I find it difficult, now, to recapture my first impression of thatmeeting. About the woman, hesitating before me, there was somethingunexpected, something wholly unfamiliar. She belonged to a type withwhich I was not acquainted. Nor was it wonderful that she should strikeme in this fashion, since my wanderings, although fairly extensive,had never included the West Indies, nor had I been to Spain; and thisgirl--I could have sworn that she was under twenty--was one of thoserare beauties, a golden Spaniard.
That she was not purely Spanish I learned later.
She was small, and girlishly slight, with slender ankles and exquisitelittle feet; indeed I think she had the tiniest feet of any woman Ihad ever met. She wore a sort of white pinafore over her dress, and herarms, which were bare because of the short sleeves of her frock, were ofa child-like roundness, whilst her creamy skin was touched with a fainttinge of bronze, as though, I remember thinking, it had absorbedand retained something of the Southern sunshine. She had the swayingcarriage which usually belongs to a tall woman, and her head and neckwere Grecian in poise.
Her hair, which was of a curious dull gold colour, presented a mass ofthick, tight curls, and her beauty was of that unusual character whichmakes a Cleopatra a subject of deathless debate. What I mean to say isthis: whilst no man could have denied, for instance, that Val Beverleywas a charmingly pretty woman, nine critics out of ten must have failedto classify this golden Spaniard correctly or justly. Her complexion waspeach-like in the Oriental sense, that strange hint of gold underlyingthe delicate skin, and her dark blue eyes were shaded by reallywonderful silken lashes.
Emotion had the effect of enlarging the pupils, a phenomenon rarely metwith, so that now as she entered the room and found a stranger presentthey seemed to be rather black than blue.
Her embarrassment was acute, and I think she would have retired withoutspeaking, but:
"Ysola," said Colin Camber, regarding her with a look curiouslycompounded of sorrow and pride, "allow me to present Mr. Malcolm Knox,who has honoured us with a visit."
He turned to me.
"Mr. Knox," he said, "it gives me great pleasure that you should meet mywife."
Perhaps I had expected this, indeed, subconsciously, I think I had.Nevertheless, at the words "my wife" I felt that I started. The analogywith Edgar Allan Poe was complete.
As Mrs. Camber extended her hand with a sort of appealing timidity, itappeared to me that she felt herself to be intruding. The expressionin her beautiful eyes when she glanced at her husband could only bedescribed as one of adoration; and whilst it was impossible to doubthis love for her, I wondered if his colossal egotism were capable ofstooping to affection. I wondered if he knew how to tend and protectthis delicate Southern girl wife of his.
Remembering the episode of the Lavender Arms, I felt justified indoubting her happiness, and in this I saw an explanation of the mingledsorrow and pride with which Colin Camber regarded her. It might betokenrecognition of his own shortcomings as a husband.
"How nice of you to come and see us. Mr. Knox," she said.
She spoke in a faintly husky manner which was curiously attractive,although lacking the deep, vibrant tones of Madame de Staemer's memorablevoice. Her English was imperfect, but her accent good.
"Your husband has been carrying me to enchanted lands, Mrs. Camber," Ireplied. "I have never known a morning to pass so quickly."
"Oh," she replied, and laughed with a childish glee which I was glad towitness. "Did he tell you all about the book which is going to make theworld good? Did he tell you it will make us rich as well?"
"Rich?" said Camber, frowning slightly. "Nature's riches are health andlove. If we hold these the rest will come. Now that you have joinedus, Ysola, I shall beg Mr. Knox, in honour of this occasion, to drink aglass of wine and break a biscuit as a pledge of future meetings."
I watched him as he spoke, a lean, unkempt figure invested with acurious dignity, and I found it almost impossible to believe that thiswas the same man who had sat in the bar of the Lavender Arms, sippingwhisky and water. The resemblance to the portrait in Harley's officebecame more marked than ever. There was an air of high breeding aboutthe delicate features which, curiously enough, was accentuated by theunshaven chin. I recognized that refusal would be regarded as a rebuff,and therefore:
"You are very kind," I said.
Colin Camber inclined his head gravely and courteously.
"We are very glad to have you with us, Mr. Knox," he replied.
He clapped his hands, and, silent as a shadow, Ah Tsong appeared. Inoted that although it was Camber who had summoned him, it was to Mrs.Camber that the Chinaman turned for orders. I had thought his yellowface incapable of expression, but as his oblique eyes turned in thedirection of the girl I read in them a sort of dumb worship, such as onesees in the eyes of a dog.
She spoke to him rapidly in Chinese.
"Hoi, hoi," he muttered, "hoi, hoi," nodded his head, and went out.
