The Green God

  CHAPTER III

  A QUEER DISCOVERY

  We found Gibson guarding the door where we had left him. Miss Temple wasnowhere to be seen. Major Temple took the key from his pocket, and,throwing open the room, allowed McQuade and myself to enter, hefollowing us and closing the door behind him.

  "Where did you get the key?" asked the detective as Major Temple joinedus.

  "It was in the door--on the inside."

  "Had the door been locked?"

  "No. It was bolted."

  "And you broke it open when you entered?"

  "Yes. Mr. Morgan and my man, Gibson, forced it together."

  McQuade stepped to the door and examined the bolt carefully. The socketinto which the bolt shot was an old-fashioned brass affair and had beenfastened with two heavy screws to the door jamb. These screws had beentorn from the wood by the united weight of Gibson and myself when webroke open the door. The socket, somewhat bent, with the screws still inplace, was lying upon the floor some distance away. McQuade picked it upand examined it carefully, then threw it aside. He next proceeded tomake a careful and minute examination of the bolt, but I judged from hisexpression that he discovered nothing of importance, for he turnedimpatiently from the door and, crossing the room, bent over the dead manand looked long and searchingly at the curious wound in his head. Hethen examined the fastenings of the windows minutely, and, raising oneof the large windows in the south wall, looked out. Evidently nothingattracted his attention outside. He turned from the window, afterclosing it again, and started toward us, then stooped suddenly andpicked up a small white object which lay near one of the legs of a tablestanding near the window. It was in plain view, and I wondered that Ihad not seen it during my previous examination of the room. McQuadehanded the object, a small bit of lace, I thought, to Major Temple."What do you make of that?" he asked.

  Major Temple took the thing and spread it out, and I at once saw that itwas a woman's handkerchief. My surprise at this was overbalanced by thelook of horror which spread over the Major's face. He became deathlypale, and his hand shook violently as he looked at the bit of lacebefore him. I stepped to his side and saw, as did he, the initials,M. T., in one corner and noticed a strong and most peculiar odor ofperfume, some curious Oriental scent that rose from the handkerchief.McQuade gazed at us, curiously intent. "Do you recognize it?" heinquired.

  "Yes," said Major Temple, recovering himself with an effort. "It is mydaughter's."

  "How do you explain its presence here?" asked the detective.

  "I do not attempt to do so, any more than I can undertake to explain anyof the other strange events connected with this horrible affair," saidthe Major, pathetically. He seemed to me to have aged perceptibly sincethe evening before; he looked broken, old.

  McQuade took the handkerchief and placed it carefully in his pocket, andcontinued his examination of the room. As he did so, I stood aside, aprey to strange thoughts. I felt ready to swear that the handkerchiefhad not been upon the floor during my previous examination of the room,yet how could its presence there now be explained, with the door locked,the key in Major Temple's pocket, and Gibson on guard in the hall. Ithought of Muriel Temple, young, beautiful, innocent in every outwardappearance, yet remembered with a qualm of misgiving her flashing eyesand determined manner as she spoke of Robert Ashton, her aversion tohim, and her determination never to marry him under any circumstances. Ifelt that there was more beneath this strange tragedy than had yetappeared upon the surface, yet, believing thoroughly in the innocence ofMiss Temple of any part in the affair, I mentally resolved to do all inmy power to sift it to the bottom. I had no illusions as to any specialskill upon my part as an amateur detective, and I did not propose tocome forth equipped with magnifying glass and tape measure and solve theproblem in the usual half-hour which sufficed for the superhuman sleuthof fiction, but I felt that I did possess common sense and a reasonablyacute brain, and I believed that, with sufficient time and effort, Icould find out how and why Robert Ashton had come to his sudden andtragic end. My thoughts were interrupted by Sergeant McQuade, who,having brought his examination to a sudden close, announced to MajorTemple that the police and the divisional surgeon would arrive shortlyand that meanwhile he would have a look at the grounds beneath thewindows of the room. I decided to accompany him, but, before doing so, Isuggested to the Major that it might be well to show Sergeant McQuadethe scrap of paper, containing the single Chinese character, which wehad found upon the floor. Major Temple took it from his pocket andhanded it to the detective without a word. I could see that the latterwas puzzled. "What does it mean?" he inquired. "Do you know?" He turnedto Major Temple.

  "Only that it is a religious symbol used by the Buddhist priests inChina," said the latter. "It is found in their temples, and is supposedto ward off evil influences."

