Bat Wing by Sax Rohmer (ereader for android .TXT) 📕

stating bald facts in reply to your questions.”

“Oh, I see.”

The Inspector cleared his throat.

“Someone broke into Cray’s Folly, then, a fact which was not reported to me, a suspicious loiterer was seen in the grounds, again not reported, and someone played a silly practical joke by nailing the wing of a bat, you say, to the door. Might I ask, Mr. Harley, why you mention this matter? The other things are serious, but why you should mention the trick of some mischievous boy at a time like this I can’t imagine.”

“No,” said Harley, wearily, “it does sound absurd, Inspector; I quite appreciate the fact. But, you see, Colonel Menendez regarded it as the most significant episode of them all.”

“What! The bat wing nailed on the door?”

“The bat wing, decidedly. He believed it to be the token of a negro secret society which had determined upon his death, hence my enquiries regarding coloured men in the neighbourhood. Do you understand, Inspector?”

Inspector Aylesbury took a large handkerchief from his pocket and blew his nose. Replacing the handkerchief he cleared his throat, and:

“Am I to understand,” he enquired, “that the late Colonel Menendez had expected to be attacked?”

“You may understand that,” replied Harley. “It explains my presence in the house.”

“Oh,” said the Inspector, “I see. It looks as though he might have done better if he had applied to me.”

Paul Harley glanced across in my direction and smiled grimly.

“As I had predicted, Knox,” he murmured, “my Waterloo.”

“What’s that you say about Waterloo, Mr. Harley?” demanded the Inspector.

“Nothing germane to the case,” replied Harley. “It was a reference to a battle, not to a railway station.”

Inspector Aylesbury stared at him dully.

“You quite understand that you are giving evidence?” he said.

“It were impossible not to appreciate the fact.”

“Very well, then. The late Colonel Menendez thought he was in danger from negroes. Why did he think that?”

“He was a retired West Indian planter,” replied Harley, patiently, “and he was under the impression that he had offended a powerful native society, and that for many years their vengeance had pursued him. Attempts to assassinate him had already taken place in Cuba and in the United States.”

“What sort of attempts?”

“He was shot at, several times, and once, in Washington, was attacked by a man with a knife. He maintained in my presence and in the presence of my friend, Mr. Knox, here, that these various attempts were due to members of a sect or religion known as Voodoo.”

“Voodoo?”

“Voodoo, Inspector, also known as Obeah, a cult which has spread from the West Coast of Africa throughout the West Indies and to parts of the United States. The bat wing is said to be a sign used by these people.”

Inspector Aylesbury scratched his chin.

“Now let me get this thing clear,” said he: “Colonel Menendez believed that people called Voodoos wanted to kill him? Before we go any farther, why?”

“Twenty years ago in the West Indies he had shot an important member of this sect.”

“Twenty years ago?”

“According to a statement which he made to me, yes.”

“I see. Then for twenty years these Voodoos have been trying to kill him? Then he comes and settles here in Surrey and someone nails a bat wing to his door? Did you see this bat wing?”

“I did. I have it upstairs in my bag if you would care to examine it.”

“Oh,” said the Inspector, “I see. And thinking he had been followed to England he came to you to see if you could save him?”

Paul Harley nodded grimly.

“Why did he go to you in preference to the local police, the proper authorities?” demanded the Inspector.

“He was advised to do so by the Spanish ambassador, or so he informed me.”

“Is that so? Well, I suppose it had to be. Coming from foreign parts. I expect he didn’t know what our police are for.” He cleared his throat. “Very well, I understand now what you were doing here, Mr. Harley. The next thing is, what were you doing tonight, as I see that both you and Mr. Knox are still in evening dress?”

“We were keeping watch,” I replied.

Inspector Aylesbury turned to me ponderously, raising a fat hand. “One moment, Mr. Knox, one moment,” he protested. “The evidence of one witness at a time.”

“We were keeping watch,” said Harley, deliberately echoing my words.

“Why?”

“More or less we were here for that purpose. You see, on the night of the full moon, according to Colonel Menendez, Obeah people become particularly active.”

“Why on the night of the full moon?”

“This I cannot tell you.”

“Oh, I see. You were keeping watch. Where were you keeping watch?”

“In my room.”

“In which part of the house is your room?”

“Northeast. It overlooks the Tudor garden.”

“At what time did you retire?”

“About half-past ten.”

“Did you leave the Colonel well?”

“No, he had been unwell all day. He had remained in his room.”

“Had he asked you to sit up?”

“Not at all; our vigil was quite voluntary.”

“Very well, then, you were in your room when the shot was fired?”

“On the contrary, I was on the path in front of the house.”

“Oh, I see. The front door was open, then?”

“Not at all. Pedro had locked up for the night.”

“And locked you out?”

“No; I descended from my window by means of a ladder which I had brought with me for the purpose.”

“With a ladder? That’s rather extraordinary, Mr Harley.”

“It is extraordinary. I have strange habits.”

Inspector Aylesbury cleared his throat again and looked