“My theory also explains Colin Camber’s lapse from sobriety. It is legitimate to suppose that his wife, who was a Cuban, had been intimate with Menendez before her meeting with Camber. Perhaps she had broken the tie at the time of her marriage, but this is mere supposition. Then, her old lover, his infatuation by no means abated, leases the property adjoining that of his successful rival.” “Knox!” exclaimed Paul Harley, “this is brilliant. I am all impatience for the _dénouement_.” “It is coming,” I said, triumphantly. “Relations are reëstablished, clandestinely. Colin Camber learns of these. A passionate quarrel ensues, resulting in a long drinking bout designed to drown his sorrows. His love for his wife is so great that he has forgiven her this infidelity. Accordingly, she has promised to see her lover no more. Hers was the figure which you saw outlined upon the blind on the night before the tragedy, Harley! The gestures, which you described as those of despair, furnish evidence to confirm my theory. It was a final meeting!” “Hm,” muttered Harley. “It would be taking big chances, because we have to suppose, Knox, that these visits to Cray’s Folly were made whilst her husband was at work in the study. If he had suddenly decided to turn in, all would have been discovered.” “True,” I agreed, “but is it impossible?” “No, not a bit. Women are dreadful gamblers. But continue, Knox.” “Very well. Colonel Menendez has refused to accept his dismissal, and Mrs. Camber had been compelled to promise, without necessarily intending to carry out the promise, that she would see him again on the following night. She failed to come; whereupon he, growing impatient, walked out into the grounds of Cray’s Folly to look for her. She may even have intended to come and have been intercepted by her husband. But in any event, the latter, seeing the man who had wronged him, standing out there in the moonlight, found temptation to be too strong. On the whole, I favour the idea that he had intercepted his wife, and snatching up a rifle, had actually gone out into the garden with the intention of shooting Menendez.” “I see,” murmured Harley in a low voice. “This hypothesis, Knox, does not embrace the Bat Wing episodes.” “If Menendez has lied upon one point,” I returned, “it is permissible to suppose that his entire story was merely a tissue of falsehood.” “I see. But why did he bring me to Cray’s Folly?” “Don’t you understand, Harley?” I cried, excitedly. “He really feared for his life, since he knew that Camber had discovered the intrigue.” Paul Harley heaved a long sigh. “I must congratulate you, Knox,” he said, gravely, “upon a really splendid contribution to my case. In several particulars I find myself nearer to the truth. But the definite establishment or shattering of your theory rests upon one thing.” “What’s that?” I asked. “You are surely not thinking of the bat wing nailed upon the door?”