understanding which evidently
existed between Colonel Menendez and Madame de Stämer, and to which,
although his aid had been sought, he was not admitted.
It seemed to me, personally, that an almost palpable shadow lay upon
the room. Although, save for this one lapse, our host throughout talked
gaily and entertainingly, I was obsessed by a memory of the expression
which I had detected upon his face that morning, the expression of a
doomed man.
What, in Heaven's name, I asked myself, did it all mean? If ever I saw
the fighting spirit looking out of any man's eyes, it looked out of the
eyes of Don Juan Sarmiento Menendez. Why, then, did he lie down to the
menace of this mysterious Bat Wing, and if he counted opposition
futile, why had he summoned Paul Harley to Cray's Folly?
With the passing of every moment I sympathized more fully with the
perplexity of my friend, and no longer wondered that even his highly
specialized faculties had failed to detect an explanation.
Remembering Colin Camber as I had seen him at the Lavender Arms, it was
simply impossible to suppose that such a man as Menendez could fear
such a man as Camber. True, I had seen the latter at a disadvantage,
and I knew well enough that many a genius has been also a drunkard. But
although I was prepared to find that Colin Camber possessed genius, I
found it hard to believe that this was of a criminal type. That such a
character could be the representative of some remote negro society was
an idea too grotesque to be entertained for a moment.
I was tempted to believe that his presence in the neighbourhood of this
haunted Cuban was one of those strange coincidences which in criminal
history have sometimes proved so tragic for their victims.
Madame de Stämer, avoiding the Colonel's glances, which were
pathetically apologetic, gradually recovered herself, and:
"My dear," she said to Val Beverley, "you look perfectly sweet to-
night. Don't you think she looks perfectly sweet, Mr. Knox?"
Ignoring a look of entreaty from the blue-gray eyes:
"Perfectly," I replied.
"Oh, Mr. Knox," cried the girl, "why do you encourage her? She says
embarrassing things like that every time I put on a new dress."
Her reference to a new dress set me speculating again upon the apparent
anomaly of her presence at Cray's Folly. That she was not a
professional "companion" was clear enough. I assumed that her father
had left her suitably provided for, since she wore such expensively
simple gowns. She had a delightful trick of blushing when attention was
focussed upon her, and said Madame de Stämer:
"To be able to blush like that I would give my string of pearls—no,
half of it."
"My dear Marie," declared Colonel Menendez, "I have seen you blush
perfectly."
"No, no," Madame disclaimed the suggestion with one of those Bernhardt
gestures, "I blushed my last blush when my second husband introduced me
to my first husband's wife."
"Madame!" exclaimed Val Beverley, "how can you say such things?" She
turned to me. "Really, Mr. Knox, they are all fables."
"In fables we renew our youth," said Madame.
"Ah," sighed Colonel Menendez; "our youth, our youth."
"Why sigh, Juan, why regret?" cried Madame, immediately. "Old age is
only tragic to those who have never been young."
She directed a glance toward him as she spoke those words, and as I had
felt when I had seen his tragic face on the veranda that morning I felt
again in detecting this look of Madame de Stämer's. The yearning yet
selfless love which it expressed was not for my eyes to witness.
"Thank God, Marie," replied the Colonel, and gallantly kissed his hand
to her, "we have both been young, gloriously young."
When, at the termination of this truly historic dinner, the ladies left
us:
"Remember, Juan," said Madame, raising her white, jewelled hand, and
holding the fingers characteristically curled, "no excitement, no
billiards, no cards."
Colonel Menendez bowed deeply, as the invalid wheeled herself from the
room, followed by
existed between Colonel Menendez and Madame de Stämer, and to which,
although his aid had been sought, he was not admitted.
It seemed to me, personally, that an almost palpable shadow lay upon
the room. Although, save for this one lapse, our host throughout talked
gaily and entertainingly, I was obsessed by a memory of the expression
which I had detected upon his face that morning, the expression of a
doomed man.
What, in Heaven's name, I asked myself, did it all mean? If ever I saw
the fighting spirit looking out of any man's eyes, it looked out of the
eyes of Don Juan Sarmiento Menendez. Why, then, did he lie down to the
menace of this mysterious Bat Wing, and if he counted opposition
futile, why had he summoned Paul Harley to Cray's Folly?
With the passing of every moment I sympathized more fully with the
perplexity of my friend, and no longer wondered that even his highly
specialized faculties had failed to detect an explanation.
Remembering Colin Camber as I had seen him at the Lavender Arms, it was
simply impossible to suppose that such a man as Menendez could fear
such a man as Camber. True, I had seen the latter at a disadvantage,
and I knew well enough that many a genius has been also a drunkard. But
although I was prepared to find that Colin Camber possessed genius, I
found it hard to believe that this was of a criminal type. That such a
character could be the representative of some remote negro society was
an idea too grotesque to be entertained for a moment.
I was tempted to believe that his presence in the neighbourhood of this
haunted Cuban was one of those strange coincidences which in criminal
history have sometimes proved so tragic for their victims.
Madame de Stämer, avoiding the Colonel's glances, which were
pathetically apologetic, gradually recovered herself, and:
"My dear," she said to Val Beverley, "you look perfectly sweet to-
night. Don't you think she looks perfectly sweet, Mr. Knox?"
Ignoring a look of entreaty from the blue-gray eyes:
"Perfectly," I replied.
"Oh, Mr. Knox," cried the girl, "why do you encourage her? She says
embarrassing things like that every time I put on a new dress."
Her reference to a new dress set me speculating again upon the apparent
anomaly of her presence at Cray's Folly. That she was not a
professional "companion" was clear enough. I assumed that her father
had left her suitably provided for, since she wore such expensively
simple gowns. She had a delightful trick of blushing when attention was
focussed upon her, and said Madame de Stämer:
"To be able to blush like that I would give my string of pearls—no,
half of it."
"My dear Marie," declared Colonel Menendez, "I have seen you blush
perfectly."
"No, no," Madame disclaimed the suggestion with one of those Bernhardt
gestures, "I blushed my last blush when my second husband introduced me
to my first husband's wife."
"Madame!" exclaimed Val Beverley, "how can you say such things?" She
turned to me. "Really, Mr. Knox, they are all fables."
"In fables we renew our youth," said Madame.
"Ah," sighed Colonel Menendez; "our youth, our youth."
"Why sigh, Juan, why regret?" cried Madame, immediately. "Old age is
only tragic to those who have never been young."
She directed a glance toward him as she spoke those words, and as I had
felt when I had seen his tragic face on the veranda that morning I felt
again in detecting this look of Madame de Stämer's. The yearning yet
selfless love which it expressed was not for my eyes to witness.
"Thank God, Marie," replied the Colonel, and gallantly kissed his hand
to her, "we have both been young, gloriously young."
When, at the termination of this truly historic dinner, the ladies left
us:
"Remember, Juan," said Madame, raising her white, jewelled hand, and
holding the fingers characteristically curled, "no excitement, no
billiards, no cards."
Colonel Menendez bowed deeply, as the invalid wheeled herself from the
room, followed by
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