“Oh, I see,” said Inspector Aylesbury, “a little private confab, eh?”
He sank his chin into its enveloping folds, treating Harley and myself each to a stare of disapproval.
“These gentlemen very kindly called to advise me of the tragic occurrence at Cray’s Folly,” explained Colin Camber. “Won’t you be seated, Inspector?”
“Thanks, but I can conduct my examination better standing.”
He turned to Paul Harley.
“Might I ask, Mr. Harley,” he said, “what concern this is of yours?”
“I am naturally interested in anything appertaining to the death of a client, Inspector Aylesbury.”
“Oh, so you slip in ahead of me, having deliberately withheld information from the police, and think you are going to get all the credit. Is that it?”
“That is it, Inspector,” replied Harley, smiling. “An instance of professional jealousy.”
“Professional jealousy?” cried the Inspector. “Allow me to remind you that you have no official standing in this case whatever. You are merely a member of the public, nothing more, nothing less.”
“I am happy to be recognized as a member of that much-misunderstood body.”
“Ah, well, we shall see. Now, Mr. Camber, your attention, please.”
He raised his finger impressively.
“I am informed by Miss Beverley that the late Colonel Menendez looked upon you as a dangerous enemy.”
“Were those her exact words?” I murmured.
“Mr. Knox!”
The inspector turned rapidly, confronting me. “I have already warned your friend. But if I have any interruptions from you, I will have you removed.”
He continued to glare at me for some moments, and then, turning again to Colin Camber:
“I say, I have information that Colonel Menendez looked upon you as a dangerous neighbour.”
“In that event,” replied Colin Camber, “why did he lease an adjoining property?”
“That’s an evasion, sir. Answer my first question, if you please.”
“You have asked me no question, Inspector.”
“Oh, I see. That’s your attitude, is it? Very well, then. Were you, or were you not, an enemy of the late Colonel Menendez?”
“I was.”
“What’s that?”
“I say I was. I hated him, and I hate him no less in death than I hated him living.”
I think that I had never seen a man so taken aback, Inspector Aylesbury, drawing out a large handkerchief blew his nose. Replacing the handkerchief, he produced a note-book.
“I am placing that statement on record, sir,” he said.
He made an entry in the book, and then:
“Where did you first meet Colonel Menendez?” he asked.
“I never met him in my life.”
“What’s that?”
Colin Camber merely shrugged his shoulders.
“I will repeat my question,” said the Inspector, pompously. “Where did you first meet Colonel Juan Menendez?”
“I have answered you, Inspector.”
“Oh, I see. You decline to answer that question. Very well, I will make a note of this.” He did so. “And now,” said he, “what were you doing at midnight last night?”
“I was writing.”
“Where?”
“Here.”
“What happened?”
Very succinctly Colin Camber repeated the statement which he had already made to Paul Harley, and, at its conclusion:
“Send for the man, Ah Tsong,” directed Inspector Aylesbury.
Colin Camber inclined his head, clapped his bands, and silently Ah Tsong entered.
The Inspector stared at him for several moments as a visitor to the Zoo might stare at some rare animal; then:
“Your name is Ah Tsong?” he began.
“Ah Tsong,” murmured the Chinaman.
“I am going to ask you to give an exact account of your movements last night.”
“No sabby.”
Inspector Aylesbury cleared his throat.
“I say I wish to know exactly what you did last night. Answer me.”
Ah Tseng’s face remained quite expressionless, and:
“No sabby,” he repeated.
“Oh, I see,” said the Inspector, “This witness refuses to answer at all.”
“You are wrong,” explained Colin Camber, quietly. “Ah Tsong is a Chinaman, and his knowledge of English is very limited. He does not understand you.”
“He understood my first question. You can’t draw wool over my eyes. He knows well enough. Are you going to answer me?” he demanded, angrily, of the Chinaman.
“No sabby, master,” he said, glancing aside at Colin Camber. “Number-one p’licee-man gotchee no pidgin.”
Paul Harley was leisurely filling his pipe, and:
“If you think the evidence of Ah Tsong important, Inspector,” he said, “I will interpret if you wish.”
“You will do what?”
