MISS TEMPLE'S DISAPPEARANCE
We arrived at Exeter at some time after eight in the evening, and it was
close to nine before we made our appearance at The Oaks. Inspector Burns
and his companion had left me to myself on the trip down, and I occupied
my time with smoking and turning over in my mind the curious events of
the past forty-eight hours. I had no serious apprehension of any trouble
coming out of the matter to either Miss Temple or myself. I knew that
the Inspector's theory was a tissue of errors, although the facts, as he
stated them, did seem to fit in with his conclusions to an almost
uncanny extent. It was true I had agreed to stand by Miss Temple and
help her in her trouble. Our conversation on the night of the murder
had, I presumed, been overheard by one of the servants, from whom it had
been wormed by McQuade's men during my absence. I began to believe that
his willingness to have me accompany him to London was not entirely
disinterested. But the thought that Muriel Temple could have delivered
the blow that sent Robert Ashton to his death was preposterous. I knew
that I was prejudiced in her favor, for her lovely face had scarce been
out of my thoughts for a moment, since our first meeting. I knew that I
had come to love her, that nothing could ever change it, and I realized
that but two real bits of evidence connected her with Ashton's
death--one, the presence of her handkerchief in the room and the curious
use to which it had been put; the other, her early morning expedition
from the house and her sudden return. The former she had explained, at
least to my satisfaction, but the latter was still a mystery. If she
would but explain that, I felt sure that Inspector Burns' theory would
fall to the ground like a house of cards. Why she refused to do so, I
could not imagine--that she had some strong compelling reason, I felt
sure. She had told me that she went out that morning, with the intention
of going away and thus escaping the inevitable promise, which she knew
her father would insist upon her ratifying, to Ashton. She got only as
far as the end of the west wing, and hastily returned. Why?--that was
the question. Did she see anyone on the roof--and, if so, whom? Someone
she felt she must shield at any cost--there could be but one--her
father. Had she then seen him there? Did she think for a moment that he
had anything to do with Mr. Ashton's death? I could not believe that
even for her father's sake she would allow an innocent person to be
accused.
We drove up to Major Temple's door at about nine o'clock. It was quite
dark, and very cold. The house showed few lights, and it was some time
before we were admitted by Gibson, the man who, with myself, had broken
in Mr. Ashton's door. He ushered us into the library, where Major Temple
sat smoking. I could see that he was suffering deeply. The affair of Mr.
Ashton's death had told upon him, and he seemed nervous and constrained.
He greeted us pleasantly enough, however, shook hands with the
Inspector, and requested us to be seated. Sergeant McQuade, however,
announced that we had come on business of importance, and that Inspector
Burns desired to ask Miss Temple a few questions. Before doing so,
however, he requested the Major to conduct us to the scene of the
murder, which Inspector Burns had, of course, not had an opportunity, as
yet, to examine. The Major rose. "My daughter has retired, I fancy," he
said. "I have not seen her since dinner, but I will send her word." He
summoned one of the maids and requested her to inform Miss Temple of
our wishes, and then led the way to the green room. We were quite a
party. The Major led the way with Inspector Burns, and I followed with
McQuade, Major Temple's powerful mastiff, Boris, bringing up the rear.
We first entered the room which I had occupied, McQuade using the key
which he had obtained from the officer who had discovered the supposed
weapon in my dresser drawer. The drawer was soon unlocked, and there lay
the wretched poker wrapped in my handkerchief, just as I had left it.
Inspector Burns took it up, examined it carefully then brandished it as
though in the act of delivering a heavy blow. "Hardly heavy enough, I
should think, to fracture a man's skull," he muttered, as he replaced it
in the drawer. "It is evidently the upper half of a long poker which has
been broken off." He turned to Major Temple. "What do you know about
this thing?" he inquired.
The Major looked puzzled. He had not seen the weapon before. I imagine
the police had guarded its discovery carefully, and I wondered how Miss
Temple came to know of it, in order to notify me.
