"
"What had you learned?" asked Harley, whose interest in the narrative
was displayed by the fact that his pipe had long since gone out.
"Vaguely, vaguely, you understand, for there was little light, I had
seen the face of the man. He wore some kind of black cloak doubtless to
conceal his movements. His silhouette resembled that of a bat. But,
gentlemen, he was neither a negro nor even a half-caste; he was of the
white races, to that I could swear."
Colonel Menendez lighted the cigarette which he had been busily
rolling, and fixed his dark eyes upon Harley.
"You puzzle me, sir," said the latter. "Do you wish me to believe that
this cult of Voodoo claims European or American devotees?"
"I wish you to believe," returned the Colonel, "that although as the
result of the alarm which I gave the hotel was searched and the
Washington police exerted themselves to the utmost, no trace was ever
found of the man who had tried to murder me, except"--he extended a
long, yellow forefinger, and pointed to the wing of the bat lying upon
Harley's table--"a bat wing was found pinned to my bedroom door."
Silence fell for a while; an impressive silence.
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