Bat Wing

  "I brought this bat wing from Haiti," he explained, replacing it in thetray. "It was found beneath the pillow of a negro missionary who haddied mysteriously during the night."

  He returned the tray to the drawer, closed the latter, and, standingerect, raised clenched hands above his head.

  "With no thought of blasphemy," he said, "but with reverence, I thankGod from the bottom of my heart that Juan Menendez is dead."

  He reseated himself, whilst Harley regarded him silently, then:

  "'The evil that men do lives after them,'" he murmured. He rested hischin upon his hand. "A bat wing," he continued, musingly, "a bat wingwas nailed to Menendez's door." He stared across at Harley. "Am I tobelieve, sir, that this was the clue which led you to the Guest House?"

  Paul Harley nodded.

  "It was."

  "I understand. I must therefore take no more excursions into my specialsubject, but must endeavour to regard the matter from the point of viewof the enquiry. Am I to assume that Menendez was acquainted with thesignificance of this token?"

  "He had seen it employed in the West Indies."

  "Ah, the black-hearted devil! But I fear I am involving myself moredeeply in suspicion. Perhaps, Mr. Harley, the ends of justice would bebetter served if you were to question me, and I to confine myself toanswering you."

  "Very well," Harley agreed: "when and where did you meet the lateColonel Menendez?"

  "I never met him in my life."

  "Do you mean that you had never spoken to him?"

  "Never."

  "Hm. Tell me, Mr. Camber, where were you at twelve o'clock last night?"

  "Here, writing."

  "And where was Ah Tsong?"

  "Ah Tsong?" Colin Camber stared uncomprehendingly. "Ah Tsong was inbed."

  "Oh. Did anything disturb you?"

  "Yes, the sound of a rifle shot."

  "You knew it for a rifle shot?"

  "It was unmistakable."

  "What did you do?"

  "I was in the midst of a most important passage, and I should probablyhave taken no steps in the matter but that Ah Tsong knocked upon thestudy door, to inform me that my wife had been awakened by the sound ofthe shot. She is somewhat nervous and had rung for Ah Tsong, asking himto see if all were well with me."

  "Do I understand that she imagined the sound to have come from thisroom?"

  "When we are newly awakened from sleep, Mr. Harley, we retain only animperfect impression of that which awakened us."

  "True," replied Paul Harley; "and did Ah Tsong return to his room?"

  "Not immediately. Permit me to say, Mr. Harley, that the nature of yourquestions surprises me. At the moment I fail to see their bearing uponthe main issue. He returned and reported to my wife that I was writing,and she then requested him to bring her a glass of milk. Accordingly, hecame down again, and going out into the kitchen, executed this order."

  "Ah. He would have to light a candle for that purpose, I suppose?"

  "A candle, or a lamp," replied Colin Camber, staring at Paul Harley.Then, his expression altering: "Of course!" he cried. "You saw the lightfrom Cray's Folly? I understand at last."

  We were silent for a while, until:

  "How long a time elapsed between the firing of the shot and Ah Tsong'sknocking at the study door?" asked Harley.

  "I could not answer definitely. I was absorbed in my work. But probablyonly a minute or two."

  "Was the sound a loud one?"

  "Fairly loud. And very startling, of course, in the silence of thenight."

  "The shot, then, was fired from somewhere quite near the house?"

  "I presume so."

  "But you thought no more about the matter?"

  "Frankly, I had forgotten it. You see, the neighbourhood is rich withgame; it might have been a poacher."

  "Quite," murmured Harley, but his face was very stern. "I wonder if youfully realize the danger of your position, Mr. Camber?"

  "Believe me," was the reply, "I can anticipate almost every questionwhich I shall be called upon to answer."

  Paul Harley stared at him in a way which told me that he was comparinghis features line for line with the etching of Edgar Allen Poe whichhung in his office in Chancery Lane, and:

  "I do believe you," he replied, "and I am wondering if you are in aposition to clear yourself?"

  "On the contrary," Camber assured him, "I am only waiting to hear thatJuan Menendez was shot in the grounds of Cray's Folly, and notwithin the house, to propose to you that unless the real assassin bediscovered, I shall quite possibly pay the penalty of his crime."

  "He was shot in the Tudor garden," replied Harley, "within sight of yourwindows."

  "Ah!" Colin Camber resumed the task of stuffing shag into his corn-cob."Then if it would interest you, Mr. Harley, I will briefly outline thecase against myself. I had never troubled to disguise the fact that Ihated Menendez. Many witnesses can be called to testify to this. He wasin Cuba when I was in Cuba, and evidence is doubtless obtainable to showthat we stayed at the same hotels in various cities of the United Statesprior to my coming to England and leasing the Guest House. Finally, hebecame my neighbour in Surrey."

