Bat-Wing (26 page)

"Thank you, Mr. Harley," he said, and carried his wife from the room.

Harley dropped his arm, and crossing, stood staring out of the window.
Inspector Aylesbury ran heavily to the door.

"Sergeant!" he called, "Sergeant! keep that man in sight. He must
return here immediately."

I heard the sound of heavy footsteps following Camber's up the stairs,
then Inspector Aylesbury turned, a bulky figure in the open doorway,
and:

"Now, Mr. Harley," said he, entering and reclosing the door, "you are a
barrister, I understand. Very well, then, I suppose you are aware that
you have resisted and obstructed an officer of the law in the execution
of his duty."

Paul Harley spun round upon his heel.

"Is that a charge," he inquired, "or merely a warning?"

The two glared at one another for a moment, then:

"From now onward," continued the Inspector, "I am going to have no more
trouble with you, Mr. Harley. In the first place, I'll have you looked
up in the Law List; in the second place, I shall ask you to stick to
your proper duties, and leave me to look after mine."

"I have endeavoured from the outset," replied Harley, his good humour
quite restored, "to assist you in every way in my power. You have
declined all my offers, and finally, upon the most flimsy evidence, you
have detained a perfectly innocent man."

"Oh, I see. A perfectly innocent man, eh?"

"Perfectly innocent, Inspector. There are so many points that you have
overlooked. For instance, do you seriously suppose that Mr. Camber had
been waiting up here night after night on the off-chance that Colonel
Menendez would appear in the grounds of Cray's Folly?"

"No, I don't. I have got that worked out."

"Indeed? You interest me."

"Mr. Camber has an accomplice at Cray's Folly."

"What?" exclaimed Harley, and into his keen grey eyes crept a look of
real interest.

"He has an accomplice," repeated the Inspector. "A certain witness was
strangely reluctant to mention Mr. Camber's name. It was only after
very keen examination that I got it at last. Now, Colonel Menendez had
not retired last night, neither had a certain other party. That other
party, sir, knows why Colonel Menendez was wandering about the garden
at midnight."

At first, I think, this astonishing innuendo did not fully penetrate to
my mind, but when it did so, it seemed to galvanize me. Springing up
from the chair in which I had been seated:

"You preposterous fool!" I exclaimed, hotly.

It was the last straw. Inspector Aylesbury strode to the door and
throwing it open once more, turned to me:

"Be good enough to leave the house, Mr. Knox," he said. "I am about to
have it officially searched, and I will have no strangers present."

I think I could have strangled him with pleasure, but even in my rage I
was not foolhardy enough to lay myself open to that of which the
Inspector was quite capable at this moment.

Without another word I walked out of the study, took my hat and stick,
and opening the front door, quitted the Guest House, from which I had
thus a second time been dismissed ignominiously.

Appreciation of this fact, which came to me as I stepped into the
porch, awakened my sense of humour—a gift truly divine which has
saved many a man from desperation or worse. I felt like a schoolboy who
had been turned out of a class-room, and I was glad that I could laugh
at myself.

A constable was standing in the porch, and he looked at me
suspiciously. No doubt he perceived something very sardonic in my
merriment.

I walked out of the gate, before which a car was standing, and as I
paused to light a cigarette I heard the door of the Guest House open
and close. I glanced back, and there was Paul Harley coming to join me.

"Now, Knox," he said, briskly, "we have got our hands full."

"My dear Harley, I am both angry and bewildered. Too angry and too
bewildered to think clearly."

"I can quite understand it. I should become homicidal if I were
forced to submit for long to the company of Inspector Aylesbury.
Of course, I had anticipated the arrest of Colin Camber, and I
fear there is worse to come."

"What do you mean, Harley?"

"I mean that failing the apprehension of the real murderer, I cannot
see, at the moment, upon what the case for the defence is to rest."

"But surely you demonstrated out there in the garden that he could not
possibly have fired the shot?"

"Words, Knox, words. I could pick a dozen loopholes in my own argument.
I had only hoped to defer the inevitable. I tell you, there is worse to
come. Two things we must do at once."

"What are they?"

"We must persuade the man on duty to allow us to examine the Tudor
garden, and we must see the Chief Constable, whoever he may be, and
prevail upon him to requisition the assistance of Scotland Yard. With
Wessex in charge of the case I might have a chance. Whilst this
disastrous man Aylesbury holds the keys there is none."

"You heard what he said about Miss Beverley?"

We were now walking rapidly along the high road, and Harley nodded.

"I did," he said. "I had expected it. He was inspired with this
brilliant idea last night, and his ideas are too few to be lightly
scrapped. If the Chief Constable is anything like the Inspector, what
we are going to do heaven only knows."

"I take it, Harley, that you are convinced of Colin Camber's
innocence?"

Harley did not answer for a moment, whereupon I glanced at him
anxiously, then:

"Colin Camber," he replied, "is of so peculiar a type that I could not
presume to say of what he is capable or is not capable. The most
significant point in his favour is this: He is a man of unusual
intellect. The planning of this cunning crime to such a man would have
been child's play—child's play, Knox. But is it possible to believe
that his genius would have failed him upon the most essential detail of
all, namely, an alibi?"

"It is not."

"Of course it is not. Which, continuing to regard Camber as an
assassin, reduces us to the theory that the crime was committed in a
moment of passion. This I maintain to be also impossible. It was no
deed of impulse."

"I agree with you."

"Now, I believe that the enquiry is going to turn upon a very delicate
point. If I am wrong in this, then perhaps I am wrong in my whole
conception of the case. But have you considered the mass of evidence
against Colin Camber?"

"I have, Harley," I replied, sadly, "I have."

"Think of all that we know, and which the Inspector does not know.
Every single datum points in the same direction. No prosecution could
ask for a more perfect case. Upon this fact I pin my hopes. Where an
Aylesbury rushes in I fear to tread. The analogy with an angel was
accidental, Knox!" he added, smilingly. "In other words, it is all too
obvious. Yet I have failed once, Knox, failed disastrously, and it may
be that in my anxiety to justify myself I am seeking for subtlety where
no subtlety exists."

There were strangers about Cray's 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 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 Beverley and to learn what had taken
place during her interview with Inspector Aylesbury, but Harley led the
way toward the tower wing, and by a tortuous path through the
rhododendrons we finally came out on the northeast front and in sight
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 Aylesbury."

My friend uttered an impatient exclamation, but, turning aside:

"Very well, constable," he muttered; "I suppose I must submit. Our
friend, Aylesbury," he added to me, as we walked away, "would appear to
be a martinet as well as a walrus. At every step, Knox, 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."

He hurried on through the opening in the box hedge and into the
courtyard. Manoel had just opened the doors to a sepulchral-looking
person who proved to be the coroner's officer, and:

"Manoel!" cried Harley, "tell Carter to bring a 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, Knox. Aylesbury 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. Meanwhile, do your best to act as a buffer
between Aylesbury 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. He 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 Colin
Camber, he had acted upon sheer conviction, or, embittered 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 Colin 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
Beverley coming along the corridor which communicated with Madame de
Stämer's room.

I read 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 dove-tail 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
Beverley, "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 when 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 he 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 Stämer 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?"