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Page 92
"What?" exclaimed Colin Camber, leaning forward eagerly--"the wing of a
bat? What kind of bat?"
"Of a South American Vampire Bat."
The effect of those words was curious. If any doubt respecting Camber's
innocence had remained with me at this time I think his expression as
he leaned forward across the desk must certainly have removed it. That
the man was intellectually unusual, and intensely difficult to
understand, must have been apparent to the most superficial observer,
but I found it hard to believe that these moods of his were simulated.
At the words "A South American Vampire Bat" the enthusiasm of the
specialist leapt into his eyes. Personal danger was forgotten. Harley
had trenched upon his particular territory, and I knew that if Colin
Camber had actually killed Colonel Menendez, then it had been the act
of a maniac. No man newly come from so bloody a deed could have acted
as Camber acted now.
"It is the death-sign of Voodoo!" he exclaimed, excitedly.
Yet again he arose, and crossing to one of the many cabinets which were
in the room, he pulled open a drawer and took out a shallow tray.
My friend was watching him intently, and from the expression upon his
bronzed face I could deduce the fact that in Colin Camber he had met
the supreme puzzle of his career. As Camber stood there, holding up an
object which he had taken from the tray, whilst Paul Harley sat staring
at him, I thought the scene was one transcending the grotesque. Here
was the suspected man triumphantly producing evidence to hang himself.
Between his finger and thumb Camber held the wing of a bat!
CHAPTER XXII
COLIN CAMBER'S SECRET
"I brought this bat wing from Haiti," he explained, replacing it in the
tray. "It was found beneath the pillow of a negro missionary who had
died mysteriously during the night."
He returned the tray to the drawer, closed the latter, and, standing
erect, raised clenched hands above his head.
"With no thought of blasphemy," he said, "but with reverence, I thank
God from the bottom of my heart that Juan Menendez is dead."
He reseated himself, whilst Harley regarded him silently, then:
"'The evil that men do lives after them,'" he murmured. He rested his
chin upon his hand. "A bat wing," he continued, musingly, "a bat wing
was nailed to Menendez's door." He stared across at Harley. "Am I to
believe, sir, that this was the clue which led you to the Guest House?"
Paul Harley nodded.
"It was."
"I understand. I must therefore take no more excursions into my special
subject, but must endeavour to regard the matter from the point of view
of the enquiry. Am I to assume that Menendez was acquainted with the
significance of this token?"
"He had seen it employed in the West Indies."
"Ah, the black-hearted devil! But I fear I am involving myself more
deeply in suspicion. Perhaps, Mr. Harley, the ends of justice would be
better served if you were to question me, and I to confine myself to
answering you."
"Very well," Harley agreed: "when and where did you meet the late
Colonel Menendez?"
"I never met him in my life."
"Do you mean that you had never spoken to him?"
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