If luncheon had seemed extravagant, dinner at Cray's Folly proved to bea veritable Roman banquet. To associate ideas of selfishness with MissBeverley was hateful, but the more I learned of the luxurious life ofthis queer household hidden away in the Surrey Hills the less I wonderedat any one's consenting to share such exile. I had hitherto counted anAmerican freak dinner, organized by a lucky plunger and held at the Cafede Paris, as the last word in extravagant feasting. But I learned nowthat what was caviare in Monte Carlo was ordinary fare at Cray's Folly.
Colonel Menendez was an epicure with an endless purse. The excellence ofone of the courses upon which I had commented led to a curious incident.
"You approve of the efforts of my chef?" said the Colonel.
"He is worthy of his employer," I replied.
Colonel Menendez bowed in his cavalierly fashion and Madame de Staemerpositively beamed upon me.
"You shall speak for him," said the Spaniard. "He was with me in Cuba,but has no reputation in London. There are hotels that would snap himup."
I looked at the speaker in surprise.
"Surely he is not leaving you?" I asked.
The Colonel exhibited a momentary embarrassment.
"No, no. No, no," he replied, waving his hand gracefully, "I was onlythinking that he--" there was a scarcely perceptible pause--"might wishto better himself. You understand?"
I understood only too well; and recollecting the words spoken by PaulHarley that afternoon, respecting the Colonel's will to live, I becameconscious of an uncomfortable sense of chill.
If I had doubted that in so speaking he had been contemplating his owndeath, the behaviour of Madame de Staemer must have convinced me. Hercomplexion was slightly but cleverly made up, with all the exquisiteart of the Parisienne, but even through the artificial bloom I saw hercheeks blanch. Her face grew haggard and her eyes burned unnaturally.She turned quickly aside to address Paul Harley, but I knew that thesignificance of this slight episode had not escaped him.
He was by no means at ease. In the first place, he was badly puzzled;in the second place, he was angry. He felt it incumbent upon him to savethis man from a menace which he, Paul Harley, evidently recognized to bereal, although to me it appeared wildly chimerical, and the very personupon whose active cooeperation he naturally counted not only seemedresigned to his fate, but by deliberate omission of important data addedto Harley's difficulties.
How much of this secret drama proceeding in Cray's Folly was appreciatedby Val Beverley I could not determine. On this occasion, I remember,she was simply but perfectly dressed and, in my eyes, seemed the mostsweetly desirable woman I had ever known. Realizing that I had alreadyrevealed my interest in the girl, I was oddly self-conscious, and ahundred times during the progress of dinner I glanced across at Harley,expecting to detect his quizzical smile. He was very stern, however, andseemed more reserved than usual. He was uncertain of his ground, Icould see. He resented the understanding which evidently existed betweenColonel Menendez and Madame de Staemer, and to which, although his aidhad been sought, he was not admitted.
It seemed to me, personally, that an almost palpable shadow lay uponthe room. Although, save for this one lapse, our host throughout talkedgaily and entertainingly, I was obsessed by a memory of the expressionwhich I had detected upon his face that morning, the expression of adoomed man.
What, in Heaven's name, I asked myself, did it all mean? If ever I sawthe fighting spirit looking out of any man's eyes, it looked out of theeyes of Don Juan Sarmiento Menendez. Why, then, did he lie down to themenace of this mysterious Bat Wing, and if he counted opposition futile,why had he summoned Paul Harley to Cray's Folly?
With the passing of every moment I sympathized more fully with theperplexity of my friend, and no longer wondered that even his highlyspecialized faculties had failed to detect an explanation.
Remembering Colin Camber as I had seen him at the Lavender Arms, it wassimply impossible to suppose that such a man as Menendez could fear sucha man as Camber. True, I had seen the latter at a disadvantage, andI knew well enough that many a genius has been also a drunkard. Butalthough I was prepared to find that Colin Camber possessed genius, Ifound it hard to believe that this was of a criminal type. That such acharacter could be the representative of some remote negro society wasan idea too grotesque to be entertained for a moment.
I was tempted to believe that his presence in the neighbourhood of thishaunted Cuban was one of those strange coincidences which in criminalhistory have sometimes proved so tragic for their victims.
