Bat-Wing (29 page)

"Then I am all anxiety to hear it."

"Very well, then, I will endeavour to be brief. Do you recollect Miss
Beverley's story of the unfamiliar footsteps which passed her door on
several occasions?"

"Perfectly."

"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 Aylesbury, there is no woman in Cray's 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 rhododendron shrubbery. This was the
door used by Colonel Menendez in his somnambulistic 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 Cray's Folly,
would have been a simple matter. Indeed, on the occasions of these
visits he might even have 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 heavens! Knox," said Harley, "I believe you have it!"

His eyes were gleaming excitedly, and I proceeded:

"Hence the footsteps which passed Miss Beverley'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 last."

"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 Colin Camber's lapse from sobriety. It is
legitimate to suppose that his wife, who was a Cuban, had been intimate
with Menendez before her 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 impatience
for the
dénouement
."

"It is coming," I said, triumphantly. "Relations are reëstablished,
clandestinely. Colin 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!"

"Hm," muttered Harley. "It would be taking big chances, because we have
to suppose, Knox, that these visits to Cray's 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 had 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 Cray's Folly to look for her. She may
even have 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 favour 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 Bat Wing 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 Cray's 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 bat wing
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."

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," continued 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 Ah Tsong 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 are 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 enquiries 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:

"Sergeant 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.

"New, 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-Enfield charger-loader. It contains four cartridges,
three undischarged, and one discharged. He had not even troubled to
eject it."

The Inspector dropped the weapon into the bag with a dramatic movement.

"Fancy theories about bat wings and Voodoos," 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 armchair 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 seemed to regard my theory as sound," I continued
rather resentfully, "all the time you continued to believe Colin Camber
to be innocent?"

"I believe 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? Preserve 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 had recognized his resemblance to Edgar Allan
Poe."

"Quite. What had led him to make this suggestion?"

"The manner 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 Stämer," 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 moment I have focussed upon one feature only."

"What is that?"

"Upon proving that Colin 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."