“I will act as interpreter.”
“Do you want me to believe that you speak Chinese?”
“Your beliefs do not concern me, Inspector; I am merely offering my services.”
“Thanks,” said the Inspector, dryly, “but I won’t trouble you. I should like a few words with Mrs. Camber.”
“Very good.”
Colin Camber bent his head gravely, and gave an order to Ah Tsong, who turned and went out.
“And what firearms have you in the house?” asked Inspector Aylesbury.
“An early Dutch arquebus, which you see in the corner,” was the reply.
“That doesn’t interest me. I mean up-to-date weapons.”
“And a Colt revolver which I have in a drawer here.”
As he spoke, Colin Camber opened a drawer in his desk and took out a heavy revolver of the American Army Service pattern.
“I should like to examine it, if you please.”
Camber passed it to the Inspector, and the latter, having satisfied himself that none of the chambers were loaded, peered down the barrel, and smelled at the weapon suspiciously.
“If it has been recently used it has been well cleaned,” he said, and placed it on a cabinet beside him. “Anything else?”
“Nothing.”
“No sporting rifles?”
“None. I never shoot.”
“Oh, I see.”
The door opened and Mrs. Camber came in. She was very simply dressed, and looked even more child-like than she had seemed before. I think Ah Tsong had warned her of the nature of the ordeal which she was to expect, but her wide-eyed timidity was nevertheless pathetic to witness.
She glanced at me with a ghost of a smile, and:
“Ysola,” said Colin Camber, inclining his head toward me in a grave gesture of courtesy, “Mr. Knox has generously forgiven me a breach of good manners for which I shall never forgive myself. I beg you to thank him, as I have done.”
“It is so good of you,” she said, sweetly, and held out her hand. “But I knew you would understand that it was just a great mistake.”
“Mr. Paul Harley,” Camber continued, “my wife welcomes you; and this, Ysola, is Inspector Aylesbury, who desires a few moments’ conversation upon a rather painful matter.”
“I have heard, I have heard,” she whispered. “Ah Tsong has told me.”
The pupils of her eyes dilated, as she fixed an appealing glance upon the Inspector.
In justice to the latter he was palpably abashed by the delicate beauty of the girl who stood before him, by her naivete, and by that childishness of appearance and manner which must have awakened the latent chivalry in almost any man’s heart.
“I am sorry to have to trouble you with this disagreeable business, Mrs. Camber,” he began; “but I believe you were awakened last night by the sound of a shot.”
“Yes,” she replied, watching him intently, “that is so.”
“May I ask at what time this was heard?”
“Ah Tsong told me it was after twelve o’clock.”
“Was the sound a loud one?”
“Yes. It must have been to have awakened me.”
“I see. Did you think it was in the house?”
“Oh, no.”
“In the garden?”
“I really could not say, but I think that it was farther away than that.”
“And what did you do?”
“I rang the bell for Ah Tsong.”
“Did he come immediately?”
“Almost immediately.”
“He was dressed, then?”
“No, I don’t think he was. He had quickly put on an overcoat. He usually answers at once, when I ring for him, you see.”
“I see. What did you do then?”
“Well, I was frightened, you understand, and I told him to find out if all was well with my husband. He came back and told me that Colin was writing. But the sound had alarmed me very much.”
“Oh, and now perhapsyouwill tell me, Mrs. Camber, when and where your husband first met Colonel Menendez?”
Every vestige of colour fled from the girl’s face.
“So far as I know—they never met,” she replied, haltingly.
“Could you swear to that?”
“Yes.”
I think that hitherto she had not fully realized the nature of the situation; but now something in the Inspector’s voice, or perhaps in our glances, told her the truth. She moved to where Colin Camber was sitting, looking down at him questioningly, pitifully. He put his arm about her and drew her close.
Inspector Aylesbury cleared his throat and returned his note-book to his pocket.
“I am going to take a look around the garden,” he announced.
My respect for him increased slightly, and Harley and I followed him out of the study. A police sergeant was sitting in the hall, and Ah Tsong was standing just outside the door.
“Show me the way to the garden,” directed the Inspector.