  "Is there any reason to suppose," inquired McQuade, "that its presencehere indicates that the room has been entered by Li Min or any of hiscountrymen, in an attempt to recover the emerald which I understand Mr.Ashton had with him? Might it not equally well have belonged to the deadman himself--a copy, perhaps, made by him of the character--a curiosityin other words, which he might have desired to preserve?"

  I followed his line of reasoning. I had told him nothing of therelations between Miss Temple and Ashton, but it was evident that thefinding of her handkerchief in the murdered man's room had started himoff on another tack.

  "None whatever," the Major responded. "Yet since the jewel hasdisappeared, its recovery was in my opinion beyond question the reasonfor the murder, and but four persons knew of the presence of the jewelin this house."

  "And they were--?" The detective paused.

  "My daughter, Mr. Morgan, Li Min, and myself."

  "How did Li Min come to know of it?"

  "He saw us examining it at dinner last night, while waiting on thetable."

  The detective pondered. "Was the stone of such value that its recoverywould have been sought at so great a cost?" He glanced gravely at thesilent figure upon the floor.

  "Intrinsically it was worth perhaps a hundred thousand pounds--as acurio, or as an object of religious veneration among the Buddhistpriests and their followers, it was priceless." Major Temple spoke withthe fervor and enthusiasm of the collector.

  Sergeant McQuade's eyes widened at this statement. "A hundred thousandpounds!" he exclaimed. "And you intended to buy it from Mr. Ashton?"

  The Major hesitated. "Yes," he stammered, "yes, I did."

  "At what price?" came the question, cold and incisive.

  "I--I--Mr. Ashton secured the jewel for me as my agent."

  "But surely you were to give him some commission, some reward for histrouble. What was that reward, Major Temple?"

  "I had promised him the hand of my daughter in marriage."

  "And was he satisfied with that settlement?" continued the detective,ruthlessly.

  "We had a slight disagreement. He--he wanted a cash payment inaddition."

  "Which you refused?"

  "The matter had not been settled."

  "And how did your daughter regard the bargain?" asked McQuade, coldly.

  Major Temple drew himself up stiffly. "I fail to see the purpose ofthese questions," he said with some heat. "My daughter was ready to meetmy wishes, Sergeant McQuade. Mr. Ashton was a gentleman and was muchattached to her. They met in China."

  The detective said no more, but ordered the door locked as we passedout, and put the key in his pocket. I asked his permission to accompanyhim in his explorations outside, to which he readily consented, and,with a parting injunction to Major Temple to see that Li Min was notallowed to leave the house, we passed out into the gardens by a rearentrance.

