"Of course," said Harley, after a long silence, "there is one
possibility of which we must not lose sight."

"What possibility is that?" I asked.

"That Menendez may be mad. Remorse for crimes of cruelty committed in
his youth, and beyond doubt he has been guilty of many, may have led to
a sort of obsession. I have known such cases."

"That was my first impression," I confessed, "but it faded somewhat as
the Colonel's story proceeded. I don't think any such explanation would
cover the facts."

"Neither do I," agreed my friend; "but it is distinctly possible that
such an obsession exists, and that someone is deliberately playing upon
it for his own ends."

"You mean that someone who knows of these episodes in the earlier life
of Menendez is employing them now for a secret purpose of his own?"

"Exactly."

"It renders the case none the less interesting."

"I quite agree, Knox. With you, I believe, that even if the Colonel is
not quite sane, at the same time his fears are by no means imaginary."

He gingerly took up the bat wing from the arm of his chair where he had
placed it after a detailed examination.