Bat Wing

  Madame de Staemer's apartment was a large and elegant one. From thewindow-drapings, which were of some light, figured satiny material, tothe bed-cover, the lampshades and the carpet, it was French. Faintlyperfumed, and decorated with many bowls of roses, it reflected, in itsornaments, its pictures, its slender-legged furniture, the personalityof the occupant. In a large, high bed, reclining amidst a number ofsilken pillows, lay Madame de Staemer. The theme of the room was violetand silver, and to this everything conformed. The toilet service was ofdull silver and violet enamel. The mirrors and some of the pictureshad dull silver frames, There was nothing tawdry or glittering. The beditself, which I thought resembled a bed of state, was of the same dullsilver, with a coverlet of delicate violet I hue. But Madame's decolleterobe was trimmed with white fur, so that her hair, dressed high upon herhead, seemed to be of silver, too.

  Reclining there upon her pillows, she looked like some grande dame ofthat France which was swept away by the Revolution. Immediately abovethe dressing-table I observed a large portrait of Colonel Menendezdressed as I had imagined he should be dressed when I had first set eyeson him, in tropical riding kit, and holding a broad-brimmed hat in hishand. A strikingly handsome, arrogant figure he made, uncannily like theVelasquez in the library.

  At the face of Madame de Staemer I looked long and searchingly. She hadnot neglected the art of the toilette. Blinds tempered the sunlightwhich flooded her room; but that, failing the service of rouge, Madamehad been pale this morning, I perceived immediately. In some subtleway the night had changed her. Something was gone out of her face, andsomething come into it. I thought, and lived to remember the thought,that it was thus Marie Antoinette might have looked when they told herhow the drums had rolled in the Place de la Revolution on that morningof the twenty-first of January.

  "Oh, M. Knox," she said, sadly, "you are there, I see. Come and sit herebeside me, my friend. Val, dear, remain. Is this Inspector Aylesbury whowishes 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 solittle impressed by the dignity of his office.

  She waved one slender hand in the direction of a violet brocaded chair.

  "Sit down, Monsieur l'inspecteur," she commanded, for it was rather acommand than an invitation.

  Inspector Aylesbury cleared his throat and sat down.

  "Ah, M. Knox!" exclaimed Madame, turning to me with one of her rapidmovements, "is your friend afraid to face me, then? Does he think thathe has failed? Does he think that I condemn him?"

  "He knows that he has failed, Madame de Staemer," I replied, "but hisabsence is due to the fact that at this hour he is hot upon the trail ofthe assassin."

  "What!" she exclaimed, "what!"--and bending forward touched my arm."Tell me again! Tell me again!"

  "He is following a clue, Madame de Staemer, which he hopes will lead tothe truth."

  "Ah! if I could believe it would lead to the truth," she said. "If Idared to believe this."

  "Why should it not?"

  She shook her head, smiling with such a resigned sadness that I avertedmy gaze and glanced across at Val Beverley who was seated on theopposite side of the bed.

  "If you knew--if you knew."

  I looked again into the tragic face, and realized that this was an olderwoman than the brilliant hostess I had known. She sighed, shrugged, and:

  "Tell me, M. Knox," she continued, "it was swift and merciful, eh?"

  "Instantaneous," I replied, in a low voice.

  "A good shot?" she asked, strangely.

  "A wonderful shot," I answered, thinking that she imposed unnecessarytorture upon herself.

  "They say he must be taken away, M. Knox, but I reply: not until I haveseen him."

  "Madame," began Val Beverley, gently.

  "Ah, my dear!" Madame de Staemer, without looking at the speaker,extended one hand in her direction, the fingers characteristicallycurled. "You do not know me. Perhaps it is a good job. You are a man,Mr. Knox, and men, especially men who write, know more of women thanthey know of themselves, is it not so? You will understand that I mustsee him again?"

  "Madame de Staemer," 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 manycowards are proud. Listen again. He suffered no pain, you think?"

  "None, Madame de Staemer."

  "So Dr. Rolleston assures me. He died in his sleep? You do not think hewas awake, eh?"

  "Most certainly he was not awake."

  "It is the best way to die," she said, simply. "Yet he, who was braveand had faced death many times, would have counted it"----she snappedher white fingers, glancing across the room to where InspectorAylesbury, very subdued, sat upon the brocaded chair twirling his capbetween his hands. "And now, Inspector Aylesbury," she asked, "what isit you wish me to tell you?"

  "Well, Madame," began the Inspector, and stood up, evidently in anendeavour to recover his dignity, but:

  "Sit down, Mr. Inspector! I beg of you be seated," cried Madame. "I willnot be questioned by one who stands. And if you were to walk about Ishould shriek."

  He resumed his seat, clearing his throat nervously.

