“I agree,” said Harley, quietly. “I have definitely eliminated all the servants from the case. Therefore, proceed, Knox, I am all attention.”
“I will do so. There is a door on the south side of the house, close to the tower and opening into the rhododendron shrubbery. This was the door used by Colonel Menendez in his somnambulistic rambles, according to his own account. Now, assuming his statement to have been untrue in one particular, that is, assuming he was not walking in his sleep, but was fully awake— ”
“Eh?” exclaimed Harley, his expression undergoing a subtle change. “Do you think his statement was untrue?”
“According to my theory, Harley, his statement was untrue, in this particular, at least. But to proceed: Might he not have employed this door to admit a nocturnal visitor?”
“It is feasible,” muttered Harley, watching me closely.
“For the Colonel to descend to this side door when the household was sleeping,” I continued, “and to admit a woman secretly to Cray’s Folly, would have been a simple matter. Indeed, on the occasions of these visits he might even have unbolted the door himself after Pedro had bolted it, in order to enable her to enter without his descending for the purpose of admitting her.”
“By heavens! Knox,” said Harley, “I believe you have it!”
His eyes were gleaming excitedly, and I proceeded:
“Hence the footsteps which passed Miss Beverley’s door, hence the shadow which you saw upon the blind; and the sounds which you detected in the hall were caused, of course, by this woman retiring. It was the door leading into the shrubbery which we heard being closed!”
“Continue,” said Harley; “although I can plainly see to what this is leading.”
“You can see, Harley?” I cried; “of course you can see! The enmity between Camber and Menendez is understandable at last.”
“You mean that Menendez was Mrs. Camber’s lover?”
“Don’t you agree with me?”
“It is feasible, Knox, dreadfully feasible. But go on.”
“My theory also explains Colin Camber’s lapse from sobriety. It is legitimate to suppose that his wife, who was a Cuban, had been intimate with Menendez before her meeting with Camber. Perhaps she had broken the tie at the time of her marriage, but this is mere supposition. Then, her old lover, his infatuation by no means abated, leases the property adjoining that of his successful rival.”
“Knox!” exclaimed Paul Harley, “this is brilliant. I am all impatience for the dénouement.”
“It is coming,” I said, triumphantly. “Relations are reëstablished, clandestinely. Colin Camber learns of these. A passionate quarrel ensues, resulting in a long drinking bout designed to drown his sorrows. His love for his wife is so great that he has forgiven her this infidelity. Accordingly, she has promised to see her lover no more. Hers was the figure which you saw outlined upon the blind on the night before the tragedy, Harley! The gestures, which you described as those of despair, furnish evidence to confirm my theory. It was a final meeting!”
“Hm,” muttered Harley. “It would be taking big chances, because we have to suppose, Knox, that these visits to Cray’s Folly were made whilst her husband was at work in the study. If he had suddenly decided to turn in, all would have been discovered.”
“True,” I agreed, “but is it impossible?”
“No, not a bit. Women are dreadful gamblers. But continue, Knox.”
“Very well. Colonel Menendez has refused to accept his dismissal, and Mrs. Camber had been compelled to promise, without necessarily intending to carry out the promise, that she would see him again on the following night. She failed to come; whereupon he, growing impatient, walked out into the grounds of Cray’s Folly to look for her. She may even have intended to come and have been intercepted by her husband. But in any event, the latter, seeing the man who had wronged him, standing out there in the moonlight, found temptation to be too strong. On the whole, I favour the idea that he had intercepted his wife, and snatching up a rifle, had actually gone out into the garden with the intention of shooting Menendez.”
“I see,” murmured Harley in a low voice. “This hypothesis, Knox, does not embrace the Bat Wing episodes.”
“If Menendez has lied upon one point,” I returned, “it is permissible to suppose that his entire story was merely a tissue of falsehood.”
“I see. But why did he bring me to Cray’s Folly?”
“Don’t you understand, Harley?” I cried, excitedly. “He really feared for his life, since he knew that Camber had discovered the intrigue.”
Paul Harley heaved a long sigh.
“I must congratulate you, Knox,” he said, gravely, “upon a really splendid contribution to my case. In several particulars I find myself nearer to the truth. But the definite establishment or shattering of your theory rests upon one thing.”
“What’s that?” I asked. “You are surely not thinking of the bat wing nailed upon the door?”
“Not at all,” he replied. “I am thinking of the seventh yew tree from the northeast corner of the Tudor garden.”
Chapter 29 A LEE-ENFIELD RIFLE
What reply I should have offered to this astonishing remark I cannot say, but at that moment the library door burst open unceremoniously, and outlined against the warmly illuminated hall, where sunlight poured down through the dome, I beheld the figure of Inspector Aylesbury.
“Ah!” he cried, loudly, “so you have come back, Mr. Harley? I thought you had thrown up the case.”
“Did you?” said Harley, smilingly. “No, I am still persevering in my ineffectual way.”
“Oh, I see. And have you quite convinced yourself that Colin Camber is innocent?”
“In one or two particulars my evidence remains incomplete.”
“Oh, in one or two particulars, eh? But generally speaking you don’t doubt his innocence?”
“I don’t doubt it for a moment.”
Harley’s words surprised me. I recognized, of course, that he might merely be bluffing the Inspector, but it was totally alien to his character to score a rhetorical success at the expense of what he knew to be the truth; and so sure was I of the accuracy of my deductions that I no longer doubted Colin Camber to be the guilty man.
“At any rate,” continued the Inspector, “he is in detention, and likely to remain there. If you are going to defend him at the Assizes, I don’t envy you your job, Mr. Harley.”
He was blatantly triumphant, so that the fact was evident enough that he had obtained some further piece of evidence which he regarded as conclusive.
“I have detained the man Ah Tsong as well,” he went on. “He was an accomplice of your innocent friend, Mr. Harley.”
“Was he really?” murmured Harley.
“Finally,” continued the Inspector, “I have only to satisfy myself regarding the person who lured Colonel Menendez out into the grounds last night, to have my case complete.”
I turned aside, unable to trust myself, but Harley remarked quite coolly:
“Your industry is admirable, Inspector Aylesbury, but I seem to perceive that you have made a very important discovery of some kind.”
“Ah, you have got wind of it, have you?”
“I have no information on the point,” replied Harley, “but your manner urges me to suggest that perhaps success has crowned your efforts?”
“It has,” replied the Inspector. “I am a man that doesn’t do things by halves. I didn’t content myself with just staring out of the window of that little hut in the grounds of the Guest House, like you did, Mr. Harley, and saying ’twice one are two’— I looked at every book on the shelves, and at every page of those books.”