"It is, as you say, half of an old poker," he replied. "It was used
originally in the lower hall, and the lower end was burnt through, owing
to its having been carelessly left in the fire one night. I gave it to
the gardener. He wanted it to use as a stake in laying out his flower
beds, and running the edges of the paths and roads while trimming the
turf. He had a long cord, and a wooden stake for the other end. It has
been roughly ground to a point, as you see, so that it might be readily
thrust into the earth. The last time I saw it, he was using it upon the
pathways about the house."
"Then it was not in the green room?" asked the Inspector in an
aggrieved tone. He saw that his theory would already require some
readjustments.
"Never, to my knowledge," said Major Temple. "There is no fireplace in
that room, and it would have been of no use there."
The Inspector closed the drawer with a slam. "Then, if this was the
weapon the murderer used," he said, rather lamely, "he must have taken
it along with him. Let us have a look at the room."
We all adjourned to the green room, which the detective unlocked, and
the Inspector went over the ground, as McQuade and I had done before
him, without discovering anything new. The dark-brown spot upon the
green carpet, which marked the place where the murdered man's head had
rested, was still plainly visible, a grewsome reminder of the terrible
tragedy which had been enacted there, but all else seemed ordinary and
commonplace enough. The dog seemed strangely oppressed by the
surroundings and, after sniffing about nervously with a low whine,
crawled under the bed and lay quiet. We spent but a few minutes in the
room and were just on the point of leaving, when the maid rushed in and,
calling Major Temple aside, addressed a few low words to him, apparently
in great agitation, at the same time handing him a sealed envelope. The
Major took it from her, passed his hand nervously over his forehead, and
turned to us. "Gentlemen," he said, in a frightened sort of a voice,
"Miss Temple cannot be found."
We all turned toward him in intense surprise. "What does this mean?"
asked the Inspector. "Where is she?"
"She has disappeared," replied the Major, as we hurriedly left the room,
McQuade locking the door carefully after him. "Her maid tells me that
she has searched everywhere for her, and she cannot be found. This
note, addressed to me, was lying upon her writing desk."
"Read it," commanded the Inspector, as we all hastily adjourned to the
library.
Major Temple opened the letter with trembling fingers. My own agitation
at this new development was equally great.
He glanced hurriedly through its contents, his face ashen, his lips
blue, then read aloud as follows:
"_My Dear Father:_
"I am going to London to see Mr. Morgan. They suspect him of the
murder. I overheard the police talking about it this morning. I do
not know what to do. I cannot let an innocent person suffer. It may
be better for me to remain away altogether. If I must speak I can
only ask for forgiveness.
"MURIEL."
If the earth had opened up and engulfed me, I could not have been more
astounded than I was when Major Temple finished reading this strange
letter. What on earth had she gone to London to see me for? The poor
girl, I felt sure, was laboring under some terrible misapprehension. I,
for one, had no fear of anything she could say. I glanced at her father.
He seemed shrunken and old, his head bowed upon his breast. Could he--?
I refused to think. Yet he either feared for himself, or--God help
me!--for her. No other emotion, no consideration for anyone else, could
have so terribly affected him. The note plainly enough meant that Miss
Temple knew who had murdered Mr. Ashton, and she knew that it was not I.
But would the police so regard it? I looked at the cold, accusing faces
of the two Scotland Yard men and groaned inwardly. In a moment the
Inspector spoke. "Have you a telephone in the house, Major Temple?" he
asked.
"Yes," answered the Major, rousing himself from his lethargy. "In the
hall, near the foot of the staircase."
The Inspector nodded to McQuade, who arose without a word and left the
room. I knew that Muriel had not yet had time to reach London, that,
when she did so, it would be to step into the arms of an officer. The
net was fast closing about someone, but about whom I could not yet see.
I was lost in a maze of conflicting thoughts.
"Mr. Morgan, have you anything to say in explanation of this letter?" I
heard Major Temple asking me. His voice came to me as from afar off. I
looked up and shook off my growing fears.
"Miss Temple writes as though she believed you would understand what she
means," I replied. "I certainly do not."