  He carefully lighted his pipe, whilst Harley and I watched him silently,then:

  "Menendez had the bat wing nailed to the door of his house," hecontinued. "He believed himself to be in danger, and associated thissign with the source of his danger. Excepting himself and possiblycertain other members of his household it is improbable that any oneelse in Surrey understands the significance of the token save myself.The unholy rites of Voodoo are a closed book to the Western nations.I have opened that book, Mr. Harley. The powers of the Obeah man, andespecially of the arch-magician known and dreaded by every negro as 'BatWing,' are familiar to me. Since I was alone at the time that the shotwas fired, and for some few minutes afterward, and since the Tudorgarden of Cray's Folly is within easy range of the Guest House, to failto place me under arrest would be an act of sheer stupidity."

  He spoke the words with a sort of triumph. Like the fakir, he possessedthe art of spiritual detachment, which is an attribute of genius. Froman intellectual eminence he was surveying his own peril. Colin Camberin the flesh had ceased to exist; he was merely a pawn in a fascinatinggame.

  Paul Harley glanced at his watch.

  "Mr. Camber," he said, "I have just sustained the most crushing defeatof my career. The man who had summoned me to his aid was killed almostbefore my eyes. One thing I must do or accept professional oblivion."

  "I understand." Colin Camber nodded. "Apprehend his murderer?"

  "Ultimately, yes. But, firstly, I must see that to the assassination ofColonel Menendez a judicial murder is not added."

  "You mean--?" asked Camber, eagerly.

  "I mean that if you killed Menendez, you are a madman, and I have formedthe opinion during our brief conversation that you are brilliantlysane."

  Colin Camber rose and bowed in that old-world fashion which was his.

  "I am obliged to you, Mr. Harley," he replied. "But has Mr. Knoxinformed you of my bibulous habits?"

  Paul Harley nodded.

  "They will, of course, be ascribed," continued Camber, "and there aremany suitable analogies, to deliberate contemplation of a murderousdeed. I would remind you that chronic alcoholism is a recognized form,of insanity."

  His mood changed again, and sighing wearily, he lay back in the chair.Over his pale face crept an expression which I knew, instinctively, tomean that he was thinking of his wife.

  "Mr. Harley," he said, speaking in a very low tone which scorned toaccentuate the beauty of his voice, "I have suffered much in the questof truth. Suffering is the gate beyond which we find compassion. Perhapsyou have thought my foregoing remarks frivolous, in view of the factthat last night a soul was sent to its reckoning almost at my doors.I revere the truth, however, above all lesser laws and above allexpediency. I do not, and I cannot, regret the end of the man Menendez.But for three reasons I should regret to pay the
penalty of a crimewhich I did not commit, These reasons are--one," he ticked them off uponhis delicate fingers--"It would be bitter to know that Devil Menendezeven in death had injured me; two--My work in the world, which isunfinished; and, three--My wife."

  I watched and listened, almost awed by the strangeness of the man whosat before me. His three reasons were illuminating. A casual observermight have regarded Colin Camber as a monument of selfishness. But itwas evident to me, and I knew it must be evident to Paul Harley, thathis egotism was quite selfless. To a natural human resentment and apathetic love for his wife he had added, as an equal clause, the claimof the world upon his genius.

  "I have heard you," said Paul Harley, quietly, "and you have led me tothe most important point of all."

  "What point is that, Mr. Harley?"

  "You have referred to your recent lapse from abstemiousness. Excuse meif I discuss personal matters. This you ascribed to domestic troubles,or so Mr. Knox has informed me. You have also referred to yourundisguised hatred of the late Colonel Juan Menendez. I am going to askyou, Mr. Camber, to tell me quite frankly what was the nature of thosedomestic troubles, and what had caused this hatred which survives eventhe death of its object?"

  Colin Camber stood up, angular, untidy, but a figure of great dignity.

  "Mr. Harley," he replied, "I cannot answer your questions."

  Paul Harley inclined his head gravely.

  "May I suggest," he said, "that you will be called upon to do so undercircumstances which will brook no denial."

  Colin Camber watched him unflinchingly.

  "'The fate of every man is hung around his neck,'" he replied.

  "Yet, in this secret history which you refuse to divulge, and whichtherefore must count against you, the truth may lie which exculpatesyou."

  "It may be so. But my determination remains unaltered."

  "Very well," answered Paul Harley, quietly, but I could see that hewas exercising a tremendous restraint upon himself. "I respect yourdecision, but you have given me a giant's task, and for this I cannotthank you, Mr. Camber."

  I heard a car pulled up in the road outside the Guest House. ColinCamber clenched his hands and sat down again in the carved chair.

  "The opportunity has passed," said Harley. "The police are here."

  CHAPTER XXIII

  INSPECTOR AYLESBURY CROSS-EXAMINES