Ah Tsong stared stupidly, whereupon Paul Harley addressed him in his native language, rapidly and in a low voice, in order, as I divined, that the Inspector should not hear him.
“I feel dreadfully guilty, Knox,” he confessed, in a murmured aside. “For any Englishman, fictitious characters excepted, to possess a knowledge of Chinese is almost indecent.”
Presently, then, I found myself once more in that unkempt garden of which I retained such unpleasant memories.
Inspector Aylesbury stared all about and up at the back of the house, humming to himself and generally behaving as though he were alone. Before the little summer study he stood still, and:
“Oh, I see,” he muttered.
What he had seen was painfully evident. The right-hand window, beneath which there was a permanent wooden seat, commanded an unobstructed view of the Tudor garden in the grounds of Cray’s Folly. Clearly I could detect the speck of high-light upon the top of the sun-dial.
The Inspector stepped into the hut. It contained a bookshelf upon which a number of books remained, a table and a chair, with some few other dilapidated appointments. I glanced at Harley and saw that he was staring as if hypnotized at the prospect in the valley below. I observed a constable on duty at the top of the steps which led down into the Tudor garden, but I could see nothing to account for Harley’s fixed regard, until:
“Pardon me one moment, Inspector,” he muttered, brusquely.
Brushing past the indignant Aylesbury, who was examining the contents of the shelves in the hut, he knelt upon the wooden seat and stared intently through the open window.
“One-two-three-four-five-six-seven,” he chanted. “Good! That will settle it.”
“Oh, I see,” said Inspector Aylesbury, standing strictly upright, his prominent eyes turned in the direction of the kneeling Harley. “One, two, three, four, and so on will settle it, eh? If you don’t mind me saying so, it was settled already.”
“Yes?” replied Harley, standing up, and I saw that his eyes were very bright and that his face was slightly flushed. “You think the case is so simple as that?”
“Simple?” exclaimed the Inspector. “It’s the most cunning thing that was ever planned, but I flatter myself that I have a good straight eye which can see a fairly long way.”
“Excellent,” murmured Harley. “I congratulate you. Myopia is so common in the present generation. You have decided, of course, that the murder was committed by Ah Tsong?”
Inspector Aylesbury’s eyes seemed to protrude extraordinarily.
“Ah Tsong!” he exclaimed. “Ah Tsong!”
“Surely it is palpable,” continued Harley, “that of the three people residing in the Guest House, Ah Tsong is the only one who could possibly have done the deed.”
“Who could possibly—who could possibly——” stuttered the Inspector, then paused because of sheer lack of words.
“Review the evidence,” continued Harley, coolly. “Mrs. Camber was awakened by the sound of a shot. She immediately rang for Ah Tsong. There was a short interval before Ah Tsong appeared—and when he did appear he was wearing an overcoat. Note this point, Inspector: wearing an overcoat. He descended to the study and found Mr. Camber writing. Now, Ah Tsong sleeps in a room adjoining the kitchen on the ground floor. We passed his quarters on our way to the garden a moment ago. Of course, you had noted this? Mr. Camber is therefore eliminated from our list of suspects.”
The Inspector was growing very red, but ere he had time to speak Harley continued:
“The first of these three persons to have heard a shot fired at the end of the garden would have been Ah Tsong, and not Mrs. Camber, whose room is upstairs and in the front of the house. If it had been fired by Mr. Camber from the spot upon which we now stand, he would still have been in the garden at the moment when Mrs. Camber was ringing the bell for Ah Tsong. Mr. Camber must therefore have returned from the end of the garden to the study, and have passed Ah Tsong’s room—unheard by the occupant—between the time that the bell rang and the time that Ah Tsong went upstairs. This I submit to be impossible. There is an alternative: it is that he slipped in whilst Ah Tsong, standing on the landing above, was receiving his mistress’s orders. I submit that the alternative is also impossible. We thus eliminate Mr. Camber from the case, as I have already mentioned.”
“Eliminate—eliminate!” cried the Inspector, beginning to recover power of speech. “Do you think you can fuddle me with a mass of words, Mr. Harley? Allow me to point out to you, sir, that you are in no way officially associated with this matter.”
