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

“A wonderful shot,” I answered, thinking that she imposed unnecessary torture upon herself.

“They say he must be taken away, M. Knox, but I reply: not until I have seen him.”

“Madame,” began Val Beverley, gently.

“Ah, my dear!” Madame de Stämer, without looking at the speaker, extended one hand in her direction, the fingers characteristically curled. “You do not know me. Perhaps it is a good job. You are a man, Mr. Knox, and men, especially men who write, know more of women than they know of themselves, is it not so? You will understand that I must see him again?”

“Madame de Stämer,” I said, “your courage is almost terrible.”

She shrugged her shoulders.

“I am not proud to be brave, my friend. The animals are brave, but many cowards are proud. Listen again. He suffered no pain, you think?”

“None, Madame de Stämer.”

“So Dr. Rolleston assures me. He died in his sleep? You do not think he was awake, eh?”

“Most certainly he was not awake.”

“It is the best way to die,” she said, simply. “Yet he, who was brave and had faced death many times, would have counted it”——she snapped her white fingers, glancing across the room to where Inspector Aylesbury, very subdued, sat upon the brocaded chair twirling his cap between his hands. “And now, Inspector Aylesbury,” she asked, “what is it you wish me to tell you?”

“Well, Madame,” began the Inspector, and stood up, evidently in an endeavour to recover his dignity, but:

“Sit down, Mr. Inspector! I beg of you be seated,” cried Madame. “I will not be questioned by one who stands. And if you were to walk about I should shriek.”

He resumed his seat, clearing his throat nervously.

“Very well, Madame,” he continued, “I have come to you particularly for information respecting a certain Mr. Camber.”

“Oh, yes,” said Madame.

Her vibrant voice was very low.

“You know him, no doubt?”

“I have never met him.”

“What?” exclaimed the Inspector.

Madame shrugged and glanced at me eloquently.

“Well,” he continued, “this gets more and more funny. I am told by Pedro, the butler, that Colonel Menendez looked upon Mr. Camber as an enemy, and Miss Beverley, here, admitted that it was true. Yet although he was an enemy, nobody ever seems to have spoken to him, and he swears that he had never spoken to Colonel Menendez.”

“Yes?” said Madame, listlessly, “is that so?”

“It is so, Madame, and now you tell me that you have never met him.”

“I did tell you so, yes.”

“His wife, then?”

“I never met his wife,” said Madame, rapidly.

“But it is a fact that Colonel Menendez regarded him as an enemy?”

“It is a fact-yes.”

“Ah, now we are coming to it. What was the cause of this?”

“I cannot tell you.”

“Do you mean that you don’t know?”

“I mean that I cannot tell you.”

“Oh,” said the Inspector, blankly, “I see. That’s not helping me very much, is it?”

“No, it is no help,” said Madame, twirling a ring upon her finger.

The Inspector cleared his throat again, then:

“There had been other attempts, I believe, at assassination?” he asked.

Madame nodded.

“Several.”

“Did you witness any of these?”

“None of them.”

“But you know that they took place?”

“Juan—Colonel Menendez—had told me so.”

“And he suspected that there was someone lurking about this house?”

“Yes.”

“Also, someone broke in?”

“There were doors unfastened, and a great disturbance, so I suppose someone must have done so.”

I wondered if he would refer to the bat wing nailed to the door, but he had evidently decided that this clue was without importance, nor did he once refer to the aspect of the case which concerned Voodoo. He possessed a sort of mulish obstinacy, and was evidently determined to use no scrap of information which he had obtained from Paul Harley.

“Now, Madame,” said he, “you heard the shot fired last night?”

“I did.”

“It woke you up?”

“I was already awake.”

“Oh, I see: you were awake?”

“I was awake.”

“Where did you think the sound came from?”

“From back yonder, beyond the east wing.”

“Beyond the east wing?” muttered Inspector Aylesbury. “Now, let me see.” He turned ponderously in his chair, gazing out of the windows. “We look out on the south here? You say the sound of the shot came from the east?”

“So it seemed to me.”

“Oh.” This piece of information seemed badly to puzzle him. “And what then?”

“I was so startled that I ran to the door before I remembered that I could not walk.”

She glanced aside at me with a tired smile, and laid her hand upon my arm in an oddly caressing way, as if to say, “He is so stupid; I should not have expressed myself in that way.”

Truly enough the Inspector misunderstood, for:

“I don’t follow what you mean, Madame,” he declared. “You say you forgot that you could not walk?”

“No, no, I expressed myself wrongly,” Madame replied in a weary voice. “The fright, the terror, gave me strength to stagger to the door, and there I fell and swooned.”

“Oh, I see. You speak of fright and terror. Were these caused by the sound of the shot?”

“For some reason my cousin believed himself to be in peril,” explained Madame. “He went