“You excite my curiosity,” declared Harley.
“Listen,” Colonel Menendez bent forward, resting his elbows upon his knees. Between the yellow fingers of his left hand he held the newly completed cigarette whilst he continued to puff vigorously at the old one. “You recollect my speaking of the death of a certain native girl?”
Paul Harley nodded.
“The real cause of her death was never known, but I obtained evidence to show that on the night after the wing of a bat had been attached to her hut, she wandered out in her sleep and visited the Black Belt. Can you doubt that someone was calling her?”
“Calling her?”
“Mr. Harley, she was obeying the call of M’kombo!”
“The call of M’kombo? You refer to some kind of hypnotic suggestions?”
“I illustrate,” replied the Colonel, “to help to make clear something which I have to tell you. On the night when last the moon was full—on the night after someone had entered the house—I had retired early to bed. Suddenly I awoke, feeling very cold. I awoke, I say, and where do you suppose I found myself?”
“I am all anxiety to hear.”
“On the point of entering the Tudor garden—you call it Tudor garden?—which is visible from the window of your room!”