The afternoon was well advanced before Paul Harley returned.
So deep was my conviction that I had hit upon the truth, and so welldid my theory stand every test which I could apply to it, that I feltdisinclined for conversation with any one concerned in the tragedy untilI should have submitted the matter to the keen analysis of Harley. Uponthe sorrow of Madame de Staemer I naturally did not intrude, nor did Iseek to learn if she had carried out her project of looking upon thedead man.
About mid-day the body was removed, after which an oppressive andawesome stillness seemed to descend upon Cray's Folly.
Inspector Aylesbury had not returned from his investigations at theGuest House, and learning that Miss Beverley was remaining with Madamede Staemer, I declined to face the ordeal of a solitary luncheon inthe dining room, and merely ate a few sandwiches, walking over to theLavender Arms for a glass of Mrs. Wootton's excellent ale.
Here I found the bar-parlour full of local customers, and although aheated discussion was in progress as I opened the door, silence fellupon my appearance. Mrs. Wootton greeted me sadly.
"Ah, sir," she said, as she placed a mug before me; "of course you'veheard?"
"I have, madam," I replied, perceiving that she did not know me to be aguest at Cray's Folly.
"Well, well!" She shook her head. "It had to come, with all theseforeign folk about."
She retired to some sanctum at the rear of the bar, and I drank my beeramid one of those silences which sometimes descend upon such a gatheringwhen a stranger appears in its midst. Not until I moved to depart wasthis silence broken, then:
"Ah, well," said an old fellow, evidently a farm-hand, "we know now whyhe was priming of hisself with the drink, we do."
"Aye!" came a growling chorus.
I came out of the Lavender Arms full of a knowledge that so far asMid-Hatton was concerned, Colin Camber was already found guilty.
I had hoped to see something of Val Beverley on my return, but sheremained closeted with Madame de Staemer, and I was left in lonelinessto pursue my own reflections, and to perfect that theory which hadpresented itself to my mind.
In Harley's absence I had taken it upon myself to give an order to Pedroto the effect that no reporters were to be admitted; and in this I haddone well. So quickly does evil news fly that, between mid-day andthe hour of Harley's return, no fewer than five reporters, I believe,presented themselves at Cray's Folly. Some of the more persistentcontinued to haunt the neighbourhood, and I had withdrawn to thedeserted library, in order to avoid observation, when I heard a car drawup in the courtyard, and a moment later heard Harley asking for me.
I hurried out to meet him, and as I appeared at the door of the library:
"Hullo, Knox," he called, running up the steps. "Any developments?"
"No actual development?" I replied, "except that several members of thePress have been here."
"You told them nothing?" he asked, eagerly.
"No; they were not admitted."
"Good, good," he muttered.
"I had expected you long before this, Harley."
"Naturally," he said, with a sort of irritation. "I have been all theway to Whitehall and back."
"To Whitehall! What, you have been to London?"
"I had half anticipated it, Knox. The Chief Constable, although quite adecent fellow, is a stickler for routine. On the strength of thosefacts which I thought fit to place before him he could see no reasonfor superseding Aylesbury. Accordingly, without further waste of time,I headed straight for Whitehall. You may remember a somewhat elaboratereport which I completed upon the eve of our departure from ChanceryLane?"
I nodded.
"A very thankless job for the Home Office, Knox. But I received myreward to-day. Inspector Wessex has been placed in charge of the caseand I hope he will be down here within the hour. Pending his arrival Iam tied hand and foot."
We had walked into the library, and, stopping, suddenly, Harley staredme very hard in the face.
"You are bottling something up, Knox," he declared. "Out with it. HasAylesbury distinguished himself again?"
"No," I replied; "on the contrary. He interviewed Madame de Staemer, andcame out with a flea in his ear."
"Good," said Harley, smiling. "A clever woman, and a woman of spirit,Knox."
"You are right," I replied, "and you are also right in supposing that Ihave a communication to make to you."
"Ah, I thought so. What is it?"
"It is a theory, Harley, which appears to me to cover the facts of thecase."
"Indeed?" said he, continuing to stare at me. "And what inspired it?"
"I was staring up at the window of the smoke-room to-day, and Iremembered the shadow which you had seen upon the blind."
"Yes?" he cried, eagerly; "and does your theory explain that, too?"
"It does, Harley."
"Then I am all anxiety to hear it."
"Very well, then, I will endeavour to be brief. Do you recollect MissBeverley's story of the unfamiliar footsteps which passed her door onseveral occasions?"
"Perfectly."
"You recollect that you, yourself, heard someone crossing the hall, andthat both of us heard a door close?"
"We did."