“You have already drawn my attention to the fact, Inspector, but it can do no harm to jog my memory.”
Harley spoke entirely without bitterness, and I, who knew his every mood, realized that he was thoroughly enjoying himself. Therefore I knew that at last he had found a clue.
“I may add, Inspector,” said he, “that upon further reflection I have also eliminated Ah Tsong from the case. I forgot to mention that he lacks the first and second fingers of his right hand; and I have yet to meet the marksman who can shoot a man squarely between the eyes, by moonlight, at a hundred yards, employing his third finger as trigger-finger. There are other points, but these will be sufficient to show you that this case is more complicated than you had assumed it to be.”
Inspector Aylesbury did not deign to reply, or could not trust himself to do so. He turned and made his way back to the house.
We reëntered the study to find Mrs. Camber sitting in a chair very close to her husband. Inspector Aylesbury stood in the open doorway for a moment, and then, stepping back into the hall:
“Sergeant Butler,” he said, addressing the man who waited there.
“Yes, sir.”
“Go out to the gate and get Edson to relieve you. I shall want you to go back to headquarters in a few minutes.”
“Very good, sir.”
I scented what was coming, and as Inspector Aylesbury reentered the room:
“I should like to make a statement,” announced Paul Harley, quietly.
The Inspector frowned, and lowering his chin, regarded him with little favour.
“I have not invited any statement from you, Mr. Harley,” said he.
“Quite,” returned Harley. “I am volunteering it. It is this: I gather that you are about to take an important step officially. Having in view certain steps which I, also, am about to take, I would ask you to defer action, purely in your own interests, for at least twenty-four hours.”
“I hear you,” said the Inspector, sarcastically.
“Very well, Inspector. You have come newly into this case, and I assure you that its apparent simplicity is illusive. As new facts come into your possession you will realize that what I say is perfectly true, and if you act now you will be acting hastily. All that I have learned I am prepared to place at your disposal. But I predict that the interference of Scotland Yard will be necessary before this enquiry is concluded. Therefore I suggest, since you have rejected my cooperation, that you obtain that of Detective Inspector Wessex, of the Criminal Investigation Department. In short, this is no one-man job. You will do yourself harm by jumping to conclusions, and cause unnecessary trouble to perfectly innocent people.”
“Is your statement concluded?” asked the Inspector.
“For the moment I have nothing to add.”
“Oh, I see. Very good. Then we can now get to business. Always with your permission, Mr. Harley.”
He took his stand before the fireplace, very erect, and invested with his most official manner. Mrs. Camber watched him in a way that was pathetic. Camber seemed to be quite composed, although his face was unusually pale.
“Now, Mr. Camber,” said the Inspector, “I find your answers to the questions which I have put to you very unsatisfactory.”
“I am sorry,” said Colin Camber, quietly.
“One moment, Inspector,” interrupted Paul Harley, “you have not warned Mr. Camber.”
Thereupon the long-repressed wrath of Inspector Aylesbury burst forth.
“Then I will warnyou, sir!” he shouted. “One more word and you leave this house.”
“Yet I am going to venture on one more word,” continued Harley, unperturbed. He turned to Colin Camber. “I happen to be a member of the Bar, Mr. Camber,” he said, “although I rarely accept a brief. Have I your authority to act for you?”
“I am grateful, Mr. Harley, and I leave this unpleasant affair in your hands with every confidence.”
Camber stood up, bowing formally.
The expression upon the inflamed face of Inspector Aylesbury was really indescribable, and recognizing his mental limitations, I was almost tempted to feel sorry for him. However, he did not lack self-confidence, and:
“I suppose you have scored, Mr. Harley,” he said, a certain hoarseness perceptible in his voice, “but I know my duty and I am not afraid to perform it. Now, Mr. Camber, did you, or did you not, at about twelve o’clock last night——”
“Warn the accused,” murmured Harley.
Inspector Aylesbury uttered a choking sound, but:
“I have to warn you,” he said, “that your answers may be used as evidence. I will repeat: Did you, or did you not, at about twelve o’clock last night, shoot, with intent to murder, Colonel Juan Menendez?”