Madame de Staemer, avoiding the Colonel's glances, which werepathetically apologetic, gradually recovered herself, and:
"My dear," she said to Val Beverley, "you look perfectly sweet to-night.Don't you think she looks perfectly sweet, Mr. Knox?"
Ignoring a look of entreaty from the blue-gray eyes:
"Perfectly," I replied.
"Oh, Mr. Knox," cried the girl, "why do you encourage her? She saysembarrassing things like that every time I put on a new dress."
Her reference to a new dress set me speculating again upon the apparentanomaly of her presence at Cray's Folly. That she was not a professional"companion" was clear enough. I assumed that her father had left hersuitably provided for, since she wore such expensively simple gowns. Shehad a delightful trick of blushing when attention was focussed upon her,and said Madame de Staemer:
"To be able to blush like that I would give my string of pearls--no,half of it."
"My dear Marie," declared Colonel Menendez, "I have seen you blushperfectly."
"No, no," Madame disclaimed the suggestion with one of those Bernhardtgestures, "I blushed my last blush when my second husband introduced meto my first husband's wife."
"Madame!" exclaimed Val Beverley, "how can you say such things?" Sheturned to me. "Really, Mr. Knox, they are all fables."
"In fables we renew our youth," said Madame.
"Ah," sighed Colonel Menendez; "our youth, our youth."
"Why sigh, Juan, why regret?" cried Madame, immediately. "Old age isonly tragic to those who have never been young."
She directed a glance toward him as she spoke those words, and as I hadfelt when I had seen his tragic face on the veranda that morning I feltagain in detecting this look of Madame de Staemer's. The yearning yetselfless love which it expressed was not for my eyes to witness.
"Thank God, Marie," replied the Colonel, and gallantly kissed his handto her, "we have both been young, gloriously young."
When, at the termination of this truly historic dinner, the ladies leftus:
"Remember, Juan," said Madame, raising her white, jewelled hand, andholding the fingers characteristically curled, "no excitement, nobilliards, no cards."
Colonel Menendez bowed deeply, as the invalid wheeled herself from theroom, followed by Miss Beverley. My heart was beating delightfully, forin the moment of departure the latter had favoured me with a significantglance, which seemed to say, "I am looking forward to a chat with youpresently."
"Ah," said Colonel Menendez, when we three men found ourselves alone,"truly I am blessed in the autumn of my life with such charmingcompanionship. Beauty and wit, youth and discretion. Is he not a happyman who possesses all these?"
"He should be," said Harley, gravely.
The saturnine Pedro entered with some wonderful crusted port, andColonel Menendez offered cigars.
"I believe you are a pipe-smoker," said our courteous host to Harley,"and if this is so, I know that you will prefer your favourite mixtureto any cigar that ever was rolled."
"Many thanks," said Harley, to whom no more delicate compliment couldhave been paid.
He was indeed an inveterate pipe-smoker, and only rarely did he trulyenjoy a cigar, however choice its pedigree. With a sigh of contenthe began to fill his briar. His mood was more restful, and covertly Iwatched him studying our host. The night remained very warm and one ofthe two windows of the dining room, which was the most homely apartmentin Cray's Folly, was wide open,
offering a prospect of sweeping velvetlawns touched by the magic of the moonlight.
A short silence fell, to be broken by the Colonel.
"Gentlemen," he said, "I trust you do not regret your fishingexcursion?"
"I could cheerfully pass the rest of my days in such idealsurroundings," replied Paul Harley.
I nodded in agreement.
"But," continued my friend, speaking very deliberately, "I haveto remember that I am here upon business, and that my professionalreputation is perhaps at stake."
He stared very hard at Colonel Menendez.
"I have spoken with your butler, known as Pedro, and with some of theother servants, and have learned all that there is to be learned aboutthe person unknown who gained admittance to the house a month ago, andconcerning the wing of a bat, found attached to the door more recently."
"And to what conclusion have you come?" asked Colonel Menendez, eagerly.
He bent forward, resting his elbows upon his knees, a pose which hefrequently adopted. He was smoking a cigar, but his total absorption inthe topic under discussion was revealed by the fact that from a pocketin his dinner jacket he had taken out a portion of tobacco, had laidit in a slip of rice paper, and was busily rolling one of his eternalcigarettes.
