by Sax Rohmer
Perhaps it was childish on my part, but I accepted this curt dismissalvery ill-humouredly. That Harley, for some reason of his own, wishedto be alone, was evident enough, but I resented being excluded from hisconfidence, even temporarily. It would seem that he had formed a theoryin the prosecution of which my cooeperation was not needed. And whatwith profitless conjectures concerning its nature, and memories ofVal Beverley's pathetic parting glance as we had bade one anothergood-night, sleep seemed to be out of the question, and I stood for along time staring out of the open window.
The weather remained almost tropically hot, and the moon floated in acloudless sky. I looked down upon the closely matted leaves of the boxhedge, which rose to within a few feet of my window, and to the left Icould obtain a view of the close-hemmed courtyard before the doors ofCray's Folly. On the right the yews began, obstructing my view of theTudor garden, but the night air was fragrant, and the outlook one ofpeace.
After a time, then, as no sound came from the adjoining room, I turnedin, and despite all things was soon fast asleep.
Almost immediately, it seemed, I was awakened. In point of fact, nearlyfour hours had elapsed. A hand grasped my shoulder, and I sprang up inbed with a stifled cry, but:
"It's all right, Knox," came Harley's voice. "Don't make a noise."
"Harley!" I said. "Harley! what has happened?"
"Nothing, nothing. I am sorry to have to disturb your beauty sleep, butin the absence of Innes I am compelled to use you as a dictaphone,Knox. I like to record impressions while they are fresh, hence my havingawakened you."
"But what has happened?" I asked again, for my brain was not yet fullyalert.
"No, don't light up!" said Harley, grasping my wrist as I reached outtoward the table-lamp.
His figure showed as a black silhouette against the dim square of thewindow.
"Why not?"
"Well, it's nearly two o'clock. The light might be observed."
"Two o'clock?" I exclaimed.
"Yes. I think we might smoke, though. Have you any cigarettes? I haveleft my pipe behind."
I managed to find my case, and in the dim light of the match which Ipresently struck I saw that Paul Harley's face was very fixed and grim.He seated himself on the edge of my bed, and:
"I have been guilty of a breach of hospitality, Knox," he began. "Notonly have I secretly had my own car sent down here, but I have hadsomething else sent, as well. I brought it in under my coat thisevening."
"To what do you refer, Harley?"
"You remember the silken rope-ladder with bamboo rungs which I broughtfrom Hongkong on one occasion?"
"Yes--"
"Well, I have it in my bag now."
"But, my dear fellow, what possible use can it be to you at Cray'sFolly?"
"It has been of great use," he returned, shortly.
"It enabled me to descend from my window a couple of hours ago and toreturn again quite recently without disturbing the household. Don'treproach me, Knox. I know it is a breach of confidence, but so is thebehaviour of Colonel Menendez."
"You refer to his reticence on certain points?"
"I do. I have a reputation to lose, Knox, and if an ingenious piece ofChinese workmanship can save it, it shall be saved."
"But, my dear Harley, why should you want to leave the house secretly atnight?"
Paul Harley's cigarette glowed in the dark, then:
"My original object," he replied, "was to endeavour to learn if any onewere really watching the place. For instance, I wanted to see if alllights were out at the Guest House."
"And were they?" I asked, eagerly.
"They were. Secondly," he continued, "I wanted to convince myself thatthere were no nocturnal prowlers from within or without."
"What do you mean by within or without?"
"Listen, Knox." He bent toward me in the dark, grasping my shoulderfirmly. "One window in Cray's Folly was lighted up."
"At what hour?"
"The light is there yet."
That he was about to make some strange revelation I divined. I detectedthe fact, too, that he believed this revelation would be unpleasant tome; and in this I found an explanation of his earlier behaviour. He hadseemed distraught and ill at ease when he had joined Madame de Staemer,Miss Beverley, and myself in the drawing room. I could only suppose thatthis and the abrupt parting with me outside my door had been due tohis holding a theory which he had proposed to put to the test beforeconfiding it to me. I remember that I spoke very slowly as I asked himthe question:
"Whose is the lighted window, Harley?"
"Has Colonel Menendez taken you into a little snuggery or smoke-roomwhich faces his bedroom in the southeast corner of the house?"
"No, but Miss Beverley has mentioned the room."
"Ah. Well, there is a light in that room, Knox."
"Possibly the Colonel has not retired?"
