MAJOR TEMPLE'S STORY
We sat in the dimly lighted library after dinner, having been joined by
Sergeant McQuade who returned from Exeter about nine. I had not seen
Miss Temple alone, since dinner, as she had retired to her room as soon
as our silent meal was over. The Major, after furnishing us with some
excellent cigars, and some specially fine liqueur brandy, settled
himself in his easy chair and proceeded to tell us of his experiences,
and those of Robert Ashton, in the pursuit of the emerald Buddha. He
seemed anxious to do this, to show to the detective the probability of
the murder of Ashton having occurred in an attempt upon the part of some
Chinese secret or religious society to recover the jewel. He showed no
feeling of animosity toward the man from Scotland Yard whether he felt
it or not, and had either concluded that the latter's sharp questioning
of his daughter was justified by the curious and inexplicable
circumstances which surrounded the tragedy, or else was desirous of
covering up his own knowledge of the matter by assuming a manner at once
frank and ingenuous.
"I spent almost all of last year," said the Major, "in traveling through
the interior of China. I was for a long time stationed in India, and
although I was placed upon the retired list nearly ten years ago, the
spirit of the East has called me, its fascination has drawn me toward
the rising sun, ever since. I had traveled extensively in India, Siam,
Persia and even Japan, and was familiar with most of the Chinese cities
upon and near the coast, but the interior was to me until last year
almost a sealed book. My daughter and I arrived at Pekin early last
spring, and, after spending nearly a month in that city, we began an
extensive trip toward the West. I had made somewhat of a study of
Chinese, while in India, having always been attracted by the art and
history of that remarkable country, and during our stay in Pekin, and
later, while traveling inland, I managed to pick up enough of the local
dialects to make myself understood. We traveled on horseback, and had a
considerable retinue of native servants which we took along with us from
Pekin. The expedition was safe enough, barring the usual attempts of
sneak thieves upon our stores, and while to persons not accustomed to
traveling in such countries the journey would no doubt have been full of
hardships, to us, familiar with such work, it was fairly comfortable. We
paid good prices for what we bought en route, had no religious views to
promulgate, and, by minding our own business strictly, we had no trouble
with the natives of any serious moment. I had managed to pick up a few
samples of old porcelain and one or two excellent ivories of great age
and beauty, but, beyond these, the trip had not yielded much in the way
of curios for my collection, when in June we reached the city of Ping
Yang. We found this place peculiarly interesting to us, with a
population noticeably different from the inhabitants of the seaport
towns, and we remained there perhaps a month. I spent a good deal of
time wandering about the town, looking at such examples of old bronzes,
embroideries, curious bits of jewelry, etc., as I could find in the
shops and bazaars, and I frequently had occasion to pass a small temple,
maintained by the Buddhists in one of the lower quarters of the town.
Not over half of the Chinese are Buddhists, as perhaps you may know, the
number of devotees of that religion being considerably greater in the
western and northwestern part of the empire, toward Thibet, from which
country the religion originally passed into China. This temple, of
which I speak, was a small one, but was notable because of the fact that
a portion of the bone of the little finger of Buddha was preserved, or
said to be preserved, among the relics of the shrine. I had frequently
observed the priest, who had charge of the temple, sitting sunning
himself outside its doorway as I passed, and on several occasions I had
dropped some coins into his hand with a salutation which would be
equivalent to our English good luck. One day when I was passing, I
remarked to one of my servants who was with me and who understood
English fairly well, that I was curious to see the interior of the
shrine, and he, after a conversation with the temple priest, informed me
that, if I wished it, there would be no objection to my doing so. I
thereupon entered and found myself in a gloomy chamber dimly illuminated
by several oil lamps hanging from the low ceiling. Around the walls of
the room hung some wonderful embroideries, which represented, so the
priest informed me, incidents in the life of Buddha. There were no
seats, of course, and the floor was of hard-packed clay. At the center
of the rear end of the room was a high wooden screen, elaborately
carved, and lacquered in dull red and gold. Through an opening in this
screen I perceived a large bronze figure of the Buddha, before which was
arranged, upon the low altar, a profusion of flowers and food, offerings
of the faithful to the deity. There were a number of small candles
burning before the bronze figure, and behind and beyond it I saw a small
room which evidently served as the living or sleeping chamber of the
temple priest. After he had shown me everything in the room with much
pride--he seemed a simple and earnest old fellow--I made ready to depart
and, before doing so, drew from my pocket a handful of the brass coins,
called cash, with which you are no doubt familiar, and thrust them into
the old fellow's outstretched hands. He seemed deeply grateful and said
a few words in his native tongue to my servant, who turned to me with
the information that the priest was about to accord me an especial honor
by showing me the sacred relic of the Buddha. He approached the altar,
and, taking a key from his girdle, opened a small gold box covered with
wonderful repousse work, which stood directly in front of the sitting
figure of the god, and rested between his knees. Upon opening this box,
he drew forth a small ivory shrine, also elaborately carved, which he
