I ADVISE MISS TEMPLE
I left the room and went down to the main hall. The divisional surgeon,
with McQuade and his men had already proceeded to the scene of the
tragedy, and as I did not suppose that I would be wanted there, I left
the house and started out across the beautiful lawns, now partially
covered with the fallen leaves of oak and elm, my mind filled with
conflicting thoughts and emotions. As I passed out, I met Miss Temple
coming along the porch, wearing a long cloak, and evidently prepared for
a walk, so I suggested, rather awkwardly, remembering her look of
annoyance during the examination by Sergeant McQuade, that I should be
happy to accompany her. Somewhat to my surprise she accepted my offer
at once, and we started briskly off along the main driveway leading to
the highroad. Miss Temple, of lithe and slender build, was, I soon
found, an enthusiastic walker, and set the pace with a free and swinging
stride that rejoiced my heart. I dislike walking with most women, whose
short and halting steps make accompanying them but an irritation. I did
not say anything as we walked along, except to comment upon the change
of weather and the beauty of the day, for I felt sure that she would
prefer to be left to her own thoughts after the trying ordeal through
which she had just passed. She was silent all the way down to the
entrance to the grounds, and seemed to feel oppressed by the house and
its proximity, but as soon as we set out along the main road toward
Pinhoe over which Ashton and I had traveled the evening before, she
seemed to brighten up, and, turning to me, said, with surprising
suddenness: "Do you believe, Mr. Morgan, that I had any part in this
terrible affair? The questions the detective asked me indicated that he
had."
"Certainly not," I said. "And, if you will permit me to say so, Miss
Temple, I think you would have been wiser had you been entirely frank
with him."
"What do you mean?" she asked, indignantly.
I felt disappointed, somehow, at her manner.
"Miss Temple," I said, gently, "you at first refused to admit that you
had sought an interview with Mr. Ashton at midnight. I fully understood
your reasons for your refusal. It was an unconventional thing to do, and
you feared the misjudgment of persons at large, although to me it
appeared, in the light of my knowledge of the case, a most natural
action. Mr. Ashton still retained the jewel, and, if he gave it up after
your warning, he could not have complained of the consequences. But I
am sorry, Miss Temple, that you were not as frank about your leaving
the house, as he believes you did, early this morning."
"Why does he believe that?" she asked, spiritedly.
"Because, in the first place, he found footprints--the footprints of a
woman's shoe, in the gravel walk, from the west corner of the porch to
the main entrance. They led only one way. After questioning you, he
searched your room, and found the skirt and shoes which you wore, both
wet and covered with mud. The rain did not stop until three or four this
morning. The footprints were made after the rain, or they would have
been washed away and obliterated by it. For these reasons, he fully
believes you were out of the house close to daybreak, which was the time
of the murder."
"The brute," said Miss Temple, indignantly, "to enter my rooms!"
"It is after all only his duty, Miss Temple," I replied.
"Well, perhaps you are right. But suppose I did go outside at that
time--suppose I had decided to run away from Mr. Ashton, and my father,
and their wretched conspiracy against my happiness, what guilt is there
in that? I came back, did I not?"
"Why," I inquired, "did you come back?"
She glanced quickly at me, with a look of fear.
"I--I--that I refuse to explain to anyone. After all, Mr. Morgan, I
certainly am not obliged to tell the police my very thoughts."
Her persistency in evading any explanation of her actions of the morning
surprised and annoyed me. "You will remember, Miss Temple, that I said
the footprints led in one direction only, and that was toward the
house. Mr. McQuade does not believe that you left the house in the same
way that you returned to it."
"What on earth does he believe then?" she inquired with a slight laugh,
which was the first sign of brightness I had seen in her since she left
me with a smile the night before. I could not help admiring her
beautiful mouth and her white, even teeth as she turned inquiringly to
me. Yet my answer was such as to drive that smile from her face for a
long time to come.
