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Page 94
"I do believe you," he replied, "and I am wondering if you are in a
position to clear yourself?"
"On the contrary," Camber assured him, "I am only waiting to hear that
Juan Menendez was shot in the grounds of Cray's Folly, and not within
the house, to propose to you that unless the real assassin be
discovered, I shall quite possibly pay the penalty of his crime."
"He was shot in the Tudor garden," replied Harley, "within sight of
your windows."
"Ah!" Colin Camber resumed the task of stuffing shag into his corn-cob.
"Then if it would interest you, Mr. Harley, I will briefly outline the
case against myself. I had never troubled to disguise the fact that I
hated Menendez. Many witnesses can be called to testify to this. He was
in Cuba when I was in Cuba, and evidence is doubtless obtainable to
show that we stayed at the same hotels in various cities of the United
States prior to my coming to England and leasing the Guest House.
Finally, he became my neighbour in Surrey."
He carefully lighted his pipe, whilst Harley and I watched him
silently, then:
"Menendez had the bat wing nailed to the door of his house," he
continued. "He believed himself to be in danger, and associated this
sign with the source of his danger. Excepting himself and possibly
certain other members of his household it is improbable that any one
else in Surrey understands the significance of the token save myself.
The unholy rites of Voodoo are a closed book to the Western nations. I
have opened that book, Mr. Harley. The powers of the Obeah man, and
especially of the arch-magician known and dreaded by every negro as
'Bat Wing,' are familiar to me. Since I was alone at the time that the
shot was fired, and for some few minutes afterward, and since the Tudor
garden of Cray's Folly is within easy range of the Guest House, to fail
to place me under arrest would be an act of sheer stupidity."
He spoke the words with a sort of triumph. Like the fakir, he possessed
the art of spiritual detachment, which is an attribute of genius. From
an intellectual eminence he was surveying his own peril. Colin Camber
in the flesh had ceased to exist; he was merely a pawn in a fascinating
game.
Paul Harley glanced at his watch.
"Mr. Camber," he said, "I have just sustained the most crushing defeat
of my career. The man who had summoned me to his aid was killed almost
before my eyes. One thing I must do or accept professional oblivion."
"I understand." Colin Camber nodded. "Apprehend his murderer?"
"Ultimately, yes. But, firstly, I must see that to the assassination of
Colonel Menendez a judicial murder is not added."
"You mean--?" asked Camber, eagerly.
"I mean that if you killed Menendez, you are a madman, and I have
formed the opinion during our brief conversation that you are
brilliantly sane."
Colin Camber rose and bowed in that old-world fashion which was his.
"I am obliged to you, Mr. Harley," he replied. "But has Mr. Knox
informed you of my bibulous habits?"
Paul Harley nodded.
"They will, of course, be ascribed," continued Camber, "and there are
many suitable analogies, to deliberate contemplation of a murderous
deed. I would remind you that chronic alcoholism is a recognized form,
of insanity."
His mood changed again, and sighing wearily, he lay back in the chair.
Over his pale face crept an expression which I knew, instinctively, to
mean that he was thinking of his wife.
"Mr. Harley," he said, speaking in a very low tone which scorned to
accentuate the beauty of his voice, "I have suffered much in the quest
of truth. Suffering is the gate beyond which we find compassion.
Perhaps you have thought my foregoing remarks frivolous, in view of the
fact that last night a soul was sent to its reckoning almost at my
doors. I revere the truth, however, above all lesser laws and above all
expediency. I do not, and I cannot, regret the end of the man Menendez.
But for three reasons I should regret to pay the penalty of a crime
which I did not commit, These reasons are--one," he ticked them off
upon his delicate fingers--"It would be bitter to know that Devil
Menendez even in death had injured me; two--My work in the world,
which is unfinished; and, three--My wife."
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