Bat Wing, Sax Rohmer [top 20 books to read .txt] 📗

“Rest assured that the truth will be found, Mrs. Powis,” I answered.

Inspector Aylesbury cleared his throat, but Wessex, puffing at his pipe, made no remark whatever until we were all come to the hut overhanging the little ravine.

“This is where I found the rifle, Detective-Inspector,” explained Aylesbury.

Wessex nodded absently.

It was another perfect night, with only a faint tracery of cloud to be seen like lingering smoke over on the western horizon. Everything seemed very still, so that although we were several miles from the railway line, when presently a train sped on its way one might have supposed, from the apparent nearness of the sound, that the track was no farther off than the grounds of Cray’s Folly.

Toward those grounds, automatically, our glances were drawn; and we stood there staring down at the ghostly map of the gardens, and all wondering, no doubt, what Harley was doing and when he would be joining us.

Very faintly I could hear the water of the little stream bubbling beneath us. Then, just as this awkward silence was becoming intolerable, there came a scraping and scratching from the shadows of the gully, and:

“Give me a hand, Knox!” cried the voice of Harley from below. “I want to avoid the barbed wire if possible.”

He had come across country, and as I scrambled down the slope to meet him I could not help wondering with what object he had sent us ahead by the high road. Presently, when he came clambering up into the garden, this in a measure was explained, for:

“You are all wondering,” he began, rapidly, “what I am up to, no doubt. Let me endeavour to make it clear. In order that my test should be conclusive, and in no way influenced by pre-knowledge of certain arrangements which I had made, I sent you on ahead of me. Not wishing to waste time, I followed by the shorter route. And now, gentlemen, let us begin.”

“Good,” muttered Inspector Aylesbury.

“But first of all,” continued Harley, “I wish each one of you in turn to look out of the window of the hut, and down into the Tudor garden of Cray’s Folly. Will you begin, Wessex?”

Wessex, taking his pipe out of his mouth, and staring hard at the speaker, nodded, entered the hut, and kneeling on the wooden seat, looked out of the window.

“Open the panes,” said Harley, “so that you have a perfectly clear view.”

Wessex slid the panes open and stared intently down into the valley.

“Do you see anything unusual in the garden?”

“Nothing,” he reported.

“And now, Inspector Aylesbury.”

Inspector Aylesbury stamped noisily across the little hut, and peered out, briefly.

“I can see the garden,” he said.

“Can you see the sun-dial?”

“Quite clearly.”

“Good. And now you, Knox.”

I followed, filled with astonishment.

“Do you see the sun-dial?” asked Harley, again.

“Quite clearly.”

“And beyond it?”

“Yes, I can see beyond it. I can even see its shadow lying like a black band on the path.”

“And you can see the yew trees?”

“Of course.”

“But nothing else? Nothing unusual?”

“Nothing.”

“Very well,” said Harley, tersely. “And now, gentlemen, we take to the rough ground, proceeding due east. Will you be good enough to follow?”

Walking around the hut he found an opening in the hedge, and scrambled down into the place where rank grass grew and through which he and I on a previous occasion had made our way to the high road. To-night, however, he did not turn toward the high road, but proceeded along the crest of the hill.

I followed him, excited by the novelty of the proceedings. Wessex, very silent, came behind me, and Inspector Aylesbury, swearing under his breath, waded through the long grass at the rear.

“Will you all turn your attention to the garden again, please?” cried Harley.

We all paused, looking to the right.

“Anything unusual?”

We were agreed that there was not.

“Very well,” said my friend. “You will kindly note that from this point onward the formation of the ground prevents our obtaining any other view of Cray’s Folly or its gardens until we reach the path to the valley, or turn on to the high road. From a point on the latter the tower may be seen but that is all. The first part of my experiment is concluded, gentlemen. We will now return.”

Giving us no opportunity for comment, he plunged on in the direction of the stream, and at a point which I regarded as unnecessarily difficult, crossed it, to the great discomfiture of the heavy Inspector Aylesbury. A few minutes later we found ourselves once more in the grounds of Cray’s Folly.

Harley, evidently with a definite objective in view, led the way up the terraces, through the rhododendrons, and round the base of the tower. He crossed to the sunken garden, and at the top of the steps paused.

“Be good enough to regard the sun-dial from this point,” he directed.

Even as he spoke, I caught my breath, and I heard Aylesbury utter a sort of gasping sound.

Beyond the sun-dial and slightly to the left of it, viewed from where we stood, a faint, elfin light flickered, at a point apparently some four or five feet above the ground!

“What’s this?” muttered Wessex.

“Follow again, gentlemen,” said Harley quietly.

He led the way down to the garden and along the path to the sun-dial. This he passed, pausing immediately in front of the yew tree in which I knew the bullet to be embedded.

He did not speak, but, extending his finger, pointed.

A piece of candle, some four inches long, was attached by means of a nail to the bark of the tree, so that its flame burned immediately in front of the bullet embedded there!

For perhaps ten seconds no one spoke; indeed I think no one moved. Then:

“Good God!” murmured Wessex. “You have done some clever things to my knowledge, Mr. Harley, but this crowns them all.”

“Clever things!” said Inspector Aylesbury. “I think it’s a lot of damned tomfoolery.”