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!"
"Good God, Harley, you are right!" I cried. "You are right! I saw it in
his eyes as we left the library."
Harley stopped and turned to me sharply.
"You saw this in the Colonel's eyes?" he challenged.
"I did."
"Which corroborates my theory," he said, softly; "for
I
had seen
it elsewhere."
"Where do you mean, Harley?"
"In the face of Madame de Stämer."
"What?"
"Knox"—Harley rested his hand upon my arm and looked about him
cautiously—"
she knows.
"
"But knows what?"
"That is the question which we are here to answer, but I am as sure as
it is humanly possible to be sure of anything that whatever Colonel
Menendez may tell us to-night, one point at least he will withhold."
"What do you expect him to withhold?"
"The meaning of the sign of the Bat Wing."
"Then you think he knows its meaning?"
"He has told us that it is the death-token of Voodoo."
I stared at Harley in perplexity.
"Then you believe his explanation to be false?"
"Not necessarily, Knox. It may be what he claims for it. But he is
keeping something back. He speaks all the time from behind a barrier
which he, himself, has deliberately erected against me."
"I cannot understand why he should do so," I declared, as he looked at
me steadily. "Within the last few moments I have become definitely
convinced that his appeal to you was no idle one. Therefore,
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!"
"Good God, Harley, you are right!" I cried. "You are right! I saw it in
his eyes as we left the library."
Harley stopped and turned to me sharply.
"You saw this in the Colonel's eyes?" he challenged.
"I did."
"Which corroborates my theory," he said, softly; "for
I
had seen
it elsewhere."
"Where do you mean, Harley?"
"In the face of Madame de Stämer."
"What?"
"Knox"—Harley rested his hand upon my arm and looked about him
cautiously—"
she knows.
"
"But knows what?"
"That is the question which we are here to answer, but I am as sure as
it is humanly possible to be sure of anything that whatever Colonel
Menendez may tell us to-night, one point at least he will withhold."
"What do you expect him to withhold?"
"The meaning of the sign of the Bat Wing."
"Then you think he knows its meaning?"
"He has told us that it is the death-token of Voodoo."
I stared at Harley in perplexity.
"Then you believe his explanation to be false?"
"Not necessarily, Knox. It may be what he claims for it. But he is
keeping something back. He speaks all the time from behind a barrier
which he, himself, has deliberately erected against me."
"I cannot understand why he should do so," I declared, as he looked at
me steadily. "Within the last few moments I have become definitely
convinced that his appeal to you was no idle one. Therefore,
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