set upon the top of the first box, and arranged so that the light from
the candles fell upon it. He then opened the ivory box with a small gold
key, and I looked in. The relic of the Buddha, a small and insignificant
looking piece of dirty brown bone, I paid slight attention to, for in
that box, glistening and glowing with the most wonderful color in the
light of the candles, stood the emerald Buddha. The relic lay upon a
piece of white silk, at the bottom of the box. There was a shelf in the
box, of ivory, half-way up its height, and upon this shelf, occupying
the upper half of the ivory casket, stood the emerald, its brilliant
color and marvelous workmanship rendered the more noticeable by the
white background of the ivory. I inquired as to its history, through my
servant, and was informed that it had been brought to Ping Yang many
centuries before, by the priest who brought the relic from Thibet and
founded the temple. He told me that it was an emerald, but neither the
fact of its enormous size and value as a jewel nor its priceless beauty
as an example of the most exquisite workmanship in the carving and
cutting of gems that I had ever seen seemed to appeal to him. To him its
value was solely of a religious nature: it was a statue of the great
teacher, carved by some devoted worshiper or patient monk centuries
before, and had always been venerated, next to the relic, as the most
precious of all the temple's possessions. I told my servant to ask the
priest if they would sell it, but he seemed disinclined to make the
request until I repeated my injunction rather sharply. When the message
had been translated to the old man, he scowled darkly, his face lighting
up with a look of sullen anger, and, hastily locking his treasures in
their double box, he turned without making any reply and began to usher
us from the room. I repeated the request, this time using my own store
of Chinese, and drew forth a large roll of gold, but the priest waved me
aside with an angry word, which sounded like a curse, and pointed to the
door. There was nothing left but to go, and I did so, though with the
bitterest regret at leaving what I considered the most remarkable and
unique of all the curios which I have ever seen in the whole course of
my life and the one which I would have given most to possess. In the
course of the next week I haunted the neighborhood of the temple, and
several times, finding the old priest sitting beside the door, attempted
to repeat my offer, but he invariably drew back with a look of intense
hatred, and refused to listen to me. Upon my fourth or fifth attempt I
found him in company with several other Chinamen, evidently members of
his sect, who regarded me with dark looks and muttered imprecations, and
the next time I appeared in the street I found myself surrounded by
quite a mob of excited Chinamen who assailed me with fierce curses and
cries, and even made as though to offer me personal violence. After this
I felt that it would be unsafe for me to venture into that quarter of
the town again, and a few days later, finding that even in other
sections of the city I was regarded with evident suspicion and dislike,
I decided to leave the place and return to Pekin. We left Pekin early
in August, and, after stopping at several of the seaport cities,
arrived early in October in Hong Kong where we made a stay of several
weeks. It was here that I met Robert Ashton who, like myself, was
traveling in China for the purpose of collecting rare examples of
Chinese art, and who, I soon found, possessed an extraordinary knowledge
of the subject. This knowledge, which is not common among us in the
West, formed a bond of sympathy between us, especially in that country
so remote from home, where the sight of an English face and the sound of
one's native language are always so welcome. During our stay there we
saw a great deal of Mr. Ashton, and he soon became very attentive to my
daughter. She, like myself, has always felt a deep interest in Eastern
art, and seemed rather to welcome Mr. Ashton's attentions, and I was
gratified to think that in him I might find a son-in-law who would
appreciate the collection, which has been my life work. I told him the
story of my experiences in Ping Yang, in which he seemed deeply
interested. He informed me that, although he had been in the city, he
had never heard of the emerald Buddha. He intended going on to Pekin
later in the autumn, and proposed to me that he should attempt to secure
the jewel for me. I told him that I regarded its purchase as impossible,
but he only laughed and said that he felt sure he could secure it. I
made light of his claims, and, when he said in all seriousness one night
that he would obtain it for me provided I would consent to his marriage
to my daughter, I agreed at once, both because I felt his quest was an
absolutely hopeless one and because I saw no objections to him as a
son-in-law in any event. I did not mention my agreement to my daughter
at the time, not wishing it to appear to her that I was bartering her in
return for a mere jewel. In fact I felt so certain that she would
welcome Mr. Ashton's advances that I preferred that she should remain
in ignorance of my compact with him. A few days later he departed for
Pekin, and we returned home by way of India and Suez. On account of both
my daughter's health and my own, we decided to take a house on the
southwest coast for a time, my house in London being under lease for a
term of years, expiring this coming spring. Upon my return I questioned
my daughter with relation to Mr. Ashton, and was amazed and horrified to
learn that, far from regarding him with sentiments of esteem, she bore
toward him a feeling almost of aversion. I explained to her the promise
that I had made which it was now too late for me to recall, and at my
earnest request and almost at my command she wrote to Mr. Ashton,
agreeing to abide by my wishes in the matter. That was six or eight
months ago, and I heard nothing from him until two days ago when he
telegraphed me from Southampton that he had arrived in England and
would come to see me at once.