"I might be enabled to come to one," replied Harley, "if you wouldanswer a very simple question."
"What is this question?"
"It is this--Have you any idea who nailed the bat's wing to your door?"
Colonel Menendez's eyes opened very widely, and his face became moreaquiline than ever.
"You have heard my story, Mr. Harley," he replied, softly. "If I knowthe explanation, why do I come to you?"
Paul Harley puffed at his pipe. His expression did not alter in theslightest.
"I merely wondered if your suspicions tended in the direction of Mr.Colin Camber," he said.
"Colin Camber!"
As the Colonel spoke the name either I became victim of a strangedelusion or his face was momentarily convulsed. If my senses served mearight then his pronouncing of the words "Colin Camber" occasioned himpositive agony. He clutched the arms of his chair, striving, I thought,to retain composure, and in this he succeeded, for when he spoke againhis voice was quite normal.
"Have you any particular reason for your remark, Mr. Harley?"
"I have a reason," replied Paul Harley, "but don't misunderstand me. Isuggest nothing against Mr. Camber. I should be glad, however, to knowif you are acquainted with him?"
"We have never met."
"You possibly know him by repute?"
"I have heard of him, Mr. Harley. But to be perfectly frank, I havelittle in common with citizens of the United States."
A note of arrogance, which at times crept into his high, thin voice,became perceptible now, and the aristocratic, aquiline face looked verysupercilious.
How the conversation would have developed I know not, but at thismoment Pedro entered and delivered a message in Spanish to the Colonel,whereupon the latter arose and with very profuse apologies beggedpermission to leave us for a few moments.
When he had retired:
"I am going upstairs to write a letter, Knox," said Paul Harley. "Carryon with your old duties to-day, your new ones do not commence untilto-morrow."
With that he laughed and walked out of the dining room, leaving mewondering whether to be grateful or annoyed. However, it did not take melong to find my way to the drawing room where the two ladies were seatedside by side upon a settee, Madame's chair having been wheeled into acorner.
"Ah, Mr. Knox," exclaimed Madame as I entered, "have the othersdeserted, then?"
"Scarcely deserted, I think. They are merely straggling."
"Absent without leave," murmured Val Beverley.
I laughed, and drew up a chair. Madame de Staemer was smoking, but MissBeverley was not. Accordingly, I offered her a cigarette, which sheaccepted, and as I was lighting it with elaborate care, every momentfinding a new beauty in her charming face, Pedro again appeared andaddressed some remark in Spanish to Madame.
"My chair, Pedro," she said; "I will come at once."
The Spanish butler wheeled the chair across to the settee, and liftingher with an ease which spoke of long practice, placed her amidst thecushions where she spent so many hours of her life.
"I know you will excuse me, dear," she said to Val Beverley, "because Ifeel sure that Mr. Knox will do his very best to make up for my absence.Presently, I shall be back."
Pedro holding the door open, she went wheeling out, and I found myselfalone with Val Beverley.
At the time I was much too delighted to question the circumstances whichhad led to this tete-a-tete, but had I cared to give the matter anyconsideration, it must have presented rather curious features. The callfirst of host and then of hostess was inconsistent with the courtesy ofthe master of Cray's Folly, which, like the appointments of his home andhis mode of life, was elaborate. But these ideas did not trouble me atthe moment.
Suddenly, however, indeed before I had time to speak, the girl startedand laid her hand upon my arm.
"Did you hear something?" she whispered, "a queer sort of sound?"
"No," I replied, "what kind of sound?"
"An odd sort of sound, almost like--the flapping of wings."
I saw that she had turned pale, I saw the confirmation of somethingwhich I had only partly realised before: that her life at Cray's Follywas a constant fight against some haunting shadow. Her gaiety, herlightness, were but a mask. For now, in those wide-open eyes, I readabsolute horror.
"Miss Beverley," I said, grasping her hand reassuringly, "you alarm me.What has made you so nervous to-night?"
"To-night!" she echoed, "to-night? It is every night. If you had notcome--" she corrected herself--"if someone had not come, I don't think Icould have stayed. I am sure I could not have stayed."
"Doubtless the attempted burglary alarmed you?" I suggested, intendingto sooth her fears.
