, Colonel
Menendez."

"Good. Your interest comforts me very greatly, Mr. Harley. But when
first I came, you led me to suppose that you were departing from
London?"

"Such, at the time, was my intention, sir." Paul Harley smiled
slightly. "Accompanied by my friend, Mr. Knox, I had proposed to
indulge in a fortnight's fishing upon the Norfolk Broads."

"Fishing?"

"Yes."

"A peaceful occupation, Mr. Harley, and a great rest-cure for one who
like yourself moves much amid the fiercer passions of life. You were
about to make holiday?"

Paul Harley nodded.

"It is cruel of me to intrude upon such plans," continued Colonel
Menendez, dexterously rolling his cigarette around between his fingers.
"Yet because of my urgent need I dare to do so. Would yourself and your
friend honour me with your company at Cray's Folly for a few days? I
can promise you good entertainment, although I regret that there is no
fishing; but it may chance that there will be other and more exciting
sport."

Harley glanced at me significantly.

"Do I understand you to mean, Colonel Menendez," he asked, "that you
have reason to believe that this conspiracy directed against you is
about to come to a head?"

Colonel Menendez nodded, at the same time bringing his hand down
sharply upon the table.

"Mr. Harley," he replied, his high, thin voice sunken almost to a
whisper, "Wednesday night is the night of the full moon."