"And finally you saw the shadow of a woman upon the blind of theColonel's private study. Very well. Excluding the preposterous theory ofInspector Aylesbury, there is no woman in Cray's Folly whose footstepscould possibly have been heard in that corridor, and whose shadow couldpossibly have been seen upon the blind of Colonel Menendez's room."
"I agree," said Harley, quietly. "I have definitely eliminated all theservants from the case. Therefore, proceed, Knox, I am all attention."
"I will do so. There is a door on the south side of the house, close tothe tower and opening into the rhododendron shrubbery. This was the doorused by Colonel Menendez in his somnambulistic rambles, according tohis own account. Now, assuming his statement to have been untrue in oneparticular, that is, assuming he was not walking in his sleep, but wasfully awake--"
"Eh?" exclaimed Harley, his expression undergoing a subtle change. "Doyou think his statement was untrue?"
"According to my theory, Harley, his statement was untrue, in thisparticular, at least. But to proceed: Might he not have employed thisdoor to admit a nocturnal visitor?"
"It is feasible," muttered Harley, watching me closely.
"For the Colonel to descend to this side door when the household wassleeping," I continued, "and to admit a woman secretly to Cray's Folly,would have been a simple matter. Indeed, on the occasions of thesevisits he might even have unbolted the door himself after Pedro hadbolted it, in order to enable her to enter without his descending forthe purpose of admitting her."
"By heavens! Knox," said Harley, "I believe you have it!"
His eyes were gleaming excitedly, and I proceeded:
"Hence the footsteps which passed Miss Beverley's door, hence the shadowwhich you saw upon the blind; and the sounds which you detected in thehall were caused, of course, by this woman retiring. It was the doorleading into the shrubbery which we heard being closed!"
"Continue," said Harley; "although I can plainly see to what this isleading."
"You can see, Harley?" I cried; "of course you can see! The enmitybetween Camber and Menendez is understandable at last."
"You mean that Menendez was Mrs. Camber's lover?"
"Don't you agree with me?"
"It is feasible, Knox, dreadfully feasible. But go on."
"My theory also explains Colin Camber's lapse from sobriety. It islegitimate to suppose that his wife, who was a Cuban, had been intimatewith Menendez before her meeting with Camber. Perhaps she had broken thetie at the time of her marriage, but this is mere supposition. Then,her old lover, his infatuation by no means abated, leases the propertyadjoining that of his successful rival."
"Knox!" exclaimed Paul Harley, "this is brilliant. I am all impatiencefor the _denouement_."
"It is coming," I said, triumpha
ntly. "Relations are reestablished,clandestinely. Colin Camber learns of these. A passionate quarrelensues, resulting in a long drinking bout designed to drown hissorrows. His love for his wife is so great that he has forgiven her thisinfidelity. Accordingly, she has promised to see her lover no more. Herswas the figure which you saw outlined upon the blind on the night beforethe tragedy, Harley! The gestures, which you described as those ofdespair, furnish evidence to confirm my theory. It was a final meeting!"
"Hm," muttered Harley. "It would be taking big chances, because we haveto suppose, Knox, that these visits to Cray's Folly were made whilst herhusband was at work in the study. If he had suddenly decided to turn in,all would have been discovered."
"True," I agreed, "but is it impossible?"
"No, not a bit. Women are dreadful gamblers. But continue, Knox."
"Very well. Colonel Menendez has refused to accept his dismissal, andMrs. Camber had been compelled to promise, without necessarily intendingto carry out the promise, that she would see him again on the followingnight. She failed to come; whereupon he, growing impatient, walked outinto the grounds of Cray's Folly to look for her. She may even haveintended to come and have been intercepted by her husband. But in anyevent, the latter, seeing the man who had wronged him, standing outthere in the moonlight, found temptation to be too strong. On the whole,I favour the idea that he had intercepted his wife, and snatching upa rifle, had actually gone out into the garden with the intention ofshooting Menendez."
"I see," murmured Harley in a low voice. "This hypothesis, Knox, doesnot embrace the Bat Wing episodes."
"If Menendez has lied upon one point," I returned, "it is permissible tosuppose that his entire story was merely a tissue of falsehood."
"I see. But why did he bring me to Cray's Folly?"
"Don't you understand, Harley?" I cried, excitedly. "He really fearedfor his life, since he knew that Camber had discovered the intrigue."
Paul Harley heaved a long sigh.
"I must congratulate you, Knox," he said, gravely, "upon a reallysplendid contribution to my case. In several particulars I find myselfnearer to the truth. But the definite establishment or shattering ofyour theory rests upon one thing."
"What's that?" I asked. "You are surely not thinking of the bat wingnailed upon the door?"
"Not at all," he replied. "I am thinking of the seventh yew tree fromthe northeast corner of the Tudor garden."
CHAPTER XXIX
A LEE-ENFIELD RIFLE