"His story, as he related it to me at dinner last night, was like an
adventure from the Arabian Nights. After completing his business in
Pekin, he had set out upon his long journey to Ping Yang with only a
single native servant, a Chinaman from the south, a Confucian, who was
devoted to him, and owed him a debt of gratitude for saving his life on
one occasion. Accompanied only by this man, he penetrated slowly to
within about fifteen miles of the city of Ping Yang, and there, in a
small village, he lived for over a month, in an inconspicuous way. He
spoke Chinese well, and, with the assistance of his servant, got hold of
a dress such as is worn by the Buddhist pilgrim monks in China, who,
casting aside the things of this World, spend their life in wandering
about from shrine to shrine, living on the alms of the faithful and
preaching the doctrines of their religion as they go. In this dress,
with shaven head and staff in hand, he had arrived, alone, in Ping Yang
one evening at dusk and at once proceeded to the temple, the location of
which I had carefully described to him. Arriving at the door, with an
offering of flowers, he entered, and, prostrating himself before the
shrine, seemed lost in prayer. There were a number of other worshipers
in the temple at the time, and still others came and went as the evening
wore on, but Ashton continued in his place, muttering his prayers and
pretending to be in great agony of spirit. Presently the hour grew late
and one by one the worshipers departed, until only Ashton and the old
temple priest were left. The latter, in some impatience, came up to him,
and informed him that the hour was late and that he had better continue
his devotions upon the morrow. Ashton pretended to be suffering from
some sudden illness, and lay upon the floor moaning pitifully. As the
old monk bent over him to see whether he could hear his muttered words
Ashton suddenly seized him by the throat, and with his powerful hands
choked him into silence. He then gagged him with a piece of cloth which
he had brought for the purpose, and, taking from his girdle the keys of
the small shrine, proceeded to quickly open it and abstract the coveted
emerald Buddha. Escape was easy. The old priest, unable to utter a sound
would be unable to give the alarm until the next morning, and by that
time Ashton, who had left his servant with their horses at a retired
spot outside the town, would be miles away, journeying peaceably toward
Pekin as an English traveler. His escape, however, was not to be so
easily effected. Whether the old priest penetrated his disguise as he
sprang upon him, or whether the uproar into which the town was thrown
reached the house at which the disguise had been assumed, he of course
never knew, but it is certain that, after progressing toward Pekin for
two days, they became aware that they were being followed by a numerous
party of Chinese upon horseback, armed with pikes, bows and arrows, and
some muskets. They got wind of the pursuing party before they themselves
were seen, and, swerving from the main road, abandoned their horses in a
lonely bit of wood, and while Ashton hid in the underbrush, his servant,
after waiting until their pursuers had passed, went out and procured at
a near-by village a set of Chinese clothing similar to his own, which
Ashton donned after burying his own belongings in a swampy pond in the
wood. From here on his adventures were exciting and varied, but as they
progressed in a southeasterly direction they got beyond the zone which
had been affected by the robbery of the temple, and at last succeeded in
reaching the coast. From here they went north to Pekin, where the
pseudo-Chinamen disappeared one night into the house where Ashton
maintained his headquarters while in Pekin, and the next morning Ashton
appeared in European clothing, and began making arrangements to leave
for his long trip to England. The rest of the story you know. He arrived
here last night, and this morning he was found murdered and the emerald
Buddha has disappeared. God knows what influences have been at work in
his taking off. As for me, I know no more about it than you do."
As Major Temple concluded his story, he gazed at Sergeant McQuade and
myself in turn, then passed his hand nervously over his forehead, as
though the strain of the tragedy had begun to tell upon him severely.
McQuade rose, and I did likewise, and, bidding the Major good-night we
left the room, leaving him sitting dejectedly enough, I thought, in his
easy chair, patting the head of his great mastiff, Boris. It was past
midnight when I left McQuade at the foot of the staircase, and, in
spite of all the excitement of the day, I found myself so worn out that
I was asleep almost as soon as I had placed my head upon the pillow.