  "Very well, Madame," he continued, "I have come to you particularly forinformation 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 byPedro, the butler, that Colonel Menendez looked upon Mr. Camber as anenemy, and Miss Beverley, here, admitted that it was true. Yet althoughhe was an enemy, nobody ever seems to have spoken to him, and he swearsthat 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."

  "Ah, 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 verymuch, 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.

  "Several."

  "Did you witness any of these?"

  "None of them."

  "But you know that they took place?"

  "Juan--Colonel Menendez--had told me so."

  "And he suspected that there was someone lurking about this house?"

  "Yes."

  "Also, someone broke in?"

  "There were doors unfastened, and a great disturbance, so I supposesomeone must have done so."

  I wondered if he would refer to the bat wing nailed to the door, but hehad evidently decided that this clue was without importance, nor didhe once refer to the aspect of the case which concerned Voodoo. Hepossessed a sort of mulish obstinacy, and was evidently determined touse no scrap of information which he had obtained from Paul Harley.

  "Now, Madame," said he, "you heard the shot fired last night?"

  "I did."

  "It 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 w
ing."

  "Beyond the east wing?" muttered Inspector Aylesbury. "Now, let me see."He turned ponderously in his chair, gazing out of the windows. "Welook out on the south here? You say the sound of the shot came from theeast?"

  "So it seemed to me."

  "Oh." This piece of information seemed badly to puzzle him. "And whatthen?"

  "I was so startled that I ran to the door before I remembered that Icould not walk."

  She glanced aside at me with a tired smile, and laid her hand upon myarm in an oddly caressing way, as if to say, "He is so stupid; I shouldnot have expressed myself in that way."

  Truly enough the Inspector misunderstood, for:

  "I don't follow what you mean, Madame," he declared. "You say you forgotthat you could not walk?"

  "No, no, I expressed myself wrongly," Madame replied in a weary voice."The fright, the terror, gave me strength to stagger to the door, andthere I fell and swooned."

  "Oh, I see. You speak of fright and terror. Were these caused by thesound of the shot?"

  "For some reason my cousin believed himself to be in peril," explainedMadame. "He went in dread of assassination, you understand? Very well,he caused me to feel this dread, also. When I heard the shot, somethingtold me, something told me that--" she paused, and suddenly placing herhands before her face, added in a whisper--"that it had come."

  Val Beverley was watching Madame de Staemer anxiously, and the fact thatshe was unfit to undergo further examination was so obvious that anyother 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 ideawhat took Colonel Menendez out into the grounds last night?"

  Madame de Staemer lowered her hands and gazed across at the speaker.

  "What is that, Monsieur l'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 the garden atmidnight, when he's unwell, is it? Not alone. But if there was a lady inthe case he might go."

  "A lady?" said Madame, softly. "Yes--continue."

  "Well," resumed the Inspector, deceived by the soft voice, "the younglady sitting beside you was still wearing her evening dress when Iarrived here last night. I found that out, although she didn't give me achance to see her."

  His words had an effect more dramatic than he could have foreseen.

  Madame de Staemer threw her arm around Val Beverley, and hugged her soclosely to her side that the girl's curly brown head was pressed againstMadame's shoulder. Thus holding her, she sat rigidly upright, herstrange, still eyes glaring across the room at Inspector Aylesbury.Her whole pose was instinct with challenge, with defiance, and in thatmoment I identified the illusive memory which the eyes of Madame sooften had conjured up in my mind.

  Once, years before, I had seen a wounded tigress standing over her cubs,a beautiful, fearless creature, blazing defiance with dying eyes uponthose who had destroyed her, the mother-instinct supreme to the last;for as she fell to rise no more she had thrown her paw around thecowering cubs. It was not in shape, nor in colour, but in expression andin their stillness, that the eyes of Madame de Staemer resembled the eyesof the tigress.

  "Oh, Madame, Madame," moaned the girl, "how dare he!"

  "Ah!" Madame de Staemer raised her head yet higher, a royal gesture, thatunmoving stare set upon the face of the discomfited Inspector Aylesbury."Leave my apartment." Her left hand shot out dramatically in thedirection 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 insist that you go!"

  Convulsively she held Val Beverley to her side, and although I could notsee the girl's face, I knew that she was weeping.

  Those implacable flaming eyes followed with their stare the figure ofthe Inspector right to the doorway, for he essayed no further speech,but retired.

  I, also, rose, and:

  "Madame de Staemer," I said, speaking, I fear, very unnaturally, "I loveyour spirit."

  She threw back her head, smiling up at me. I shall never forget thatlook, nor shall I attempt to portray all which it conveyed--for I know Ishould fail.

  "My friend!" she said, and extended her hand to be kissed.

  CHAPTER XXVII

  AN INSPIRATION