by Sax Rohmer
Paul Harley, with Wessex and Inspector Aylesbury, presently set out forMarket Hilton, where Colin Camber and Ah Tsong were detained and wherethe body of Colonel Menendez had been conveyed for the purpose of thepost-mortem. I had volunteered to remain at Cray's Folly, my motivebeing not wholly an unselfish one.
"Refer reporters to me, Mr. Knox," said Inspector Wessex. "Don't letthem trouble the ladies. And tell them as little as possible, yourself."
The drone of the engine having died away down the avenue, I presentlyfound myself alone, but as I crossed the hall in the direction ofthe library, intending to walk out upon the southern lawns, I saw ValBeverley coming toward me from Madame de Staemer's room.
She remained rather pale, but smiled at me courageously.
"Have they all gone, Mr. Knox?" she asked. "I have really been hiding. Isuppose you knew?"
"I suspected it," I said, smiling. "Yes, they are all gone. How isMadame de Staemer, now?"
"She is quite calm. Curiously, almost uncannily calm. She is writing.Tell me, please, what does Mr. Harley think of Inspector Aylesbury'spreposterous ideas?"
"He thinks he is a fool," I replied, hotly, "as I do."
"But whatever will happen if he persists in dragging me into thishorrible case?"
"He will not drag you into it," I said, quietly. "He has been supersededby a cleverer man, and the case is practically under Harley's directionnow."
"Thank Heaven for that," she murmured. "I wonder----" She looked at mehesitatingly.
"Yes?" I prompted.
"I have been thinking about poor Mrs. Camber all alone in that gloomyhouse, and wondering----"
"Perhaps I know. You are going to visit her?"
Val Beverley nodded, watching me.
"Can you leave Madame de Staemer with safety?"
"Oh, yes, I think so. Nita can attend to her."
"And may I accompany you, Miss Beverley? For more reasons than one, I,too, should like to call upon Mrs. Camber."
"We might try," she said, hesitatingly. "I really only wanted to bekind. You won't begin to cross-examine her, will you?"
"Certainly not," I answered; "although there are many things I shouldlike her to tell us."
"Well, suppose we go," said the girl, "and let events take their owncourse."
As a result, I presently found myself, Val Beverley by my side, walkingacross the meadow path. With the unpleasant hush of Cray's Folly leftbehind, the day seemed to grow brighter. I thought that the skylarks hadnever sung more sweetly. Yet in this same instant of sheerly physicalenjoyment I experienced a pang of remorse, remembering the tragic womanwe had left behind, and the poor little sorrowful girl we were going tovisit. My emotions were very mingled, then, and I retain no recollectionof our conversation up to the time that we came to the Guest House.
We were admitted by a really charming old lady, who informed us that hername was Mrs. Powis and that she was but an hour returned from London,whither she had been summoned by telegram.
She showed us into a quaint, small drawing room which owed itsatmosphere quite clearly to Mrs. Camber, for whereas the study wasindescribably untidy, this was a model of neatness without being formalor unhomely. Here, in a few moments, Mrs. Camber joined us, an appealinglittle figure of wistful, almost elfin, beauty. I was surprised anddelighted to find that an instant bond of sympathy sprang up between thetwo girls. I diplomatically left them together for a while, going intoCamber's room to smoke my pipe. And when I returned:
"Oh, Mr. Knox," said Val Beverley, "Mrs. Camber has something to tellyou which she thinks you ought to know."
"Concerning Colonel Menendez?" I asked, eagerly.
Mrs. Camber nodded her golden head.
"Yes," she replied, but glancing at Val Beverley as if to gatherconfidence. "The truth can never hurt Colin. He has nothing to conceal.May I tell you?"
"I am all anxiety to hear," I assured her.
"Would you rather I went, Mrs. Camber?" asked Val Beverley.
Mrs. Camber reached across and took her hand.
"Please, no," she replied. "Stay here with me. I am afraid it is rathera long story."
"Never mind," I said. "It will be time well spent if it leads us anynearer to the truth."
