by Sax Rohmer
The man known as Manoel awakened me in the morning. Althoughcharacteristically Spanish, he belonged to a more sanguine type thanthe butler and spoke much better English than Pedro. He placed upon thetable beside me a tray containing a small pot of China tea, an apple, apeach, and three slices of toast.
"How soon would you like your bath, sir?" he enquired.
"In about half an hour," I replied.
"Breakfast is served at 9.30 if you wish, sir," continued Manoel, "butthe ladies rarely come down. Would you prefer to breakfast in yourroom?"
"What is Mr. Harley doing?"
"He tells me that he does not take breakfast, sir. Colonel Don JuanMenendez will be unable to ride with you this morning, but a groom willaccompany you to the heath if you wish, which is the best place for agallop. Breakfast on the south veranda is very pleasant, sir, if you areriding first."
"Good," I replied, for indeed I felt strangely heavy; "it shall be theheath, then, and breakfast on the veranda."
Having drunk a cup of tea and dressed I went into Harley's room, tofind him propped up in bed reading the _Daily Telegraph_ and smoking acigarette.
"I am off for a ride," I said. "Won't you join me?"
He fixed his pillows more comfortably, and slowly shook his head.
"Not a bit of it, Knox," he replied, "I find exercise to be fatal toconcentration."
"I know you have weird theories on the subject, but this is a beautifulmorning."
"I grant you the beautiful morning, Knox, but here you will find me whenyou return."
I knew him too well to debate the point, and accordingly I left him tohis newspaper and cigarette, and made my way downstairs. A housemaid wasbusy in the hall, and in the courtyard before the monastic porch a negrogroom awaited me with two fine mounts. He touched his hat and grinnedexpansively as I appeared. A spirited young chestnut was saddled formy use, and the groom, who informed me that his name was Jim, rode asmaller, Spanish horse, a beautiful but rather wicked-looking creature.
We proceeded down the drive. Pedro was standing at the door of thelodge, talking to his surly-looking daughter. He saluted me veryceremoniously as I passed.
Pursuing an easterly route for a quarter of a mile or so, we came to anarrow lane which branched off to the left in a tremendous declivity.Indeed it presented the appearance of the dry bed of a mountain torrent,and in wet weather a torrent this lane became, so I was informed byJim. It was very rugged and dangerous, and here we dismounted, the groomleading the horses.
Then we were upon a well-laid main road, and along this we trotted on toa tempting stretch of heath-land. There was a heavy mist, but thescent of the heather in the early morning was delightful, and there wassomething exhilarating in the dull thud of the hoofs upon the springyturf. The negro was a natural horseman, and he seemed to enjoy the rideevery bit as much as I did. For my own part I was sorry to return. Butthe vapours of the night had been effectively cleared from my mind, andwhen presently we headed again for the hills, I could think more coollyof those problems which overnight had seemed well-nigh insoluble.
We returned by a less direct route, but only at one point was the pathso steep as that by which we had descended. This brought us out on aroad above and about a mile to the south of Cray's Folly. At one point,through a gap in the trees, I found myself looking down at the graystone building in its setting of velvet lawns and gaily patternedgardens. A faint mist hovered like smoke over the grass.
Five minutes later we passed a queer old Jacobean house, so deeplyhidden amidst trees that the early morning sun had not yet penetrated toit, except for one upstanding gable which was bathed in golden light. Ishould never have recognized the place from that aspect, but because ofits situation I knew that this must be the Guest House. It seemed verygloomy and dark, and remembering how I was pledged to call upon Mr.Colin Camber that day, I apprehended that my reception might be a coldone.
Presently we left the road and cantered across the valley meadows, inwhich I had walked on the previous day, reentering Cray's Folly onthe south, although we had left it on the north. We dismounted in thestable-yard, and I noted two other saddle horses in the stalls, a pairof very clean-looking hunters, as well as two perfectly matched ponies,which, Jim informed me, Madame de Staemer sometimes drove in a chaise.
Feeling vastly improved by the exercise, I walked around to the veranda,and through the drawing room to the hall. Manoel was standing there,and:
"Your bath is ready, sir," he said.
I nodded and went upstairs. It seemed to me that life at Cray's Follywas quite agreeable, and such was my mood that the shadowy Bat Wingmenace found no place in it save as the chimera of a sick man'simagination. One thing only troubled me: the identity of the woman whohad been with Colonel Menendez on the previous night.
However, such unconscious sun worshippers are we all that in the gloryof that summer morning I realized that life was good, and I resolutelyput behind me the dark suspicions of the night.
I looked into Harley's room ere descending, and, as he had assuredme would be the case, there he was, propped up in bed, the _DailyTelegraph_ upon the floor beside him and the _Times_ now open upon thecoverlet.
"I am ravenously hungry," I said, maliciously, "and am going down to eata hearty breakfast."