"According to Madame de Staemer he went to bed several hours ago, you mayremember."
"True," I murmured, fumbling for the significance of his words.
"The next point is this," he resumed. "You saw Madame retire to her ownroom, which, as you know, is on the ground floor, and I have satisfiedmyself that the door communicating with the servants' wing is locked."
"I see. But to what is all this leading, Harley?"
"To a very curious fact, and the fact is this: The Colonel is notalone."
I sat bolt upright.
"What?" I cried.
"Not so loud," warned Harley.
"But, Harley--"
"My dear fellow, we must face facts. I repeat, the Colonel is notalone."
"Why do you say so?"
"Twice I have seen a shadow on the blind of the smoke-room."
"His own shadow, probably."
Again Paul Harley's cigarette glowed in the darkness.
"I am prepared to swear," he replied, "that it was the shadow of awoman."
"Harley----"
"Don't get excited, Knox. I am dealing with the strangest case of mycareer, and I am jumping to no conclusions. But just let us look atthe circumstances judicially. The whole of the domestic staff we maydismiss, with the one exception of Mrs. Fisher, who, so far as I canmake out, occupies the position of a sort of working housekeeper, andwhose rooms are in the corner of the west wing immediately facing thekitchen garden. Possibly you have not met Mrs. Fisher, Knox, but I havemade it my business to interview the whole of the staff and I maysay that Mrs. Fisher is a short, stout old lady, a native of Kent, Ibelieve, whose outline in no way corresponds to that which I saw uponthe blind. Therefore, unless the door which communicates with theservants' quarters was unlocked again to-night--to what are we reducedin seeking to explain the presence of a woman in Colonel Menendez'sroom? Madame de Staemer, unassisted, could not possibly have mounted thestairs."
"Stop, Harley!" I said, sternly. "Stop."
He ceased speaking, and I watched the steady glow of his cigarette inthe darkness. It lighted up his bronzed face and showed me the steelygleam of his eyes.
"You are counting too much on the locking of the door by Pedro," Icontinued, speaking very deliberately. "He is a man I would trust nofarther than I could see him, and if there is anything dark underlyingthis matter you depend that he is involved in it. But the most naturalexplanation, and also the most simple, is this--Colonel Menendez hasbeen taken seriously ill, and someone is in his room in the capacity ofa nurse."
"Her behaviour was scarcely that of a nurse in a sick-room," murmuredHarley.
"For God's sake tell me the truth," I said. "Tell me all you saw."
"I am quite prepared to do so, Knox. On three occasions, then, I sawthe figure of a woman, who wore some kind of loose robe, quite clearlysilhouetted upon the linen blind. Her gestures strongly resembled thoseof despair."
"Of despair?"
"Exactly. I gathered that she was addressing someone, presumably ColonelMenendez, and I derived a strong impression that she was in a conditionof abject despair."
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bsp; "Harley," I said, "on your word of honour did you recognize anythingin the movements, or in the outline of the figure, by which you couldidentify the woman?"
"I did not," he replied, shortly. "It was a woman who wore some kindof loose robe, possibly a kimono. Beyond that I could swear to nothing,except that it was not Mrs. Fisher."
We fell silent for a while. What Paul Harley's thoughts may have beenI know not, but my own were strange and troubled. Presently I found myvoice again, and:
"I think, Harley," I said, "that I should report to you something whichMiss Beverley told me this evening."
"Yes?" said he, eagerly. "I am anxious to hear anything which may be ofthe slightest assistance. You are no doubt wondering why I retired soabruptly to-night. My reason was this: I could see that you were full ofsome story which you had learned from Miss Beverley, and I was anxiousto perform my tour of inspection with a perfectly unprejudiced mind."
"You mean that your suspicions rested upon an inmate of Cray's Folly?"
"Not upon any particular inmate, but I had early perceived a distinctpossibility that these manifestations of which the Colonel complainedmight be due to the agency of someone inside the house. That thisperson might be no more than an accomplice of the prime mover I alsorecognized, of course. But what did you learn to-night, Knox?"
I repeated Val Beverley's story of the mysterious footsteps and of thecries which had twice awakened her in the night.
"Hm," muttered Harley, when I had ceased speaking. "Assuming her accountto be true----"
"Why should you doubt it?" I interrupted, hotly.
"My dear Knox, it is my business to doubt everything until I haveindisputable evidence of its truth. I say, assuming her story to betrue, we find ourselves face to face with the fantastic theory that somewoman unknown is living secretly in Cray's Folly."