"Yes?" she questioned, watching me anxiously, "you think so? I think so,too."
She became silent, sitting looking straight before her, the pupils ofher blue eyes widely dilated. Then, at first in a queer, far-away voice,she began to speak again.
"I must tell you," she commenced "that before--my marriage, my name wasIsabella de Valera."
I started.
"Ysola was my baby way of saying it, and so I came to be called Ysola.My father was manager of one of Senor Don Juan's estates, in a smallisland near the coast of Cuba. My mother"--she raised her little handseloquently--"was half-caste. Do you know? And she and my father--"
She looked pleadingly at Val Beverley.
"I understand," whispered the latter with deep sympathy; "but you don'tthink it makes any difference, do you?"
"No?" said Mrs. Camber with a quaint little gesture. "To you, perhapsnot, but there, where I was born, oh! so much. Well, then, my motherdied when I was very little. Ah Tsong was her servant. There are manyChinese in the West Indies, you see, and I can just remember he carriedme in to see her. Of course I didn't understand. My father quarrelledbitterly with the priests because they would not bury her in holyground. I think he no longer believed afterward. I loved him very much.He was good to me; and I was a queen in that little island. Allthe negroes loved me, because of my mother, I think, who was partlydescended from slaves, as they were. But I had not begun to understandhow hard it was all going to be when my father sent me to a convent inCuba.
"I hated to go, but while I was there I learned all about myself. I knewthat I was outcast. It was"--she raised her hand--"not possible to stay.I was only fifteen when I came home, but all the same I was a woman. Iwas no more a child, and happy no longer. After a while, perhaps, whenI forgot what I had suffered at the convent, I became less miserable.My father did all in his power to make me happy, and I was glad thework-people loved me. But I was very lonely. Ah Tsong understood."
Her eyes filled with tears.
"Can you imagine," she asked, "that when my father was away in distantparts of the island at night, Ah Tsong slept outside my door? Some ofthem say, 'Do not trust the Chinese' I say, except my husband and myfather, I have never known another one to trust but Ah Tsong. Now theyhave taken him away from me."
Tears glittered on her lashes, but she brushed them aside angrily, andcontinued:
"I was still less than twenty, and looked, they told me, only fourteen,when Senor Menendez came to inspect his estate. I had never seen himbefore. There had been a rising in the island, in the year after I wasborn, and he had only just escaped with his life. He was hated. Peoplecalled him Devil Menendez. Especially, no woman was safe from him,and in the old days, when his power had been great, he had used it forwickedness.
"My father was afraid when he heard he was coming. He would have sent meaway, but before it could be arranged Senor the Colonel arrived. He hadin his company a French lady. I thought her very beautiful and elegant.It was Madame de Staemer. It is only four years ago, a little more, buther hair was dark brown. She was splendidly dressed and such a wonderfulhorsewoman. The first time I saw her I felt as they had made me feel atthe convent. I wanted to hide from her. She was so grand a lady, and Icame from slaves."
She paused hesitatingly and stared down at her own tiny feet.
"Pardon me interrupting you, Mrs. Camber," I said, "but can you tell mein what way these two are related?"
She looked up with her naive smile.
"I can tell you, yes. A cousin of Senor Menendez married a sister ofMadame de Staemer."
"Good heavens!" I exclaimed, "a very remote kinship."
"It was in this way they met, in Paris, I think, and"--she raised herhands expressively--"she came with him to the West Indies, although itwas
during the great war. I think she loved him more than her soul, andme--me she hated. As Senor Menendez dismounted from his horse in frontof the house he saw me."
She sighed and ceased speaking again. Then:
"That very night," she continued, "he began. Do you know? I was tryingto escape from him when Madame de Staemer found us. She called me ashameful name, and my father, who heard it, ordered her out of thehouse. Senor Menendez spoke sharply, and my father struck him."
She paused once more, biting her lip agitatedly, but presentlyproceeded:
"Do you know what they are like, the Spanish, when their blood is hot?Senor Menendez had a revolver, but my father knocked it from his grasp.Then they fought with their bare hands. I was too frightened even to cryout. It was all a horrible dream. What Madame de Staemer did, I do notknow. I could see nothing but two figures twined together on the floor.At last one of them arose. I saw it was my father, and I remember nomore."