"I!" cried the Major. "It's absolute nonsense to me. Why should she want
to see you, unless you understood something between you? What does she
know, that she should speak, and for what does she seek for
forgiveness?" He threw up his hands in absolute dismay. If this were
acting, I thought, it could not be better done by the most renowned
actor on the boards.
"You remember, Major Temple, that your daughter refused to tell what it
was she saw, or what happened, that caused her to return to the house so
suddenly that morning. I advised her to speak--she refused. Had she come
to me to-night, I should have given her the same advice as before.
Nothing that she can say would harm me."
"Nor me," retorted Major Temple.
"Then whom, in Heaven's name?" I cried, speaking my thoughts aloud.
"You have heard my theory of the murder, Mr. Morgan," said the
Inspector, coldly. "Why not herself? The note is plain enough. She will
speak--she will confess and accuse herself before she will allow you to
bear the penalty of her crime."
"Her crime!" Major Temple was on his feet in an instant, his eyes
blazing. "Your words are ill chosen, sir." Poor man, he did not know of
the damning circumstances which the Inspector had so cleverly woven into
his accusing theory.
"Not at all, Major Temple," replied the imperturbable Inspector.
"Sergeant McQuade is at present ordering the arrest of your daughter.
She will be apprehended as soon as she arrives in London, and we will
hear her story at the Magistrate's hearing to-morrow."
"But," I cried, in consternation, "this is ridiculous. Don't you see
that--?"
"Mr. Morgan, the time has come for the truth. It is my painful duty to
place you under arrest."
"On what charge?" I demanded hotly.
"For complicity in Robert Ashton's murder," he replied, and placed his
hand upon my shoulder.
I spent a dreary enough night, nor was I able to close my eyes in sleep.
I sat up in the library through the long hours, sometimes talking with
McQuade, who dozed upon a couch, but for the most part engaged in
interminably revolving in my mind the maddening problem of Robert
Ashton's death. I had begun to regard it as almost supernatural in its
mysterious and devious phases. I thought of all the detective stories I
had ever read and tried to piece out some points of resemblance, some
similar events, which would serve as a starting point for a solution,
but I could find none. In all these cases, the various clews led
somewhere, but here they led to nothingness. There remained but Miss
Temple's story, and that, like all the rest, I feared would fail to
prove a solution of the mystery. That she herself was guilty and that
her story would be in the nature of a confession, I refused to consider.
I loved her and I could no more believe her guilty than I could have
believed myself so; yet I could not help remembering the advice of the
witty Frenchman: _cherchez la femme_--seek the woman. The thing seemed
monstrous, yet it persisted all through the long night.
I must have dozed, toward morning, for I dreamed that I was alone upon a
wide field of ice, running madly forward toward a dim light that
constantly receded as I approached it, and followed by a pack of hungry
wolves. Their yelps and cries filled me with dread. I awoke trembling,
and listened. Far off I heard the mournful howling of a dog, a series of
low, unearthly howls, that would die slowly away only to be once more
repeated. It seemed like the moaning of an animal in great pain.
Presently, as I listened, there came a great yelp, and thereafter
silence. After this I slept. About seven o'clock coffee was brought to
us, and a little later we set out for the town.
We walked in, and did the short distance in less than twenty minutes. On
arrival, we went at once to the headquarters of the police, where I
made my first acquaintance with the interior of a cell. McQuade informed
me that I would be taken before the Magistrate for a hearing at ten
o'clock, and suggested that I had better employ counsel, but this I
refused to do. I had made up my mind to tell the whole story as simply
and exactly as I could and trust to the plain, unvarnished truth to see
me out of my difficulties. I asked the detective upon our arrival if he
had received any word regarding Miss Temple, and he told me that she
would arrive during the forenoon. Major Temple and the servants were to
come into the town a little later, in time for the hearing, at which
they would be wanted as witnesses. I secured a morning paper and
resigned myself to a tedious wait of somewhat over two hours. I was
strangely calm and self-possessed. The ordeal through which I was about
to pass seemed to give me but slight concern. But for Miss Temple I
feared greatly.