Ysola Camber leapt up, clutching at her husband’s arm as if to hold him back.
“I did not,” he replied, quietly.
“Nevertheless,” continued the Inspector, looking aggressively at Paul Harley whilst he spoke, “I am going to detain you pending further enquiries.”
Colin Camber inclined his head.
“Very well,” he said; “you only do your duty.”
The little fingers clutching his sleeve slowly relaxed, and Mrs. Camber, uttering a long sigh, sank in a swoon at his feet.
“Ysola! Ysola!” he muttered. Stooping he raised the child-like figure. “If you will kindly open the door, Mr. Knox,” he said, “I will carry my wife to her room.”
I sprang to the door and held it widely open.
Colin Camber, deadly pale, but holding his head very erect, walked in the direction of the hallway with his pathetic burden. Mis-reading the purpose written upon the stern white face, Inspector Aylesbury stepped forward.
“Let someone else attend to Mrs. Camber,” he cried, sharply. “I wish you to remain here.”
His detaining hand was already upon Camber’s shoulder when Harley’s arm shot out like a barrier across the Inspector’s chest, and Colin Camber proceeded on his way. Momentarily, he glanced aside, and I saw that his eyes were unnaturally bright.
“Thank you, Mr. Harley,” he said, and carried his wife from the room.
Harley dropped his arm, and crossing, stood staring out of the window. Inspector Aylesbury ran heavily to the door.
“Sergeant!” he called, “Sergeant! keep that man in sight. He must return here immediately.”
I heard the sound of heavy footsteps following Camber’s up the stairs, then Inspector Aylesbury turned, a bulky figure in the open doorway, and:
“Now, Mr. Harley,” said he, entering and reclosing the door, “you are a barrister, I understand. Very well, then, I suppose you are aware that you have resisted and obstructed an officer of the law in the execution of his duty.”
Paul Harley spun round upon his heel.
“Is that a charge,” he inquired, “or merely a warning?”
The two glared at one another for a moment, then:
“From now onward,” continued the Inspector, “I am going to have no more trouble with you, Mr. Harley. In the first place, I’ll have you looked up in the Law List; in the second place, I shall ask you to stick to your proper duties, and leave me to look after mine.”
“I have endeavoured from the outset,” replied Harley, his good humour quite restored, “to assist you in every way in my power. You have declined all my offers, and finally, upon the most flimsy evidence, you have detained a perfectly innocent man.”
“Oh, I see. A perfectly innocent man, eh?”
“Perfectly innocent, Inspector. There are so many points that you have overlooked. For instance, do you seriously suppose that Mr. Camber had been waiting up here night after night on the off-chance that Colonel Menendez would appear in the grounds of Cray’s Folly?”
“No, I don’t. I have got that worked out.”
“Indeed? You interest me.”
“Mr. Camber has an accomplice at Cray’s Folly.”
“What?” exclaimed Harley, and into his keen grey eyes crept a look of real interest.
“He has an accomplice,” repeated the Inspector. “A certain witness was strangely reluctant to mention Mr. Camber’s name. It was only after very keen examination that I got it at last. Now, Colonel Menendez had not retired last night, neither had a certain other party. That other party, sir, knows why Colonel Menendez was wandering about the garden at midnight.”
At first, I think, this astonishing innuendo did not fully penetrate to my mind, but when it did so, it seemed to galvanize me. Springing up from the chair in which I had been seated:
“You preposterous fool!” I exclaimed, hotly.
It was the last straw. Inspector Aylesbury strode to the door and throwing it open once more, turned to me:
“Be good enough to leave the house, Mr. Knox,” he said. “I am about to have it officially searched, and I will have no strangers present.”
I think I could have strangled him with pleasure, but even in my rage I was not foolhardy enough to lay myself open to that of which the Inspector was quite capable at this moment.
Without another word I walked out of the study, took my hat and stick, and opening the front door, quitted the Guest House, from which I had thus a second time been dismissed ignominiously.
Appreciation of this fact, which came to me as I stepped into the porch, awakened my sense of humour—a gift truly divine which has saved many a man from desperation or worse. I felt like a schoolboy who had been turned out of a class-room, and I was glad that I could laugh at myself.