She was almost overcome by her tragic recollections, but presently, witha wonderful courage, which, together with her daintiness of form, spokeeloquently of good blood on one side at any rate, continued to speak:
"My father found he must go to Cuba to make arrangements for the future.Of course, our life there was finished. Ah Tsong stayed with me. Youhave heard how it used to be in those islands in the old days, but nowyou think it is so different? I used to think it was different, too. Onthe first night my father was away, Ah Tsong, who had gone out, was solong returning I became afraid. Then a strange negro came with news thathe had been taken ill with cholera, and was lying at a place not farfrom the house. I forgot my fears and hurried off with this man. Ah!"
She laughed wildly.
"I did not know I should never return, and I did not know I should neversee my father again. To you this must seem all wild and strange, becausethere is a law in England. There is a law in Cuba, too, but in some ofthose little islands the only law is the law of the strongest."
She raised her hands to her face and there was silence for a while.
"Of course it was a trap," she presently continued. "I was taken to anisland called El Manas which belonged to Senor Menendez, and wherehe had a house. This he could do, but"--she threw back her headproudly--"my spirit he could not break. Lots and lots of money wouldbe mine, and estates of my own; but one thing about him I must tell: henever showed me violence. For one, two, three weeks I stayed a prisonerin his house. All the servants were faithful to him and I could notfind a friend among them. Although quite innocent, I was ruined. Do youknow?"
She raised her eyes pathetically to Val Beverley.
"I thought my heart was broken, for something told me my father wasdead. This was true."
"What!" I exclaimed. "You don't mean--"
"I don't know, I don't know," she answered, brokenly. "He died onhis way to Havana. They said it was an accident. Well--at last, SenorMenendez offered me marriage. I thought if I agreed it would give me myfreedom, and I could run away and find Ah Tsong."
She paused, and a flush coloured her delicate face and faded again,leaving it very pale.
"We were married in the house, by a Spanish priest. Oh"--she raised herhands pathetically--"do you know what a woman is like? My spirit was notbroken still, but crushed. I had now nothing but kindness and gifts.I might never have known, but Senor Menendez, who thought"--she smiledsadly--"I was beautiful, took me to Cuba, where he had a great house.Please remember, please," she pleaded, "before you judge of me, that Iwas so young and had never known love, except the love of my father. Idid not even dream, then, his death was not an accident.
"I was proud of my jewels and fine dresses. But I began to notice thatJuan did not present any of his friends to me. We went about, but tostrange places, never to visit people of his own kind, and none came tovisit us. Then one night I heard someone on the balcony of my room. Iwas so frightened I could not cry out. It was good I was like that, forthe curtain was pulled open and Ah Tsong came in."
She clutched convulsively at the arms of her chair.
"He told me!" she said in a very low voice.
Then, looking up pitifully:
"Do you know?" she asked in her quaint way. "It was a mock marriage. Hehad done it and thought no shame, because it was so with my mother. Oh!"
Her beautiful eyes flashed, and for the first time since I had met YsolaCamber I saw the real Spanish spirit of the woman leap to life.
"He did not know me. Perhaps I did not know myself. That night, withno money, without a ring, a piece of lace, a peseta, anything that hadbelonged to him, I went with Ah Tsong. We made our way to a half-sisterof my father's who lived in Puerto Principe, and at first--she would nothave me. I was talked about, she said, in all the islands. She told meof my poor father. She told me I had dragged the name of de Valera inthe dirt. At last I made her understand--that what everyone else hadknown, I had never even dreamed of."
She looked up wistfully, as if thinking that we might doubt her.
"Do you know?" she whispered.
"I know--oh! I know!" said Val Beverley. I loved her for the sympathyin her voice and in her eyes. "It is very, very brave of you to tell usthis, Mrs. Camber."
"Yes? Do you think so?" asked the girl, simply. "What does it matter ifit can help Colin?