"He believes this, Miss Temple, or at least he thinks of it as a
possibility: Whoever committed the murder reached the porch roof by
means of the window at the end of the upper hall, and, after entering
and leaving Mr. Ashton's room, descended in some way from the porch to
the pathway, and re-entered the house by the main entrance. Your
footsteps are the only ones so far that fit in with this theory."
"It is absurd!" said my companion, with a look of terror. "How could
the window have been rebolted? Why should the murderer not have
re-entered the house in the same way he left it? How does he know that
there was anyone upon the roof at all?"
"In answer to the first objection, he claims that someone interested in
the murderer's welfare might have rebolted the window upon entering the
room. That would of course mean either your father or myself. To the
second, that whoever committed the crime feared to enter the hall by the
window after the house had been aroused. To the third, there is positive
evidence of the presence of someone having been upon the roof, at Mr.
Ashton's window."
"What evidence?" She seemed greatly alarmed; her clenched hands and
rapid breathing indicated some intense inward emotion.
"The faint print of a hand--in blood, upon the window sill. With these
things to face, Miss Temple, you will, I'm sure, see the advisability
of explaining fully your departure from the house, and your return, in
order that the investigations of the police may be turned in other
directions, where the guilt lies, instead of in yours, where, I am sure,
it does not." I fully expected, after telling her this, that she would
insist upon returning to the house at once and clearing herself fully,
but what was my amazement as I observed her pallor, her agitation, the
nervous clenching of her hands, increase momentarily as I laid the
Sergeant's theory before her! She seemed suddenly stricken with terror.
"I can say nothing, nothing whatever," she answered, pathetically, her
face a picture of anguish.
I felt alarmed, and indeed greatly disappointed at her manner. Limiting
the crime to three persons, one of whom must have been upon the porch
roof a little before daybreak, I saw at once that suspicion must
inevitably fall upon either Miss Temple or her father. In the first
instance--McQuade's theory that Miss Temple herself committed the
gruesome deed seemed borne out by all the circumstances, but, if not,
there could be but one plausible explanation of her unwillingness to
speak: she must have seen the murderer upon the roof, and for that
reason rushed back into the house. In this event, however, she would
certainly have no desire to shield anyone but her father--and he, in
turn might have re-entered the hallway through the window before I had
thrown on my clothes and left my room after hearing the cry. He, also,
to cover up his crime, had he indeed committed it, might have rebolted
the window from within while I was examining the body of the murdered
man, as McQuade had suggested. I remembered now that Major Temple had
excluded everyone from the room but ourselves, and shut the door as soon
as the murder was discovered. To suppose that Miss Temple was the
guilty person was to me out of the question. Had she committed the
crime, her father would necessarily have been an accomplice, otherwise
he would not have bolted the window, and this seemed unbelievable to me.
Yet there was the print of the bloody hand, upon the window sill--small,
delicately formed, certainly not that of her father. My brain whirled. I
could apparently arrive at nothing tangible, nothing logical. There yet
remained the one possibility--the Chinaman, Li Min. His hands, small and
delicate, might possibly have made the telltale print upon the window
sill, but, in that event, why should Miss Temple hesitate to tell of it,
had she seen him. The only possible solution filled me with horror. I
could not for a moment believe it, yet it insisted upon forcing itself
upon my mind: that Miss Temple and Li Min were acting together; that her
father, too, was in the plot, as he must have been if he rebolted the
window. The thing was clearly impossible, yet if not explained in this
way, the Chinaman was clearly innocent, for I believed without question
that, had he entered the room and committed the murder, he could in no
possible way have bolted the window himself, from without, after leaving
it. I walked along in silence, my mind confused, uncertain what to
believe and what not, yet, as I looked at the strong, beautiful face of
the girl beside me, I could not think that, whatever she might be led
to do for the sake of someone else, she could ever have committed such a
crime herself. I also remembered suddenly Major Temple's angry remark,
made to Robert Ashton as they stood in the hall after dinner the night
before, that he would never allow Ashton to leave the house with the
emerald in his possession. Was she shielding her father? Was it he,
then, that she had seen upon the roof? We walked along for a time in
silence, then, through some subtle intuition dropping the subject of the
tragedy completely, we fell to talking of my work, my life in London,
and so began to feel more at ease with each other. By the time we had
returned to the house, it was close to the luncheon hour, and as I went
to my room, I met Sergeant McQuade, in the hall. From him I learned that
the divisional surgeon had completed his examination and returned to the
town, that the body had been removed to a large unused billiard-room on
the ground floor, and that the inquest was set for the following morning
at eleven. The detective also said, in response to a question from me,
that the two Chinamen who had left Exeter on the morning train had been
apprehended in London, upon their arrival, and were being held there
pending his coming. He proposed to run up to town the next day, as soon
as the inquest was over. A careful and detailed search of Mr. Ashton's
room and belongings had failed to reveal either any further evidence
tending to throw light upon the murder, or any traces of the missing
emerald Buddha.