A constable was standing in the porch, and he looked at me suspiciously. No doubt he perceived something very sardonic in my merriment.
I walked out of the gate, before which a car was standing, and as I paused to light a cigarette I heard the door of the Guest House open and close. I glanced back, and there was Paul Harley coming to join me.
“Now, Knox,” he said, briskly, “we have got our hands full.”
“My dear Harley, I am both angry and bewildered. Too angry and too bewildered to think clearly.”
“I can quite understand it. I should become homicidal if I were forced to submit for long to the company of Inspector Aylesbury. Of course, I had anticipated the arrest of Colin Camber, and I fear there is worse to come.”
“What do you mean, Harley?”
“I mean that failing the apprehension of the real murderer, I cannot see, at the moment, upon what the case for the defence is to rest.”
“But surely you demonstrated out there in the garden that he could not possibly have fired the shot?”
“Words, Knox, words. I could pick a dozen loopholes in my own argument. I had only hoped to defer the inevitable. I tell you, there is worse to come. Two things we must do at once.”
“What are they?”
“We must persuade the man on duty to allow us to examine the Tudor garden, and we must see the Chief Constable, whoever he may be, and prevail upon him to requisition the assistance of Scotland Yard. With Wessex in charge of the case I might have a chance. Whilst this disastrous man Aylesbury holds the keys there is none.”
“You heard what he said about Miss Beverley?”
We were now walking rapidly along the high road, and Harley nodded.
“I did,” he said. “I had expected it. He was inspired with this brilliant idea last night, and his ideas are too few to be lightly scrapped. If the Chief Constable is anything like the Inspector, what we are going to do heaven only knows.”
“I take it, Harley, that you are convinced of Colin Camber’s innocence?”
Harley did not answer for a moment, whereupon I glanced at him anxiously, then:
“Colin Camber,” he replied, “is of so peculiar a type that I could not presume to say of what he is capable or is not capable. The most significant point in his favour is this: He is a man of unusual intellect. The planning of this cunning crime to such a man would have been child’s play—child’s play, Knox. But is it possible to believe that his genius would have failed him upon the most essential detail of all, namely, an alibi?”
“It is not.”
“Of course it is not. Which, continuing to regard Camber as an assassin, reduces us to the theory that the crime was committed in a moment of passion. This I maintain to be also impossible. It was no deed of impulse.”
“I agree with you.”
“Now, I believe that the enquiry is going to turn upon a very delicate point. If I am wrong in this, then perhaps I am wrong in my whole conception of the case. But have you considered the mass of evidence against Colin Camber?”
“I have, Harley,” I replied, sadly, “I have.”
“Think of all that we know, and which the Inspector does not know. Every single datum points in the same direction. No prosecution could ask for a more perfect case. Upon this fact I pin my hopes. Where an Aylesbury rushes in I fear to tread. The analogy with an angel was accidental, Knox!” he added, smilingly. “In other words, it is all too obvious. Yet I have failed once, Knox, failed disastrously, and it may be that in my anxiety to justify myself I am seeking for subtlety where no subtlety exists.”
There were strangers about Cray’s Folly and a sort of furtive activity, horribly suggestive. We had not pursued the circular route by the high road which would have brought us to the lodge, but had turned aside where the swing-gate opened upon a footpath into the meadows. It was the path which I had pursued upon the day of my visit to the Lavender Arms. A second private gate here gave access to the grounds at a point directly opposite the lake; and as we crossed the valley, making for the terraced lawns, I saw unfamiliar figures upon the veranda, and knew that the cumbersome processes of the law were already in motion.
I was longing to speak to Val Beverley and to learn what had taken place during her interview with Inspector Aylesbury, but Harley led the way toward the tower wing, and by a tortuous path through the rhododendrons we finally came out on the northeast front and in sight of the Tudor garden.
Harley crossed to the entrance, and was about to descend the steps, when the constable on duty there held out his arm.
“Excuse me, sir,” he said, “but I have orders to admit no one to this part of the garden.”
“Oh,” said Harley, pulling up short, “but I am acting in this case. My name is Paul Harley.”
