Truly this was the
strangest story to which I had ever listened.
"How long ago was that?" asked Harley.
"Only two years ago. At about the time that the great war terminated. I
came to Europe and believed that at last I had found security. I lived
for a time in London amidst a refreshing peace that was new to me.
Then, chancing to hear of a property in Surrey which was available, I
leased it for a period of years, installing--is it correct?--my cousin,
Madame de Staemer, as housekeeper. Madame, alas, is an invalid, but"--he
kissed his fingers--"a genius. She has with her, as companion, a very
charming English girl, Miss Val Beverley, the orphaned daughter of a
distinguished surgeon of Edinburg. Miss Beverley was with my cousin in
the hospital which she established in France during the war. If you
will honour me with your presence at Cray's Folly to-morrow, gentlemen,
you will not lack congenial company, I can assure you."
He raised his heavy eyebrows, looking interrogatively from Harley to
myself.
"For my own part," said my friend, slowly, "I shall be delighted. What
do you say, Knox?"
"I also."
"But," continued Harley, "your presence here today, Colonel Menendez,
suggests to my mind that England has not proved so safe a haven as you
had anticipated?"
Colonel Menendez crossed the room and stood once more before the
Burmese cabinet, one hand resting upon his hip; a massive yet graceful
figure.
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