After luncheon, Sergeant McQuade asked Major Temple to meet him in the
library, accompanied by Li Min, and at the Major's request I joined
them. The Chinaman was stolidly indifferent and perfectly collected and
calm. His wooden face, round and expressionless, betrayed no feeling or
emotion of any nature whatsoever. I observed, as did the detective, that
his right hand was bound up with a strip of white cloth. He spoke
English brokenly, but seemed to understand quite well all that was said
to him.
"Li Min," said Major Temple, addressing the man, "this gentleman wishes
to ask you some questions." He indicated Sergeant McQuade.
"All light." The Chinaman faced McQuade with a look of bland inquiry.
"Where did you spend last night?" asked the detective suddenly.
"Me spend him with blother at Exeter."
"Where, in Exeter?"
"Flog Stleet."
"What time did you leave this house?"
"P'laps 'leven o'clock, sometime."
"Was it raining?"
"Yes, velly much lain."
"You did not go to bed, then?"
"No, no go to bed, go Exeter."
The Sergeant looked at him sternly. "Your bed was not made this morning.
You are lying to me."
"No, no lie. Bed not made flom day before. I make him myself."
The detective turned to Major Temple. "Is this fellow telling the
truth?" he asked. "Does he make his own bed?"
"Yes," replied the Major. "The other servants refused to have anything
to do with him. They are afraid to enter his room. He cares for it
himself."
"What did you do in Exeter?" asked McQuade.
"P'laps talkee some, smokee some, eatee some--play fantan--bimby sleep."
"What's the matter with your hand?" asked the detective suddenly.
"Me cuttee hand, bloken bottle--Exeter."
"What kind of a bottle?"
"Whiskey bottle," answered Li Min, with a childlike smile.
McQuade turned away with a gesture of impatience. "There's no use
questioning this fellow any further," he growled. "He knows a great deal
more about this affair than he lets on, but there's no way to get it out
of him, short of the rack and thumb-screw. Do any of the other servants
sleep near him? Perhaps they may know whether or not he left the house
last night. Who attends to locking the house up?"
"I have always trusted Li Min," said Major Temple. "He sleeps in a small
room on the third floor of the east wing, which has a back stairway to
the ground floor. The other house servants sleep on the second floor of
the rear extension, over the kitchen and pantries. My daughter generally
sees to the locking up of the house."
"Did she do so last night?"
"No. I did so myself. I locked the rear entrance before I retired
shortly before midnight."
"After Mr. Ashton had left you to retire?"
"Immediately after."
"Then, if Li Min had left the house by that time, you would not have
known it?"
"No, I should not. I heard no sounds in the servants' quarters and
presumed they had retired. I sat up with Mr. Ashton, discussing various
matters until quite late--perhaps for two hours or more after dinner."
"You were alone?"
"Yes, both my daughter and Mr. Morgan had retired some time before."
