Again he shrugged his shoulders.
“I would remind you,” said Harley, quietly, “that there are also quite a number of negroes in England. If you seriously believe Voodoo to follow negro migration, I can see no objection to assuming it to be a universal cult.”
“Such an idea is incredible.”
“Yet by what other hypothesis,” asked Harley, “are we to cover the facts of your own case as stated by yourself? Now,” he consulted his pencilled notes, “there is another point. I gather that these African sorcerers rely largely upon what I may term intimidation. In other words, they claim the power of wishing an enemy to death.”
He raised his eyes and stared grimly at the Colonel.
“I should not like to suppose that a man of your courage and culture could subscribe to such a belief.”
“I do not, sir,” declared the Colonel, warmly. “No Obeah man could ever exercise his will upon me!”
“Yet, if I may say so,” murmured Harley, “your will to live seems to have become somewhat weakened.”
“What do you mean?”
Colonel Menendez stood up, his delicate nostrils dilated. He glared angrily at Harley.
“I mean that I perceive a certain resignation in your manner of which I do not approve.”
“You do not approve?” said Colonel Menendez, softly; and I thought as he stood looking down upon my friend that I had rarely seen a more formidable figure.
Paul Harley had roused him unaccountably, and knowing my friend for a master of tact I knew also that this had been deliberate, although I could not even dimly perceive his object.
