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Page 24
I was certainly unfamiliar with the liqueur which he insisted we must
taste, and which was contained in a sort of square, opaque bottle
unknown, I think, to English wine merchants. Beyond doubt it was potent
stuff; and some cigars which the Spaniard produced on this occasion and
which were enclosed in little glass cylinders resembling test-tubes and
elaborately sealed, I recognized to be priceless. They convinced me, if
conviction had not visited me already, that Colonel Don Juan Sarmiento
Menendez belonged to that old school of West Indian planters by whom
the tradition of the Golden Americas had been for long preserved in the
Spanish Main.
We discussed indifferent matters for a while, sipping this wonderful
cura�ao of our host's. The effect created by the Colonel's story faded
entirely, and when, the latter being unable to conceal his drowsiness,
Harley stood up, I took the hint with gratitude; for at that moment I
did not feel in the mood to discuss serious business or indeed business
of any kind.
"Gentlemen," said the Colonel, also rising, in spite of our protests,
"I will observe your wishes. My guests' wishes are mine. We will meet
the ladies for tea on the terrace."
Harley and I walked out into the garden together, our courteous host
standing in the open window, and bowing in that exaggerated fashion
which in another might have been ridiculous but which was possible in
Colonel Menendez, because of the peculiar grace of deportment which was
his.
As we descended the steps I turned and glanced back, I know not why.
But the impression which I derived of the Colonel's face as he stood
there in the shadow of the veranda was one I can never forget.
His expression had changed utterly, or so it seemed to me. He no longer
resembled Velasquez' haughty cavalier; gone, too, was the debonnaire
bearing, I turned my head aside swiftly, hoping that he had not
detected my backward glance.
I felt that I had violated hospitality. I felt that I had seen what I
should not have seen. And the result was to bring about that which no
story of West Indian magic could ever have wrought in my mind.
A dreadful, cold premonition claimed me, a premonition that this was a
doomed man.
The look which I had detected upon his face was an indefinable, an
indescribable look; but I had seen it in the eyes of one who had been
bitten by a poisonous reptile and who knew his hours to be numbered. It
was uncanny, unnerving; and whereas at first the atmosphere of Colonel
Menendez's home had seemed to be laden with prosperous security, now
that sense of ease and restfulness was gone--and gone for ever.
"Harley," I said, speaking almost at random, "this promises to be the
strangest case you have ever handled."
"Promises?" Paul Harley laughed shortly. "It _is_ the strangest
case, Knox. It is a case of wheels within wheels, of mystery crowning
mystery. Have you studied our host?"
"Closely."
"And what conclusion have you formed?"
"None at the moment; but I think one is slowly crystalizing."
"Hm," muttered Harley, as we paced slowly on amid the rose trees. "Of
one thing I am satisfied."
"What is that?"
"That Colonel Menendez is not afraid of Bat Wing, whoever or whatever
Bat Wing may be."
"Not afraid?"
"Certainly he is not afraid, Knox. He has possibly been afraid in the
past, but now he is resigned."
"Resigned to what?"
"Resigned to death!"
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