"Burglary?" She smiled unmirthfully. "It was no burglary."
"Why do you say so, Miss Beverley?"
"Do you think I don't know why Mr. Harley is here?" she challenged. "Oh,believe me, I know--I know. I, too, saw the bat's wing nailed to thedoor, Mr. Knox. You are surely not going to suggest that this was thework of a burglar?"
I seated myself beside her on the settee.
"You have great courage," I said. "Believe me, I quite understand allthat you have suffered."
"Is my acting so poor?" she asked, with a pathetic smile.
"No, it is wonderful, but to a sympathetic observer only acting,nevertheless."
I noted that my presence reassured her, and was much comforted by thisfact.
"Would you like to tell me all about it," I continued; "or would thismerely renew your fears?"
"I should like to tell you," she replied in a low voice, glancing abouther as if to make sure that we were alone. "Except for odd people,friends, I suppose, of the Colonel's, we have had so few visitors sincewe have been at Cray's Folly. Apart from all sorts of queer happeningswhich really"--she laughed nervously--"may have no significancewhatever, the crowning mystery to my mind is why Colonel Menendez shouldhave leased this huge house."
"He does not entertain very much, then?"
"Scarcely at all. The 'County'--do you know what I mean by the'County?'--began by receiving him with open arms and ended by sendinghim to Coventry. His lavish style of entertainment they labelled'swank'--horrible word but very expressive! They concluded that theydid not understand him, and of everything they don't understand theydisapprove. So after the first month or so it became very lonelyat Cray's Folly. Our foreign servants--there are five of themaltogether--got us a dreadfully bad name. Then, little by little, a sortof cloud seemed to settle on everything. The Colonel made two visitsabroad, I don't know exactly where he went, but on his return from thefirst visit Madame de Staemer changed."
"Changed?--in what way?"
"I am afraid it would be hopeless to try t
o make you understand, Mr.Knox, but in some subtle way she changed. Underneath all her vivacityshe is a tragic woman, and--oh, how can I explain?" Val Beverley made alittle gesture of despair.
"Perhaps you mean," I suggested, "that she seemed to become even lesshappy than before?"
"Yes," she replied, looking at me eagerly. "Has Colonel Menendez toldyou anything to account for it?"
"Nothing," I said, "He has left us strangely in the dark. But you say hewent abroad on a second and more recent occasion?"
"Yes, not much more than a month ago. And after that, somehow orother, matters seemed to come to a head. I confess I became horriblyfrightened, but to have left would have seemed like desertion, andMadame de Staemer has been so good to me."
"Did you actually witness any of the episodes which took place about amonth ago?"
Val Beverley shook her head.
"I never saw anything really definite," she replied.
"Yet, evidently you either saw or heard something which alarmed you."
"Yes, that is true, but it is so difficult to explain."
"Could you try to explain?"
"I will try if you wish, for really I am longing to talk to someoneabout it. For instance, on several occasions I have heard footsteps inthe corridor outside my room."
"At night?"
"Yes, at night."
"Strange footsteps?"
She nodded.
"That is the uncanny part of it. You know how familiar one grows withthe footsteps of persons living in the same house? Well, these footstepswere quite unfamiliar to me."
"And you say they passed your door?"
"Yes. My rooms are almost directly overhead. And right at the end of thecorridor, that is on the southeast corner of the building, is ColonelMenendez's bedroom, and facing it a sort of little smoke-room. It was inthis direction that the footsteps went."
"To Colonel Menendez's room?"
"Yes. They were light, furtive footsteps."
"This took place late at night?"
"Quite late, long after everyone had retired."
She paused, staring at me with a sort of embarrassment, and presently:
"Were the footsteps those of a man or a woman?" I asked.
"Of a woman. Someone, Mr. Knox," she bent forward, and that look of fearbegan to creep into her eyes again, "with whose footsteps I was quiteunfamiliar."
"You mean a stranger to the house?"
"Yes. Oh, it was uncanny." She shuddered. "The first time I heard it Ihad been lying awake listening. I was nervous. Madame de Staemer hadtold me that morning that the Colonel had seen someone lurking aboutthe lawns on the previous night. Then, as I lay awake listening forthe slightest sound, I suddenly detected these footsteps; and theypaused--right outside my door."