"Perhaps in one of the tower rooms," I suggested, eagerly. "Why, Harley,that would account for the Colonel's marked unwillingness to talk aboutthis part of the house."
My sight was now becoming used to the dusk, and I saw Harley vigorouslyshake his head.
"No, no," he replied; "I have seen all the tower rooms. I can swear thatno one inhabits them. Besides, is it feasible?"
"Then whose were the footsteps that Miss Beverley heard?"
"Obviously those of the woman who, at this present moment, so far as Iknow, is in the smoking-room with Colonel Menendez."
I sighed wearily.
"This is a strange business, Harley. I begin to think that the mysteryis darker than I ever supposed."
We fell silent again. The weird cry of a night hawk came from somewherein the valley, but otherwise everything within and without the greathouse seemed strangely still. This stillness presently imposed itsinfluence upon me, for when I spoke again, I spoke in a low voice.
"Harley," I said, "my imagination is playing me tricks. I thought Iheard the fluttering of wings at that moment."
"Fortunately, my imagination remains under control," he replied, grimly;"therefore I am in a position to inform you that you did hear thefluttering of wings. An owl has just flown into one of the treesimmediately outside the window."
"Oh," said I, and uttered a sigh of relief.
"It is extremely fortunate that my imagination is so carefully trained,"continued Harley; "otherwise, when the woman whose shadow I saw upon theblind to-night raised her arms in a peculiar fashion, I could not wellhave failed to attach undue importance to the shape of the shadow thuscreated."
"What was the shape of the shadow, then?"
"Remarkably like that of a bat."
He spoke the words quietly, but in that still darkness, with dawn yet along way off, they possessed the power which belongs to certain chordsin music, and to certain lines in poetry. I was chilled unaccountably,and I peopled the empty corridors of Cray's Folly with I know notwhat uncanny creatures; nightmare fancies conjured up from memories ofhaunted manors.
Such was my mood, then, when suddenly Paul Harley stood up. My eyes weregrowing more and more used to the darkness, and from something strainedin his attitude I detected the fact that he was listening intently.
He placed his cigarette on the table beside the bed and quietly crossedthe room. I knew from his silent tread that he wore shoes with rubbersoles. Very quietly he turned the handle and opened the door.
"What is it, Harley?" I whispered.
Dimly I saw him raise his hand. Inch by inch he opened the door. Mynerves in a state of tension, I sat there watching him, when withouta sound he slipped out of the room and was gone. Thereupon I arose andfollowed as far as the doorway.
Harley was standing immediately outside in the corridor. Seeing me, hestepped back, and: "Don't move, Knox," he said, speaking very close tomy ear. "There is someone downstairs in the hall. Wait for me here."
With that he moved stealthily off, and I stood there, my heart beatingwith unusual rapidity, listening--listening for a challenge, a cry, ascuffle--I knew not what to expect.
Cavernous and dimly lighted, the corridor stretched away to my left.On the right it branched sharply in the direction of the galleryoverlooking the hall.
The seconds passed, but no sound rewarded my alert listening--until,very faintly, but echoing in a muffled, church-like fashion around thatpeculiar building, came a slight, almost sibilant sound, which I took tobe the gentle closing of a distant door.
Whilst I was still wondering if I had really heard this sound or merelyimagined it:
"Who goes there?" came sharply in Harley's voice.
I heard a faint click, and knew that he had shone the light of anelectric torch down into the hall.
I hesitated no longer, but ran along to join him. As I came to the headof the main staircase, however, I saw him crossing the hall below. Hewas making in the direction of the door which shut off the servants'quarters. Here he paused, and I saw him trying the handle. Evidentlythe door was locked, for he turned and swept the white ray all about theplace. He tried several other doors, but found them all to be locked,for presently he came upstairs again, smiling grimly when he saw methere awaiting him.
"Did you hear it, Knox?" he said.
"A sound like the closing of a door?"
Paul Harley nodded.
"It _was_ the closing of a door," he replied; "but before that I haddistinctly heard a stair creak. Someone crossed the hall then, Knox.Yet, as you perceive for yourself, it affords no hiding-place."
His glance met and challenged mine.
"The Colonel's visitor has left him," he murmured. "Unless somethingquite unforeseen occurs, I shall throw up the case to-morrow."
CHAPTER XII
MORNING MISTS