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Page 18
Familiarity with crime in many guises and under many skies had
developed in Paul Harley a sort of sixth sense. It was a fugitive,
fickle thing, as are all the powers which belong to the realm of genius
or inspiration. Often enough it failed him entirely, he had assured me,
that odd, sudden chill as of an abrupt lowering of the temperature,
which, I understood, often advised him of the nearness of enmity
actively malignant.
Now, standing at the window, looking down into that old-world garden,
he was "sensing" the atmosphere keenly, seeking for the note of danger.
It was sheer intuition, perhaps, but whilst he could never rely upon
its answering his summons, once active it never misled him.
"You think some real menace overhangs Colonel Menendez?"
"I am sure of it." He stared into my face. "There is something very,
very strange about this bat wing business."
"Do you still incline to the idea that he has been followed to
England?"
Paul Harley reflected for a moment, then:
"That explanation would be almost too simple," he said. "There is
something bizarre, something unclean--I had almost said unholy--at work
in this house, Knox."
"He has foreign servants."
Harley shook his head.
"I shall make it my business to become acquainted with all of them," he
replied, "but the danger does not come from there. Let us go down to
lunch."
CHAPTER V
VAL BEVERLEY
The luncheon was so good as to be almost ostentatious. One could not
have lunched better at the Carlton. Yet, since this luxurious living
was evidently customary in the colonel's household, a charge of
ostentation would not have been deserved. The sinister-looking Pedro
proved to be an excellent servant; and because of the excitement of
feeling myself to stand upon the edge of unusual things, the enjoyment
of a perfectly served repast, and the sheer delight which I experienced
in watching the play of expression upon the face of Miss Beverley, I
count that luncheon at Cray's Folly a memorable hour of my life.
Frankly, Val Beverley puzzled me. It may or may not have been curious,
that amidst such singular company I selected for my especial study a
girl so freshly and typically English. I had thought at the moment of
meeting her that she was provokingly pretty; I determined, as the lunch
proceeded, that she was beautiful. Once I caught Harley smiling at me
in his quizzical fashion, and I wondered guiltily if I were displaying
an undue interest in the companion of Madame.
Many topics were discussed, I remember, and beyond doubt the colonel's
cousin-housekeeper dominated the debate. She possessed extraordinary
force of personality. Her English was not nearly so fluent as that
spoken by the colonel, but this handicap only served to emphasize the
masculine strength of her intellect. Truly she was a remarkable woman.
With her blanched hair and her young face, and those fine, velvety eyes
which possessed a quality almost hypnotic, she might have posed for the
figure of a sorceress. She had unfamiliar gestures and employed her
long white hands in a manner that was new to me and utterly strange.
I could detect no family resemblance between the cousins, and I
wondered if their kinship were very distant. One thing was evident
enough: Madame de St�mer was devoted to the Colonel. Her expression
when she looked at him changed entirely. For a woman of such intense
vitality her eyes were uncannily still; that is to say that whilst she
frequently moved her head she rarely moved her eyes. Again and again I
found myself wondering where I had seen such eyes before. I lived to
identify that memory, as I shall presently relate.
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