“No, I cannot hate them, for he is one. But he will never go back.”
“Why should he never go back, Mrs. Camber?”
“Because of me.”
“You mean that you do not wish to settle in America?”
“I could not—not where he comes from. They would not have me.”
Her eyes grew misty, and she quickly lowered her lashes.
“Would not have you?” I exclaimed. “I don’t understand.”
“No?” she said, and smiled up at me very gravely. “It is simple. I am a Cuban, one, as they say, of an inferior race—and of mixed blood.”
She shook her golden head as if to dismiss the subject, and stood up, as Camber entered, followed by Ah Tsong bearing a tray of refreshments.
Of the ensuing conversation I remember nothing. My mind was focussed upon the one vital fact that Mrs. Camber was a Cuban Creole. Dimly I felt that here was the missing link for which Paul Harley was groping. For it was in Cuba that Colin Camber had met his wife, it was from Cuba that the menace of Bat Wing came.