I saw that Colin Camber had detected my interest, for:
"Ah Tsong is really my wife's servant," he explained.
"Oh," she said in a low voice, and looked at me earnestly, "Ah Tsongnursed me when I was a little baby so high." She held her hand aboutfour feet from the floor and laughed gleefully. "Can you imagine what afunny little thing I was?"
"You must have been a wonder-child, Mrs. Camber," I replied withsincerity; "and Ah Tsong has remained with you ever since?"
"Ever since," she echoed, shaking her head in a vaguely pathetic way."He will never leave me, do you think, Colin?"
"Never," replied her husband; "you are all he loves in the world. Acase, Mr. Knox," he turned to me, "of deathless fidelity rarely met withnowadays and only possible, perhaps, in its true form in an Oriental."
Mrs. Camber having seated herself upon one of the few chairs which wasnot piled with books, her husband had resumed his place by the writingdesk, and I sought in vain to interpret the glances which passed betweenthem.
The fact that these two were lovers none could have mistaken. But hereagain, as at Cray's Folly, I detected a shadow. I felt that somethinghad struck at the very root of their happiness, in fact, I wondered ifthey had been parted, and were but newly reunited for there was a sortof constraint between them, the more marked on the woman's side than onthe man's. I wondered how long they had been married, but felt that itwould have been indiscreet to ask.
Even as the idea occurred to me, however, an opportunity arose oflearning what I wished to know. I heard a bell ring, and:
"There is someone at the door, Colin," said Mrs. Camber.
"I will go," he replied. "Ah Tsong has enough to do."
Without another word he stood up and walked out of the room.
"You see," said Mrs. Camber, smiling in her naive way, "we only have oneservant, except Ah Tsong, her name is Mrs. Powis. She is visiting herdaughter who is married. We made the poor old lady take a holiday."
"It is difficult to imagine you burdened with householdresponsibilities, Mrs. Camber," I replied. "Please forgive me but Icannot help wondering how long you have been married?"
"For nearly four years."
"Really?" I exclaimed. "You must have been married very young?"
"I was twenty. Do I look so young?"
I gazed at her in amazement.
"You astonish me," I declared, which was quite true and no merecompliment. "I had guessed your age to be eighteen."
"Oh," she laughed, and resting her hands upon the settee leaned forwardwith sparkling eyes, "how funny. Sometimes I wish I looked older. It isdreadful in this place, although we have been so happy here. At all theshops they look at me so funny, so I always send Mrs. Powis now."
"You are really quite wonderful," I said. "You are Spanish, are you not,Mrs. Camber?"
She slightly shook her head, and I saw the pupils begin to dilate.
"Not really Spanish," she replied, haltingly. "I was born in Cuba."
"In Cuba?"
She nodded.
"T
hen it was in Cuba that you met Mr. Camber?"
She nodded again, watching me intently.
"It is strange that a Virginian should settle in Surrey."
"Yes?" she murmured, "you think so? But really it is not strange at all.Colin's people are so proud, so proud. Do you know what they are like,those Virginians? Oh! I hate them."
"You hate them?"
"No, I cannot hate them, for he is one. But he will never go back."
"Why should he never go back, Mrs. Camber?"
"Because of me."
"You mean that you do not wish to settle in America?"
"I could not--not where he comes from. They would not have me."
Her eyes grew misty, and she quickly lowered her lashes.
"Would not have you?" I exclaimed. "I don't understand."
"No?" she said, and smiled up at me very gravely. "It is simple. I am aCuban, one, as they say, of an inferior race--and of mixed blood."
She shook her golden head as if to dismiss the subject, and stood up, asCamber entered, followed by Ah Tsong bearing a tray of refreshments.
Of the ensuing conversation I remember nothing. My mind was focussedupon the one vital fact that Mrs. Camber was a Cuban Creole. Dimly Ifelt that here was the missing link for which Paul Harley was groping.For it was in Cuba that Colin Camber had met his wife, it was from Cubathat the menace of Bat Wing came.
What could it mean? Surely it was more than a coincidence that thesetwo families, both associated with the West Indies, should reside withinsight of one another in the Surrey Hills. Yet, if it were the result ofdesign, the design must be on the part of Colonel Menendez, since theCambers had occupied the Guest House before he had leased Cray's Folly.
I know not if I betrayed my absentmindedness during the time that I wasstruggling vainly with these maddening problems, but presently, Mrs.Camber having departed about her household duties, I found myselfwalking down the garden with her husband.
"This is the summer house of which I was speaking, Mr. Knox," he said,and I regret to state that I retained no impression of his havingpreviously mentioned the subject. "During the time that Sir JamesAppleton resided at Cray's Folly, I worked here regularly in the summermonths. It was Sir James, of course, who laid out the greater part ofthe gardens and who rescued the property from the state of decay intowhich it had fallen."