“Sorry, sir,” replied the constable, “but you will have to see Inspector Aylesbury.”
My friend uttered an impatient exclamation, but, turning aside:
“Very well, constable,” he muttered; “I suppose I must submit. Our friend, Aylesbury,” he added to me, as we walked away, “would appear to be a martinet as well as a walrus. At every step, Knox, he proves himself a tragic nuisance. This means waste of priceless time.”
“What had you hoped to do, Harley?”
“Prove my theory,” he returned; “but since every moment is precious, I must move in another direction.”
He hurried on through the opening in the box hedge and into the courtyard. Manoel had just opened the doors to a sepulchral-looking person who proved to be the coroner’s officer, and:
“Manoel!” cried Harley, “tell Carter to bring a car round at once.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I haven’t time to fetch my own,” he explained.
“Where are you off to?”
“I am off to see the Chief Constable, Knox. Aylesbury must be superseded at whatever cost. If the Chief Constable fails I shall not hesitate to go higher. I will get along to the garage. I don’t expect to be more than an hour. Meanwhile, do your best to act as a buffer between Aylesbury and the women. You understand me?”
“Quite,” I returned, shortly. “But the task may prove no light one, Harley.”
“It won’t,” he assured me, smiling grimly. “How you must regret, Knox, that we didn’t go fishing!”
With that he was off, eager-eyed and alert, the mood of dreamy abstraction dropped like a cloak discarded. He fully realized, as I did, that his unique reputation was at stake. I wondered, as I had wondered at the Guest House, whether, in undertaking to clear Colin Camber, he had acted upon sheer conviction, or, embittered by the death of his client, had taken a gambler’s chance. It was unlike him to do so. But now beyond reach of that charm of manner which Colin Camber possessed, and discounting the pathetic sweetness of his girl-wife, I realized how black was the evidence against him.
Occupied with these, and even more troubled thoughts, I was making my way toward the library, undetermined how to act, when I saw Val Beverley coming along the corridor which communicated with Madame de Stämer’s room.
I read a welcome in her eyes which made my heart beat the faster.
“Oh, Mr. Knox,” she cried, “I am so glad you have returned. Tell me all that has happened, for I feel in some way that I am responsible for it.”
I nodded gravely.
“You know, then, where Inspector Aylesbury went when he left here, after his interview with you?”
She looked at me pathetically.
“He went to the Guest House, of course.”
“Yes,” I said; “he was close behind us.”
“And”—she hesitated—“Mr. Camber?”
“He has been detained.”
“Oh!” she moaned. “I could hate myself! Yet what could I say, what could I do?”
“Just tell me all about it,” I urged. “What were the Inspector’s questions?”
“Well,” explained the girl, “he had evidently learned from someone, presumably one of the servants, that there was enmity between Mr. Camber and Colonel Menendez. He asked me if I knew of this, and of course I had to admit that I did. But when I told him that I had no idea of its cause, he did not seem to believe me.”
“No,” I murmured. “Any evidence which fails to dove-tail with his preconceived theories he puts down as a lie.”
“He seemed to have made up his mind for some reason,” she continued, “that I was intimately acquainted with Mr. Camber. Whereas, of course, I have never spoken to him in my life, although whenever he has passed me in the road he has always saluted me with quite delightful courtesy. Oh, Mr. Knox, it is horrible to think of this great misfortune coming to those poor people.” She looked at me pleadingly. “How did his wife take it?”
“Poor little girl,” I replied, “it was an awful blow.”
“I feel that I want to set out this very minute,” declared Val Beverley, “and go to her, and try to comfort her. Because I feel in my very soul that her husband is innocent. She is such a sweet little thing. I have wanted to speak to her since the very first time I ever saw her, but on the rare occasions when we have met in the village she has hurried past as though she were afraid of me. Mr. Harley surely knows that her husband is not guilty?”
“I think he does,” I replied, “but he may have great difficulty in proving it. And what else did Inspector Aylesbury wish to know?”
“How can I tell you?” she said in a low voice; and biting her lip agitatedly she turned her head aside.
“Perhaps I can guess.”