  The storm of the night before had completely passed away and the morningwas crisp and clear, with a suggestion of frost in the air. The wind,which had not yet died down, had done much to dry up the rain, but thegravel walks were still somewhat soft and muddy. The rain however hadstopped some time during the night, an
d as the tragedy had occurredlater, and not long before daybreak, there was every reason to believethat traces of anyone approaching the house beneath the windows of Mr.Ashton's room would be clearly visible. It was equally certain that anytraces of steps made before or during the rain must have been therebycompletely obliterated. The soft graveled path encircled the rear of thehouse and turned to the front at the end of each wing. We walked alongit and presently found ourselves beneath the two windows upon the southwall, which opened from the green room. There were no evidences ofanyone having walked upon the pathway since the rain, nor was itapparent that anyone could have gained access to the windows high abovewithout the aid of a ladder, which, had one been used, must inevitablyhave left its telltale marks behind. Sergeant McQuade looked down, thenup, grunted to himself and passed on. There was nothing of interesthere. At the end of the pathway we came to the termination of the wingand I saw the detective look about keenly. Here certainly theconditions were more favorable. A covered porch encircled the end ofthe building and extended along its front. There were three windows inthe west face of the wing, one in the room which I had occupied, one inthe end of the hallway and one in Mr. Ashton's room. The roof of theporch was directly beneath them. How easy, I thought at once, for anyoneinside the house to have reached the porch roof from the window at theend of the hall, and to have gained, in half a dozen steps, the windowof Mr. Ashton's room. I thought of the handkerchief, of the footsteps Ifancied I had heard during the night, and shuddered. Here again theSergeant first examined the graveled walk with elaborate care, but, asbefore, with no immediate results. Presently, however, he stepped towardthe front of the house. There, in the soft gravel, were the prints of awoman's feet, leading from the corner of the path to the front entrance.I bent down and examined them with curious eyes, then recoiled with acry of dismay. The footprints led in one direction only, and that wastoward the front door. In a flash I realized what theory McQuade wouldat once construct in his mind. The murderer, reaching the porch rooffrom the hallway, and obtaining access to the murdered man's roomthrough the window, upon escaping from the room to the roof, would beunable to again enter the house from the roof because of my presence inthe hall. What more natural than to descend from the porch to the groundby means of the heavy vines growing about the stone pillar supportingthe porch roof at the corner, and, after walking quickly along the patha few steps, reach and re-enter the house through the front door, andappear almost at once among the others who had gathered in the upperhall as soon as the tragedy was known? I remembered at once that MissTemple had appeared in a loose dressing gown. Would she, then, have hadtime to throw off her dress so quickly, wet and muddy as it must havebeen, and to change her shoes for slippers? Where were these shoes, Iwondered, if this train of reasoning was correct, and would theircondition prove that she had been out of the house during the night? Asthese thoughts crowded tumultuously through my brain, I saw McQuadeexamining the heavy mass of ivy which grew at the corner of the porchwith a puzzled expression. Following his glance, I realized that thetheory had at least a temporary setback. The vine was not broken or tornin any way as would inevitably have been the case had anyone used it asa means of descent from the roof. But I myself observed, though I feltsure that McQuade did not, a lightning rod which extended from the roofof the wing, down to the porch roof, across it, and thence to the groundabout midway along the west side of the porch, and, had anyone descendedin this way, he would have walked along the border between the side ofthe porch and the path until he arrived at the corner. Here, however, hewould have been obliged to step off the border and on to the gravel,owing to the heavy vine, mentioned above, growing at this point. Hisfootsteps upon the grass would of course have left no mark. I did notcall McQuade's attention to this at the time, but waited for his nextmove. It did not surprise me. He strode along the path at the front ofthe house to the steps leading to the large porch and porte-cochere atthe front of the main building, tracing the muddy footprints up to theporch and upon its floor until they were no longer perceptible. He thenentered the house and at once made for the upper hall in the west wing,I following him closely. His first move, as I expected, was to examineand open the window at the end of the hall, which, I was not surprisedto find, was unfastened. His second was to step out upon the roof. Nosooner had I joined him here than he crossed to the window of the greenroom and peered in. The interior of the room was clearly visible, butthe window was tightly bolted within, and resisted all his efforts toopen it. The Sergeant looked distinctly disappointed. He stepped to thecorner of the roof, made a further examination of the vines, came backto the window and again tried to open it, then, with a low whistle, hepointed to a mark upon the white window sill which had at first escapedboth his and my attention. It was the faint print of a hand--a bloodyhand--small and delicate in structure, yet, mysterious as seemed to beall the clues in this weird case, it pointed, not outward from the room,as though made by someone leaving it, but inward, as by a personstanding on the roof and resting his or her hand upon the window sillwhile attempting to open the window.

  "What do you make of that, Sir?" inquired the detective.

  "It looks as though it had been made by someone entering instead ofleaving the room," I replied. "It could not have been made by anyoneleaving the room. No one would get out of a window that way."

  "Except a woman," said McQuade dryly. "A man would swing his legs overthe sill and drop to the roof. It's barely three feet. But a woman wouldsit upon the sill, turn on her stomach, rest her hands on the sill withher fingers pointing toward the room, and slide gently down until herfeet touched the roof beneath." He smiled with a quiet look of triumph.

  "The whole thing is impossible," I retorted, with some heat. "There's nosense in talking about how anyone may or may not have got out of theroom, when the bolted window proves that no one got either in or out atall."

  "Perhaps you think that poor devil in there killed himself," said thedetective, grimly. "Somebody must have got in. There is only oneexplanation possible. The window was bolted after the murder."

  "By the murdered man, I suppose," I retorted ironically, nettled by hisprevious remark.

  "Not necessarily," he replied coldly, "but possibly by someone whodesired to shield the murderer." He looked at me squarely, but I wasable to meet his gaze without any misgivings. "I was the first personwho entered the room," I said, earnestly, "and I am prepared to makeoath that the window was bolted when I entered."

  "Was the room dark?" he inquired.

  "It was," I answered, not perceiving the drift of his remarks. "One ofthe servants brought a candle."

  "Did you examine the windows at once?"

  "No."

  "What did you do?"

  "I knelt down and examined the body."

  "What was Major Temple doing?"

  "I--I did not notice. I think he began to examine the things in Mr.Ashton's portmanteau."

  "Then, Mr. Morgan, if, occupied as you were in the most natural duty ofdetermining whether or not you could render any aid to Mr. Ashton, youdid not notice Major Temple's movements, I fail to see how you are in aposition to swear to anything regarding the condition of the window atthe time you entered the room."