I aroused myself from the profitless reverie in which I had become lost.We were standing before a sort of arbour which marked the end of thegrounds of the Guest House. It overhung the edge of a miniature ravine,in which, over a pebbly course, a little stream pursued its way down thevalley to feed the lake in the grounds of Cray's Folly.
From this point of vantage I could see the greater part of ColonelMenendez's residence. I had an unobstructed view of the tower and of theTudor garden.
"I abandoned my work-shop," pursued Colin Camber, "when the--er--the newtenant took up his residence. I work now in the room in which you foundme this morning."
He sighed, and turning abruptly, led the way back to the house, holdinghimself very erect, and presenting a queer figure in his threadbaredressing gown.
It was now a perfect summer's day, and I commented upon the beauty ofthe old garden, which in places was bordered by a crumbling wall.
"Yes, a quaint old spot," said Camber. "I thought at one time, becauseof the name of the house, that it might have been part of a monasteryor convent. This was not the case, however. It derives its name from acertain Sir Jaspar Guest, who flourished, I believe, under King Charlesof merry memory."
"Nevertheless," I added, "the Guest House is a charming survival of morespacious days."
"True," returned Colin Camber, gravely. "Here it is possible to leadone's own life, away from the noisy world," he sighed again wearily."Yes, I shall regret leaving the Guest House."
"What! You are leaving?"
"I am leaving as soon as I can find another residence, suited both to myrequirements and to my slender purse. But these domestic affairs can beof no possible interest to you. I take it, Mr. Knox, that you will grantmy wife and myself the pleasure of your company at lunch?"
"Many thanks," I replied, "but really I must return to Cray's Folly."
As I spoke the words I had moved a little ahead at a point wherethe path was overgrown by a rose bush, for the garden was somewhatneglected.
"You will quite understand," I said, and turned.
Never can I forget the spectacle which I beheld.
Colin Camber's peculiarly pale complexion had assumed a truly ghastlypallor, and he stood with tightly clenched hands, glaring at me almostinsanely.
"Mr. Camber," I cried, with concern, "are you unwell?"
He moistened his dry lips, and:
"You are returning--to Cray's Folly?" he said, speaking, it seemed, withdifficulty.
"I am, sir. I am staying with Colonel Menendez."
"Ah!"
He clutched the collar of his pyjama jacket and wrenched so stronglythat the button was torn off. His passion was incredible, insane. Thepower of speech had almost left him.
"You are a guest of--of Devil Menendez," he whispered, and thespeaking of the name seemed almost to choke him. "Of--Devil Menendez.You--you--are a spy. You have stolen my hospitality--you have obtainedaccess to my house under false pretences. God! if I had known!"
"Mr. Camber," I said, sternly, and realized that I, too, had clenchedmy fists, for the man's language was grossly insulting, "you forgetyourself."
"Perhaps I do," he muttered, thickly; "and therefore"--he raised aquivering forefinger--"go! If you have any spark of compassion in yourbreast, go! Leave my house."
Nostrils dilated, he stood with that quivering finger outstretched, andnow having become as speechless as he, I turned and walked rapidly up tothe house.
"Ah Tsong! Ah Tsong!" came a cry from behind me in tones which I canonly describe as hysterical--"Mr. Knox's hat and stick. Quickly."
As I walked in past the study door the Chinaman came to meet me, holdingmy hat and cane. I took them from him without a word, and, the doorbeing held open by Ah Tsong, walked out on to the road.
My heart was beating rapidly. I did not know what to think nor what todo. This ignominious dismissal afforded an experience new to me. I washumiliated, mortified, but above all, wildly angry.
How far I had gone on my homeward journey I cannot say, when the soundof quickly pattering footsteps intruded upon my wild reverie. I stopped,turned, and there was Ah Tsong almost at my heels.
"Blinga chit flom lilly missee," he said, and held the note toward me.
I hesitated, glaring at him in a way that must have been veryunpleasant; but recovering myself I tore open the envelope, and read thefollowing note, written in pencil and very shakily:
MR. KNOX. Please forgive him. If you knew what we have suffered fromSenor Don Juan Menendez, I know you would forgive him. Please, for mysake. YSOLA CAMBER.
The Chinaman was watching me, that strangely pathetic expression in hiseyes, and:
"Tell your mistress that I quite understand and will write to her," Isaid.
"Hoi, hoi."
Ah Tsong turned, and ran swiftly off, as I pursued my way back to Cray'sFolly in a mood which I shall not attempt to describe.
CHAPTER XV
UNREST