The Green God Part 5

"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 circ.u.mstances, 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 b.l.o.o.d.y 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 lead 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."