"Good heavens!" I exclaimed. "What did you do?"
"Frankly, I was too frightened to do anything. I just lay still with myheart beating horribly, and presently they passed on, and I heard themno more."
"Was your door locked?"
"No." She laughed nervously. "But it has been locked every night sincethen!"
"And these sounds were repeated on other nights?"
"Yes, I have often heard them, Mr. Knox. What makes it so strange isthat all the servants sleep out in the west wing, as you know, and Pedrolocks the communicating door every night before retiring."
"It is certainly strange," I muttered.
"It is horrible," declared the girl, almost in a whisper. "For what canit mean except that there is someone in Cray's Folly who is never seenduring the daytime?"
"But that is incredible."
"It is not so incredible in a big house like this. Besides, what otherexplanation can there be?"
"There must be one," I said, reassuringly. "Have you spoken of this toMadame de Staemer?"
"Yes."
Val Beverley's expression grew troubled.
"Had she any explanation to offer?"
"None. Her attitude mystified me very much. Indeed, instead ofreassuring me, she frightened me more than ever by her very silence.I grew to dread the coming of each night. Then--" she hesitated again,looking at me pathetically--"twice I have been awakened by a loud cry."
"What kind of cry?"
"I could not tell you, Mr. Knox. You see I have always been asleep whenit has come, but I have sat up trembling and dimly aware that what hadawakened me was a cry of some kind."
"You have no idea from whence it proceeded?"
"None whatever. Of course, all these things may seem trivial to you, andpossibly they can be explained in quite a simple way. But this feelingof something pending has grown almost unendurable. Then, I don'tunderstand Madame and the Colonel at all."
She suddenly stopped speaking and flushed with embarrassment.
"If you mean that Madame de Staemer is in love with her cousin, I agreewith you," I said, quietly.
"Oh, is it so evident as that?" murmured Val Beverley. She laughed tocover her confusion. "I wish I could understand what it all means."
At this point our tete-a-tete was interrupted by the return of Madame deStaemer.
"Oh, la la!" she cried, "the Colonel must have allowed himself to becometoo animated this evening. He is threatened with one of his attacks andI have insisted upon his immediate retirement. He makes his apologies,but knows you will understand."
I expressed my concern, and:
"I was unaware that Colonel Menendez's health was impaired," I said.
"Ah," Madame shrugged characteristically. "Juan has travelled too muchof the road of life on top speed, Mr. Knox." She snapped her whitefingers and grimaced significantly. "Excitement is bad for him."
She wheeled her chair up beside Val Beverley, and taking the girl's handpatted it affectionately.
"You look pale to-night, my dear," she said. "All this bogey business isgetting on your nerves, eh?"
"Oh, not at all," declared the girl. "It is very mysterious andannoying, of course."
"But M. Paul Harley will presently tell us what it is all about,"concluded Madame. "Yes, I trust so. We want no Cuban devils here atCray's Folly."
I had hoped that she would speak further of the matter, but having thusapologized for our host's absence, she plunged into an amusing accountof Parisian society, and of the changes which five years of war hadbrought about. Her comments, although brilliant, were superficial, theonly point I recollect being her reference to a certain Baron Bergmann,a Swedish diplomat, who, according to Madame, had the longest nose andthe shortest memory in Paris, so that in the cold weather, "he evensometimes forgot to blow his nose."
Her brightness I thought was almost feverish. She chattered and laughedand gesticulated, but on this occasion she was overacting. Underneathall her vivacity lay something cold and grim.
Harley rejoined us in half an hour or so, but I could see that he wasas conscious of the air of tension as I was. All Madame's high spiritscould not enable her to conceal the fact that she was anxious to retire.But Harley's evident desire to do likewise surprised me very greatly;for from the point of view of the investigation the day had been anunsatisfactory one. I knew that there must be a hundred and one thingswhich my friend desired to know, questions which Madame de Staemer couldhave answered. Nevertheless, at about ten o'clock we separated forthe night, and although I was intensely anxious to talk to Harley, hisreticent mood had descended upon him again, and:
"Sleep well, Knox," he said, as he paused at my door. "I may beawakening you early."
With which cryptic remark and not another word he passed on and enteredhis own room.
CHAPTER XI
THE SHADOW ON THE BLIND