  "Your suggestion is impossible, Sergeant McQuade. Had Major Templebolted the window, I should certainly have noticed it. I realize fullythe train of reasoning you are following and I am convinced that you arewrong."

  The Sergeant smiled slightly. "I do not follow any one train ofreasoning," he retorted, "nor do I intend to neglect any one. I want thetruth, and I intend to have it." He left the roof hurriedly, and,entering the house we descended to the library, where Major Temple satawaiting the conclusion of our investigations.

  "Well, Mr. Morgan," he inquired excitedly as we came in, "what have youdiscovered?"

  I nodded toward the Sergeant. "Mr. McQuade can perhaps tell you," Ireplied.

  "I can tell you more, Major Temple," said the detective, gravely, "ifyou will first let me have a few words
with Miss Temple."

  "With my daughter?" exclaimed the Major, evidently much surprised.

  "Yes," answered the detective, with gravity.

  "I'll go and get her," said the Major, rising excitedly.

  "If you do not mind, Major Temple, I should much prefer to have you sendone of the servants for her. I have a particular reason for desiring youto remain here."

  I thought at first that Major Temple was going to resent this, but,although he flushed hotly, he evidently thought better of it, for hestrode to a call bell and pressed it, then, facing the detective,exclaimed:

  "I think you would do better to question Li Min."

  "I do not intend to omit doing that, as well," replied McQuade,imperturbably.

  We remained in uneasy silence until the maid, who had answered the bell,returned with Miss Temple, who, dismissing her at the door, faced uswith a look upon her face of unfeigned surprise. She appeared pale andgreatly agitated. I felt that she had not slept, and the dark circlesunder her eyes confirmed my belief. She looked about, saw our gravefaces, then turned to her father. "You sent for me, Father?" sheinquired, nervously.

  "Sergeant McQuade here"--he indicated the detective whom Miss Templerecognized by a slight inclination of her head--"wishes to ask you a fewquestions."

  "Me?" Her voice had in it a note of alarm which was not lost upon theman from Scotland Yard, who regarded her with closest scrutiny.

  "I'll not be long, Miss. I think you may be able to clear up a fewpoints that at present I cannot quite understand."

  "I'm afraid I cannot help you much," she said, gravely.

  "Possibly more than you think, Miss. In the first place I understandthat your father had promised your hand in marriage to Mr. Ashton."

  Miss Temple favored me with a quick and bitter glance of reproach. Iknew that she felt that this information had come from me.

  "Yes," she replied, "that is true."

  "Did you desire to marry him?"

  The girl looked at her father in evident uncertainty.

  "I--I--Why should I answer such a question?" She turned to thedetective with scornful eyes. "It is purely my own affair, and of noconsequence--now."

  "That is true, Miss," replied the Sergeant, with deeper gravity. "Still,I do not see that the truth can do anyone any harm."

  Miss Temple flushed and hesitated a moment, then turned upon herquestioner with a look of anger. "I did not wish to marry Mr. Ashton,"she cried. "I would rather have died, than have married him."

  McQuade had made her lose her temper, for which I inwardly hated him.His next question left her cold with fear.

  "When did you last see Mr. Ashton alive?" he demanded.

  The girl hesitated, turned suddenly pale, then threw back her head witha look of proud determination. "I refuse to answer that question," shesaid defiantly.

  Her father had been regarding her with amazed surprise. "Muriel," hesaid, in a trembling voice--"what do you mean? You left Mr. Ashton andmyself in the dining-room at a little after nine." She made no reply.

  Sergeant McQuade slowly took from his pocket the handkerchief he hadfound in Mr. Ashton's room, and, handing it to her, said simply: "Isthis yours, Miss?"

  Miss Temple took it, mechanically.

  "Yes," she said.

  "It was found beside the murdered man's body," said the detective as hetook the handkerchief from her and replaced it in his pocket.

  For a moment, I thought Miss Temple was going to faint, and Iinstinctively moved toward her. She recovered herself at once. "What areyou aiming at?" she exclaimed. "Is it possible that you suppose _I_ hadanything to do with Mr. Ashton's death?"

  "I have not said so, Miss. This handkerchief was found in Mr. Ashton'sroom. It is possible that he had it himself, that he kept it, as asouvenir of some former meeting, although in that case it would hardlyhave retained the strong scent of perfume which I notice upon it. Butyou might have dropped it at table--he may have picked it up that verynight. It is for these reasons, Miss, that I asked you when you last sawMr. Ashton alive, and you refuse to answer me. I desire only the truth,Miss Temple. I have no desire to accuse anyone unjustly. Tell us, if youcan, how the handkerchief came in Mr. Ashton's room."