"This aunt of mine," she presently continued, "was a poor woman, andit was while I was hiding in her house--because spies of Senor Menendezwere searching for me--that I met--my husband. He was studying in Cubathe strange things he writes about, you see. And before I knew what hadhappened--I found I loved him more than all else in the world. It is sowonderful, that feeling," she said, looking across at Val Beverley. "Doyou know?"
The girl flushed deeply, and lowered her eyes, but made no reply.
"Because you are a woman, too, you will perhaps understand," sheresumed. "I did not tell him. I did not dare to tell him at first. Iwas so madly happy I had no courage to speak. But when"--her voice sanklower and lower--"he asked me to marry him, I told him. Nothing he couldever do would change my love for him now, because he forgave me and mademe his wife."
I feared that at last she was going to break down, for her voice becamevery tremulous and tears leapt again into her eyes. She conquered heremotion, however, and went on:
"We crossed over to the States, and Colin's family who had heard of hismarriage--some friend of Senor Menendez had told them--would not knowus. It meant that Colin, who would have been a rich man, was very poor.It made no difference. He was splendid. And I was so happy it was alllike a dream. He made me forget I was to blame for his troubles. Then wewere in Washington--and I saw Senor Menendez in the hotel!
"Oh, my heart stopped beating. For me it seemed like the end ofeverything. I knew, I knew, he was following me. But he had not seen me,and without telling Colin the reason, I made him leave Washington, Hewas glad to go. Wherever we went, in America, they seemed to find outabout my mother. I got to hate them, hate them all. We came to England,and Colin heard about this house, and we took it.
"At last we were really happy. No one knew us. Because we were strange,and because of Ah Tsong, they looked at us very funny and kept away, butwe did not care. Then Sir James Appleton sold Cray's Folly."
She looked up quickly.
"How can I tell you? It must have been by Ah Tsong that he traced me toSurrey. Some spy had told him there was a Chinaman living here. Oh, Idon't know how he found out, but when I heard who was coming to Cray'sFolly I thought I should die.
"Something I must tell you now. When I had told my story to Colin, onething I had not told him, because I was afraid what he might do. I hadnot told him the name of the man who had caused me to suffer so much. Onthe day I first saw Senor Menendez walking in the garden of Cray's FollyI knew I must tell my husband what he had so often asked me to tellhim--the name of the man. I told him--and at first I thought he would gomad. He began to drink--do you know? It is a failing in his family. Butbecause I knew--because I knew--I forgave him, and hoped, always hoped,that he would st
op. He promised to do so. He had given up going out eachday to drink, and was working again like he used to work--too hard, toohard, but it was better than the other way."
She stopped speaking, and suddenly, before I could divine her intention,dropped upon her knees, and raised her clasped hands to me.
"He did not, he did not kill him!" she cried, passionately. "He did not!O God! I who love him tell you he did not! You think he did. You do--youdo! I can see it in your eyes!"
"Believe me, Mrs. Camber," I answered, deeply moved, "I don't doubt yourword for a moment."
She continued to look at me for a while, and then turned to ValBeverley.
"_You_ don't think he did," she sobbed, "do you?"
She looked such a child, such a pretty, helpless child, as she kneltthere on the carpet, that I felt a lump rising in my throat.
Val Beverley dropped down impulsively beside her and put her arms aroundthe slender shoulders.
"Of course I don't," she exclaimed, indignantly. "Of course I don't.It's quite unthinkable."
"I know it is," moaned the other, raising her tearful face. "I love himand know his great soul. But what do these others know, and they willnever believe _me_."
"Have courage," I said. "It has never failed you yet. Mr. Paul Harleyhas promised to clear him by to-night."
"He has promised?" she whispered, still kneeling and clutching ValBeverley tightly. She looked up at me with hope reborn in her beautifuleyes. "He has promised? Oh, I thank him. May God bless him. I know hewill succeed."
I turned aside, and walked out across the hall and into the empty study.
CHAPTER XXXII
PAUL HARLEY'S EXPERIMENT