"Did you have any quarrel with Mr. Ashton before he left you?"
Major Temple glanced at me with a slight frown. "We had some words," he
said, hesitating slightly, "but they were not of any serious
consequence. We had a slight disagreement about the price he was to be
paid for his services in procuring for me the emerald in addition to the
other arrangement, of which I have already told you."
"And the matter was not settled before he left you?"
"No--" the Major hesitated perceptibly and seemed to be choosing his
words with the utmost care--"it was not--but we agreed to leave it until
the morning."
"You were displeased with Mr. Ashton, were you not? You quarreled
violently?"
"I--we did not agree," stammered the Major.
"Did Mr. Ashton threaten to take the stone elsewhere, in case you would
not agree to pay his price?"
"He mentioned something of the sort, I believe," said the Major.
"To which you objected strongly?"
"I protested, most certainly. I regarded the stone as my property. He
acted as my agent only."
McQuade remained silent for some moments, then turned to Major Temple.
"Major Temple," he said, "I am obliged to go into the town for the
remainder of the afternoon, but I shall be back here this evening. I
shall leave one of my men on the premises. When I return, I should like
very much to have you tell me the complete history of this jewel, this
emerald Buddha, which has evidently been the cause of all this trouble.
No doubt Mr. Ashton told you the story of his efforts to obtain it,
while in China, and of the way in which he succeeded. Possibly, when we
have a better understanding of what this jewel may mean to the real
owners of it, we may the better understand how far they would go in
their efforts to recover it."
"I shall be very happy indeed to do so," said Major Temple. "It is a
most interesting and remarkable story, I can assure you."
After McQuade had gone, I strolled about the grounds for the larger part
of the afternoon, trying to get my mind off the gloomy events which had
filled it all the morning to the exclusion of everything else. I said to
Major Temple before I left him that I regretted the necessity of
remaining as an uninvited guest at his house pending the inquest, and
suggested that I might remove myself and my belongings to Exeter, but he
would not hear of it. I strolled into the town, however, later in the
afternoon, after trying vainly to make some sketches, and dispatched a
telegram to my mother, in Torquay, advising her that I would be delayed
in joining her. On my way back I took a short cut over the fields, and
found myself approaching The Oaks from the rear, through a bit of
woodland, which through neglect had become filled with underbrush. The
sun had already set, or else the gloom of the autumn afternoon obscured
its later rays, for the wood was shadowy and dark, and as I emerged from
it, near a line of hedge which separated it from the kitchen gardens of
The Oaks, I observed two figures standing near a gateway in the hedge,
talking together earnestly. I came upon them suddenly, and, as I did so,
they separated and one of them disappeared swiftly into the shadows of
the wood while the other advanced rapidly toward the house. I quickened
my steps, and, as the figure ahead of me reached the higher ground in
the rear of the house, I saw that it was Li Min. He appeared unconscious
of my presence and vanished rapidly into the house. The circumstance
filled me with vague suspicions, though I could not tell just why.
Instinctively, as I approached the house, I turned toward the west wing,
and, as I reached the rear corner of the building, I stepped back on the
grass, beyond the gravel walk, to obtain a view of the windows above. As
I moved backward over the turf, until I could reach a point where I
could see over the edge of the porch roof, I suddenly tripped over an
object in the grass and nearly fell. As I recovered myself, I looked to
see what it was, and picked up a short, thick iron poker with a heavy
octagonal brass knob at one end of it. As I held it in my hand, I
realized at once that with such a weapon as this the strange wound in
Ashton's head could readily have been made. I examined the pointed
prismatic knob carefully, but, beyond being somewhat stained from lying
in the wet grass, it showed no other marks of the gruesome use to which
I instinctively felt it had been put. Wrapping it carefully in my
handkerchief, I carried it to my room, and took the precaution to lock
it safely in one of the drawers of the dresser, pending an opportunity
to show it privately to Sergeant McQuade upon his return from Exeter.