Bat Wing by Sax Rohmer (ebook reader for surface pro txt) 📖

“What of that?”

“Well, he seems to have communicated with his Embassy.” Wessex glanced significantly at Paul Harley. “And the Embassy communicated with the Home Office. You mustn’t regard my arrival as any reflection on your ability, Inspector Aylesbury. I am sure we can work together quite agreeably.”

“Oh,” muttered the other, in evident bewilderment, “I see. Well, if that’s the way of it, I suppose we must make the best of things.”

“Good,” cried Wessex, heartily. “Now perhaps you would like to state your case against the detained man?”

“A sound idea, Wessex,” said Paul Harley. “But perhaps, Inspector Aylesbury, before you begin, you would be good enough to speak to the constable on duty at the entrance to the Tudor garden. I am anxious to take another look at the spot where the body was found.”

Inspector Aylesbury took out his handkerchief and blew his nose loudly, continuing throughout the operation to glare at Paul Harley, and finally:

“You are wasting your time, Mr. Harley,” he declared, “as Detective-Inspector Wessex will be the first to admit when I have given him the facts of my case. Nevertheless, if you want to examine the garden, do so by all means.”

He turned without another word and stamped out of the library across the hall and into the courtyard.

“I will join you again in a few minutes, Wessex,” said Paul Harley, following.

“Very good, Mr. Harley,” Wessex answered. “I know you wouldn’t have had me down if the case had been as simple as he seems to think it is.”

I joined Harley, and we walked together up the gravelled path, meeting Inspector Aylesbury and the constable returning.

“Go ahead, Mr. Harley!” cried the Inspector. “If you can find any stronger evidence than the rifle, I shall be glad to take a look at it.”

Harley nodded good-humouredly, and together we descended the steps to the sunken garden. I was intensely curious respecting the investigation which Harley had been so anxious to make here, for I recognized that it was associated with something which he had seen from the window of Camber’s hut.

He walked along the moss-grown path to the sun-dial, and stood for a moment looking down at the spot where Menendez had lain. Then he stared up the hill toward the Guest House; and finally, directing his attention to the yews which lined the sloping bank:

“One, two, three, four,” he counted, checking them with his fingers—“five, six, seven.”

He mounted the bank and began to examine the trunk of one of the trees, whilst I watched him in growing astonishment.

Presently he turned and looked down at me.

“Not a trace, Knox,” he murmured; “not a trace. Let us try again.”

He moved along to the yew adjoining that which he had already inspected, but presently shook his head and passed to the next. Then:

“Ah!” he cried. “Come here, Knox!”

I joined him where he was kneeling, staring at what I took to be a large nail, or bolt, protruding from the bark of the tree.

“You see!” he exclaimed, “you see!”

I stooped, in order to examine the thing more closely, and as I did so, I realized what it was. It was the bullet which had killed Colonel Menendez!

Harley stood upright, his face slightly flushed and his eyes very bright.

“We shall not attempt to remove it, Knox,” he said. “The depth of penetration may have a tale to tell. The wood of the yew tree is one of the toughest British varieties.”

“But, Harley,” I said, blankly, as we descended to the path, “this is merely another point for the prosecution of Camber. Unless”—I turned to him in sudden excitement, “the bullet was of different—”

“No, no,” he murmured, “nothing so easy as that, Knox. The bullet was fired from a Lee-Enfield beyond doubt.”

I stared at him uncomprehendingly.

“Then I am utterly out of my depth, Harley. It, appears to me that the case against Camber is finally and fatally complete. Only the motive remains to be discovered, and I flatter myself that I have already detected this.”

“I am certainly inclined to think,” admitted Harley, “that there is a good deal in your theory.”

“Then, Harley,” I said in bewilderment, “you do believe that Camber committed the murder?”

“On the contrary,” he replied, “I am certain that he did not.”

I stood quite still.

“You are certain?” I began.

“I told you that the test of my theory, Knox, was to be looked for in the seventh yew from the northeast corner of the Tudor garden, did I not?”

“You did. And it is there. A bullet fired from a Lee-Enfield rifle; beyond any possible shadow of doubt the bullet which killed Colonel Menendez.”

“Beyond any possible shadow of doubt, as you say, Knox, the bullet which killed Colonel Menendez.”

“Therefore Camber is guilty?”

“On the contrary, therefore Camber is innocent!”

“What!”

“You are persistently overlooking one little point, Knox,” said Harley, mounting the steps on to the gravel path. “I spoke of the seventh yew tree from the northeast corner of the garden.”

“Well?”

“Well, my dear fellow, surely you observed that the bullet was embedded in the ninth?”

I was still groping for the significance of this point when, re-crossing the hall, we entered the library again, to find Inspector Aylesbury posed squarely before the mantelpiece stating his case to Wessex.

“You see,” he was saying, in his most oratorical manner, as we entered, “every little detail fits perfectly into place. For instance, I find that a woman, called Mrs. Powis, who for the past two years had acted as housekeeper at the Guest House and never taken a holiday, was sent away recently to her married daughter in London. See what that means? Her room is at the back of the house, and her evidence would have been fatal. Ah Tsong, of course, is a liar. I made up my mind about that the moment I clapped eyes on him. Mrs. Camber is the only innocent party. She was asleep in the front of the house when the shot was fired, and I believe her when she says that she cannot swear to the matter of distance.”

“A very interesting case, Inspector,” said Wessex, glancing at Harley. “I have not examined the body yet, but I understand that it was a clean wound through the head.”