door leading into the shrubbery which we heard being closed!”
“Continue,” said Harley; “although I can plainly see to what this is leading.”
“You can see, Harley?” I cried; “of course you can see! The enmity between Camber and Menendez is understandable at last.”
“You mean that Menendez was Mrs. Camber’s lover?”
“Don’t you agree with me?”
“It is feasible, Knox, dreadfully feasible. But go on.”
“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