"Good," he returned, treating me to one of his quizzical smiles. "It isdelightful to know that someone is happy."
Manoel had removed my unopened newspapers from the bedroom, placingthem on the breakfast table on the south veranda; and I had propped the_Mail_ up before me and had commenced to explore a juicy grapefruitwhen something, perhaps a faint breath of perfume, a slight rustle ofdraperies, or merely that indefinable aura which belongs to the presenceof a woman, drew my glance upward and to the left. And there was ValBeverley smiling down at me.
"Good morning, Mr. Knox," she said. "Oh, please don't interrupt yourbreakfast. May I sit down and talk to you?"
"I should be most annoyed if you refused."
She was dressed in a simple summery frock which left her round,sun-browned arms bare above the elbow, and she laid a huge bunch ofroses upon the table beside my tray.
"I am the florist of the establishment," she explained. "Thesewill delight your eyes at luncheon. Don't you think we are a lot ofbarbarians here, Mr. Knox?"
"Why?"
"Well, if I had not taken pity upon you, here you would have bat over alonely breakfast just as though you were staying at a hotel."
"Delightful," I replied, "now that you are here."
"Ah," said she, and smiled roguishly, "that afterthought just savedyou."
"But honestly," I continued, "the hospitality of Colonel Menendez istrue hospitality. To expect one's guests to perform their parlour tricksaround a breakfast table in the morning is, on the other hand, truebarbarism."
"I quite agree with you," she said, quietly. "There is a perfectlydelightful freedom about the Colonel's way of living. Only some horridold Victorian prude could possibly take exception to it. Did you enjoyyour ride?"
"Immensely," I replied, watching her delightedly as she arranged theroses in carefully blended groups.
Her fingers were very delicate and tactile, and such is the characterwhich resides in the human hand, that whereas the gestures of Madame deStaemer were curiously stimulating, there was something in the movementof Val Beverley's pretty fingers amidst the blooms which I found mostsoothing.
"I passed the Guest House on my return," I continued. "Do you know Mr.Camber?"
She looked at me in a startled way.
"No," she replied, "I don't. Do you?"
"I met him by chance yesterday."
"Really? I thought he was quite unapproachable; a sort of ogre."
"On the contrary, he is a man of great charm."
"Oh," said Val Beverley, "well, since you have said so, I might aswell admit that he has always seemed a charming man to me. I have neverspoken to him, but he looks as though he could be very fascinating. Haveyou met his wife?"
&nb
sp; "No. Is she also American?"
My companion shook her head.
"I have no idea," she replied. "I have seen her several times of course,and she is one of the daintiest creatures imaginable, but I know nothingabout her nationality."
"She is young, then?"
"Very young, I should say. She looks quite a child."
"The reason of my interest," I replied, "is that Mr. Camber asked me tocall upon him, and I propose to do so later this morning."
"Really?"
Again I detected the startled expression upon Val Beverley's face.
"That is rather curious, since you are staying here."
"Why?"
"Well," she looked about her nervously, "I don't know the reason, butthe name of Mr. Camber is anathema in Cray's Folly."
"Colonel Menendez told me last night that he had never met Mr. Camber."
Val Beverley shrugged her shoulders, a habit which it was easy to seeshe had acquired from Madame de Staemer.
"Perhaps not," she replied, "but I am certain he hates him."
"Hates Mr. Camber?"
"Yes." Her expression grew troubled. "It is another of those mysterieswhich seem to be part of Colonel Menendez's normal existence."
"And is this dislike mutual?"
"That I cannot say, since I have never met Mr. Camber."
"And Madame de Staemer, does she share it?"
"Fully, I think. But don't ask me what it means, because I don't know."
She dismissed the subject with a light gesture and poured me out asecond cup of coffee.
"I am going to leave you now," she said. "I have to justify my existencein my own eyes."
"Must you really go?"
"I must really."
"Then tell me something before you go."
She gathered up the bunches of roses and looked down at me with awistful expression.
"Yes, what is it?"
"Did you detect those mysterious footsteps again last night?"
The look of wistfulness changed to another which I hated to see in hereyes, an expression of repressed fear.
"No," she replied in a very low voice, "but why do you ask thequestion?"
Doubt of her had been far enough from my mind, but that something in thetone of my voice had put her on her guard I could see.
"I am naturally curious," I replied, gravely.
"No," she repeated, "I have not heard the sound for some time now.Perhaps, after all, my fears were imaginary."
There was a constraint in her manner which was all too obvious, andwhen presently, laden with the spoil of the rose garden, she gave me aparting smile and hurried into the house, I sat there very still for awhile, and something of the brightness had faded from the coming, nordid life seem so glad a business as I had thought it quite recently.
CHAPTER XIII
AT THE GUEST HOUSE