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

come downstairs and investigate,” I continued, “would naturally light a lamp.”

“Quite so.” He stared at me very hard. “Yet,” he said, “unless Mr. Colin Camber can produce an alibi I foresee a very stormy time for him.”

“So do I, Harley. A deadly hatred existed between these two men, and probably this horrible deed was done on the spur of the moment. It is of his poor little girl-wife that I am thinking. As though her troubles were not heavy enough already.”

“Yes,” he agreed. “I am almost tempted to hold my tongue, Knox, until I have personally interviewed these people. But of course if our blundering friend directly questions me, I shall have no alternative. I shall have to answer him. His talent for examination, however, scarcely amounts to genius, so that we may not be called upon for further details at the moment. I wonder how I can induce him to requisition Scotland Yard?”

He rested his chin in his hand and stared down reflectively at the carpet. I thought that he looked very haggard, as he sat there in the early morning light, dressed as for dinner. There was something pathetic in the pose of his bowed head.

Leaning across, I placed my hand on his shoulder.

“Don’t get despondent, old chap,” I said. “You have not failed yet.”

“Oh, but I have, Knox!” he cried, fiercely, “I have! He came to me for protection. Now he lies dead in his own house. Failed? I have failed utterly, miserably.”

I turned aside as the door opened and Dr. Rolleston came in.

“Ah, gentlemen,” he said, “I wanted to see you before leaving. I have just been to visit Madame de Stämer again.”

“Yes,” said Harley, eagerly; “how is she?”

Dr. Rolleston lighted a cigarette, frowning perplexedly the while.

“To be honest,” he replied, “her condition puzzles me.”

He walked across to the fireplace and dropped the match, staring at Harley with a curious expression.

“Has any one told her the truth?” he asked.

“You mean that Colonel Menendez is dead?”

“Yes,” replied Dr. Rolleston. “I understood that no one had told her?”

“No one has done so to my knowledge,” said Harley.

“Then the sympathy between them must have been very acute,” murmured the physician, “for she certainly knows!”

“Do you really think she knows?” I asked.

“I am certain of it. She must have had knowledge of a danger to be apprehended, and being awakened by the sound of the rifle shot, have realized by a sort of intuition that the expected tragedy had happened. I should say, from the presence of a small bruise which I found upon her forehead, that she had actually walked out into the corridor.”

“Walked?” I cried.

“Yes,” said the physician. “She is a shell-shock case, of course, and we sometimes find that a second shock counteracts the effect of the first. This, temporarily at any rate, seems to have happened to-night. She is now in a very curious state: a form of hysteria, no doubt, but very curious all the same.”

“Miss Beverley is with her?” I asked.

Dr. Rolleston nodded affirmatively.

“Yes, a very capable nurse. I am glad to know that Madame de Stämer is in such good hands. I am calling again early in the morning, and I have told Mrs. Fisher to see that nothing is said within hearing of the room which could enable Madame de Stämer to obtain confirmation of the idea, which she evidently entertains, that Colonel Menendez is dead.”

“Does she actually assert that he is dead?” asked Harley.

“My dear sir,” replied Dr. Rolleston, “she asserts nothing. She sits there like Niobe changed to stone, staring straight before her. She seems to be unaware of the presence of everyone except Miss Beverley. The only words she has spoken since recovering consciousness have been, ‘Don’t leave me!’”

“Hm,” muttered Harley. “You have not attended Madame de Stämer before, doctor?”

“No,” was the reply, “this is the first time I have entered Cray’s Folly since it was occupied by Sir James Appleton.”

He was about to take his departure when the door opened and Inspector Aylesbury walked in.

“Ah,” said he, “I have two more witnesses to interview: Madame de Stämer and Miss Beverley. From these witnesses I hope to get particulars of the dead man’s life which may throw some light upon the identity of his murderer.”

“It is impossible to see either of them at present,” replied Dr. Rolleston briskly.

“What’s that, doctor?” asked the Inspector. “Are they hysterical, or something?”

“As a result of the shock, Madame de Stämer is dangerously ill,” replied the physician, “and Miss Beverley is remaining with her.”

“Oh, I see. But Miss Beverley could come out for a few minutes?”

“She could,” admitted the physician, sharply, “but I don’t wish her to do so.”

“Oh, but the law must be served, doctor.”

“Quite so, but not at the expense of my patient’s reason.”

He was a resolute man, this country practitioner, and I saw Harley smiling in grim approval.

“I have expressed my opinion,” he said, finally, walking out of the room; “I shall leave the responsibility to you, Inspector Aylesbury. Good morning, gentlemen.”

Inspector Aylesbury scratched his chin.

“That’s awkward,” he muttered. “The evidence of this woman is highly important.”

He turned toward us, doubtingly, whereupon Harley stood up, yawning.

“If I can be of any further assistance to you, Inspector,” said my friend, “command me. Otherwise, I feel sure you will appreciate the fact that both Mr. Knox and myself are extremely tired, and have passed through a very trying ordeal.”

“Yes,” replied Inspector Aylesbury, “that’s all very well, but I find myself at a deadlock.”

“You surprise me,” declared Harley.

“I can see nothing to be surprised about,” cried the Inspector. “When I was called in it was already too late.”

“Most unfortunate,” murmured Harley, disagreeably. “Come along, Knox, you look tired to death.”

“One moment, gentlemen,” the Inspector insisted, as I stood up. “One moment. There is a little point which you may be able to clear up.”

Harley paused, his hand on the door knob, and turned.

“The