  At these words, delivered in an earnest and convincing manner, I sawMiss Temple's face change. She felt that the detective was right, asindeed, did I, and I waited anxiously for her next words.

  "I last saw Mr. Ashton," she answered, with a faint blush, "last nightabout midnight."

  Her answer was as much of a surprise to me as it evidently was to bothMajor Temple and the detective.

  "Muriel," exclaimed the former, in horrified tones.

  "I went to his room immediately after he retired," continued MissTemple, with evident effort. "I wished to tell him something--somethingimportant--before the morning, when it might have been too late. I wasafraid to stand in the hallway and talk to him through the open door forfear I should be seen. I went inside. I must have dropped thehandkerchief at that time."

  "Will you tell us what you wished to say to Mr. Ashton that you regardedas so important as to take you to his room at midnight?"

  Again Miss Temple hesitated, then evidently decided to tell all. "I wentto tell him," she said, gravely, "that, no matter what my father mightpromise him, I would refuse to marry him under any circumstances. I toldhim that, if he turned over the emerald to my father under any suchpromise, he would do so at his own risk. I begged him to release me fromthe engagement which my father had made, and to give me back a letterin which, at my father's demand, I had in a moment of weakness consentedto it."

  "And he refused?" asked the detective.

  "He refused." Miss Temple bowed her head, and I saw from the tears inher eyes that her endurance and spirit under this cross-questioning werefast deserting her.

  "Then what did you do?"

  "I went back to my room."

  "Did you retire?"

  "No."

  "Did you remove your clothing?"

  "I did not. I threw myself upon the bed until--" She hesitated, and Isuddenly saw the snare into which she had been led. When she appearedin the hallway at the time of the murder she wore a long embroideredChinese dressing gown. Yet she had just stated that she had notundressed. McQuade, who seemed to have the mind of a hawk, seized uponit at once.

  "Until what?" he asked bluntly.

  "Until--this morning," she concluded, and I instinctively felt that shewas not telling the truth.

  "Until you heard the commotion in the hall?" inquired McQuade,insinuatingly. I felt that I could have strangled him where he stood,but I knew in my heart that he was only doing his duty.

  "Yes," she answered.

  "Then, Miss Temple, how do you explain the fact that you appearedimmediately in the hall--as soon as the house was aroused--in yourslippers and a dressing gown?"

  She saw that she had been trapped, and still her presence of mind didnot entirely desert her. "I had begun to change," she cried, nervously.

  "Were you out of the house this morning, Miss Temple, at or about thetime of the murder? Were you at the corner of the porch under Mr.Ashton's room?" The detective's manner was brutal in its cruelinsistence.

  Miss Temple gasped faintly, then looked at her father. Her eyes werefilled with tears. "I--I refuse to answer any more questions," shecried, and, sobbing violently, turned and left the room.

  McQuade strode quickly toward Major Temple, who had observed the scenein amazed and horrified silence. "Major Temple," he said, sternly, "muchas I regret it, I am obliged to ask you to allow me to go at once toMiss Temple's room."

  "To her room," gasped the Major.

  "Yes. I will be but a moment. It is imperative that I make someinvestigations there immediately."

  "Sir," thundered the Major, "do you mean for a moment to imply that mydaughter had any hand in this business? By God, Sir--I warn you--" hetowered over the detective, his face flushed, his clenched fist raisedin anger.

  McQuade held up his hand
. "Major Temple, the truth can harm no one whois innocent. Miss Temple has, I fear, not been entirely frank with me.It is my duty to search her room at once--and I trust that you will notattempt to interpose any obstacles to my doing so." He started towardthe door, and Major Temple and I followed reluctantly enough. With agrowl of suppressed rage the girl's father led the way to her room towhich she had not herself returned. As though by instinct, the detectivewent to a large closet between the dressing-room and bedroom, threw itopen, and after a search of but a few moments drew forth a pair of bootsdamp and covered with mud, and a brown tweed walking skirt, the loweredge of which was still damp and mud stained. He looked at the Majorsignificantly. "Major Temple," he said, "your daughter left the house,in these shoes and this skirt, some time close to daybreak. The murderoccurred about that time. If you will induce her to tell fully andfrankly why she did so, and why she seems so anxious to conceal thefact, I am sure that it will spare her and all of us a great deal ofannoyance and trouble, and assist us materially in arriving at thetruth." As he concluded, sounds below announced the arrival of thepolice and the divisional surgeon from the town, and, with a curt nod,he left us and descended to the hall.