“Can you?” she asked, looking at me quickly. “Well, then, he seemed to attach a ridiculous importance to the fact that I had not retired last night at the time of the tragedy.”
“I know,” said I, grimly. “Another preconceived idea of his.”
“I told him the truth of the matter, which is surely quite simple, and at first I was unable to understand the nature of his suspicions. Then, after a time, his questions enlightened me. He finally suggested, quite openly, that I had not come down from my room to the corridor in which Madame de Stämer was lying, but had actually been there at the time!”
“In the corridor outside her room?”
“Yes. He seemed to think that I had just come in from the door near the end of the east wing and beside the tower, which opens into the shrubbery.”
“That you had just come in?” I exclaimed. “He thinks, then, that you had been out in the grounds?”
Val Beverley’s face had been very pale, but now she flushed indignantly, and glanced away from me as she replied:
“He dared to suggest that I had been to keep an assignation.”
“The fool!” I cried. “The ignorant, impudent fool!”
“Oh,” she declared, “I felt quite ill with indignation. I am afraid I may regard Inspector Aylesbury as an enemy from now onward, for when I had recovered from the shock I told him very plainly what I thought about his intellect, or lack of it.”
“I am glad you did,” I said, warmly. “Before Inspector Aylesbury is through with this business I fancy he will know more about his limitations than he knows at present. The fact of the matter is that he is badly out of his depth, but is not man enough to acknowledge the fact even to himself.”
She smiled at me pathetically.
“Whatever should I have done if I had been alone?” she said.
I was tempted to direct the conversation into a purely personal channel, but common sense prevailed, and:
“Is Madame de Stämer awake?” I asked.
“Yes.” The girl nodded. “Dr. Rolleston is with her now.”
“And does she know?”
“Yes. She sent for me directly she awoke, and asked me.”
“And you told her?”
“How could I do otherwise? She was quite composed, wonderfully composed; and the way she heard the news was simply heroic. But here is Dr. Rolleston, coming now.”
I glanced along the corridor, and there was the physician approaching briskly.
“Good morning, Mr. Knox,” he said.
“Good morning, doctor. I hear that your patient is much improved?”
“Wonderfully so,” he answered. “She has enough courage for ten men. She wishes to see you, Mr. Knox, and to hear your account of the tragedy.”
“Do you think it would be wise?”
“I think it would be best.”
“Do you hold any hope of her permanently recovering the use of her limbs?”
Dr. Rolleston shook his head doubtfully.
“It may have only been temporary,” he replied. “These obscure nervous affections are very fickle. It is unsafe to make predictions. But mentally, at least, she is quite restored from the effects of last night’s shock. You need apprehend no hysteria or anything of that nature, Mr. Knox.”
“Oh, I see,” exclaimed a loud voice behind us.
We all three turned, and there was Inspector Aylesbury crossing the hall in our direction.
“Good morning, Dr. Rolleston,” he said, deliberately ignoring my presence. “I hear that your patient is quite well again this morning?”
“She is much improved,” returned the physician, dryly.
“Then I can get her testimony, which is most important to my case?”
“She is somewhat better. If she cares to see you I do not forbid the interview.”
“Oh, that’s good of you, doctor.” He bowed to Miss Beverley. “Perhaps, Miss, you would ask Madame de Stämer to see me for a few minutes.”
Val Beverley looked at me appealingly then shrugged her shoulders, turned aside, and walked in the direction of Madame de Stämer’s door.
“Well,” said Dr. Rolleston, in his brisk way, shaking me by the hand, “I must be getting along. Good morning, Mr. Knox. Good morning, Inspector Aylesbury.”
He walked rapidly out to his waiting car. The presence of Inspector Aylesbury exercised upon Dr. Rolleston a similar effect to that which a red rag has upon a bull. As he took his departure, the Inspector drew out his pocket-book, and, humming gently to himself, began to consult certain entries therein, with a portentous air of reflection which would have been funny if it had not been so irritating.
Thus we stood when Val Beverley returned, and:
“Madame de Stämer will see you, Inspector Aylesbury,” she said, “but wishes Mr. Knox to be present at the interview.”
“Oh,” said the Inspector, lowering his chin, “I see. Oh, very well.”