Chapter 6
THE ORIENTAL PERFUME
The inquest into Robert Ashton's strange death, which was held the following day in the billiard-room at The Oaks, was a brief affair. A jury had been impaneled in the town, and Major Temple, Miss Temple and myself, as well as Li Min and the other servants, were duly examined and we told our respective stories as we had already told them to Sergeant McQuade. No new light was thrown upon the affair by our testimony. Miss Temple, when questioned, admitted that she had left the house early in the morning, with the intention of running away, but had changed her mind suddenly and returned. Beyond this nothing could be got out of her. The divisional surgeon testified that his examination of the deceased showed a simple fracture of the skull, not necessarily sufficient to produce death, although capable of doing so when combined with nervous shock or a weakened condition of the heart. That one or both of the latter agencies had combined with the result of the blow was evidenced by Ashton's almost instantaneous death and the look of horror which was upon his face. There was nothing for the jury to do but render a verdict stating that Robert Ashton had come to his death through a blow upon the head, delivered with some sharp instrument by a person or persons unknown. Said verdict having accordingly been rendered, and the body removed to an undertaking establishment in Exeter, there seemed nothing further for me to do but pack up my few belongings and go my way, knowing no more of the cause of Robert Ashton's death than before. I knew that Sergeant McQuade was working eagerly upon the case, and I felt sure that, if the discovery of the murderer were possible, he would accomplish it, but I had very grave doubts as to his success. I spoke a few words to him at the close of the inquest, and he informed me that he intended going up to London early that afternoon to interrogate the two Chinamen detained there since the preceding day, and, upon my volunteering to accompany him, he evinced no objection, but on the contrary seemed rather to welcome my suggestion. I knew perfectly well that, until the mystery was solved, not only myself, but Major and Miss Temple and Li Min, as well as the other servants in the house would all be more or less under police surveillance, and my sudden determination to go up to London arose from a feeling that I wanted if possible to stay with this case to the end—a feeling that became intensified whenever I thought of Muriel Temple and the unfortunate position in which this affair had placed her. Her exquisitely lovely face, drawn with suffering, appeared to me constantly, as she had looked at the coroner's inquest, and I felt with all my heart that, if I could do anything to help her, I would, cost what it might. I had no very clear idea as to just what I could accomplish by going up to London, but I felt sure that I should be more likely to find opportunities for helping her there, with the detective, than would be the case should I continue my walking trip to Torquay.
I hastened to my room, therefore, intending to pack my belongings before luncheon, so as to be ready for a start as soon thereafter as the detective was ready. I left the door of my room partially open upon entering, and for a time busied myself in arranging my luggage. As I did so, I thought I heard a slight sound in the green room across the hall—the one in which the tragedy had occurred—and, glancing up, saw that, by looking into the mirror of my dresser, I could see most of the interior of the room opposite. The room was not empty—for in a moment I observed Li Min, the Chinese servant, engaged apparently in arranging it, now that its unfortunate occupant and his belongings had been removed. His actions struck me as being decidedly peculiar, and I watched him carefully as he moved about. He was evidently searching for something, and examined with the most minute care every object in the room—the carpet, the pictures, the furniture, even the wall paper, as though looking for some place of concealment. I tried to figure this out to myself, but I could see no reasonable explanation of his conduct. If he, or any of his confederates had killed Ashton, they certainly must have secured the emerald Buddha, and taken it with them—the empty case, I remembered, lay upon the table. What then, could this Chinaman be searching for with such evident eagerness and anxiety? I determined to surprise him, and with a few rapid steps crossed the intervening hall and appeared in the doorway. He at once seemed confused, and made a quick pretense of being busily occupied in the business of setting the room to rights. I stood looking at him questioningly for a few moments, when I presently became aware of a curiously pungent, yet sweet, aromatic odor, which had something vaguely familiar to me about it. I could not, at first, place this perfume, which was noticeably different from those of our own country, when suddenly it flashed into my mind that this was the curious scent which I had noticed upon Miss Temple's handkerchief—the one dropped by her in Ashton's room on the occasion of her visit to him shortly before midnight on the evening preceding the tragedy. I glanced about, thinking to discover the source of this perfume, but for a time had difficulty in doing so. At last, however, I found that it came from a small cake of soap, of a dull-green color, which lay upon the washstand where it had evidently been left by Ashton. I picked up the soap and examined it, and at once recognized the pungent odor of which I have spoken. The coincidence struck me as being queer—the presence of this same perfume upon Miss Temple's handkerchief—and I was at a loss to account for it. I picked up the cake of soap, observing its perfume closely, then, noticing that the Chinaman was regarding me with a particularly malevolent gaze, I retired to my room, taking the soap with me. I had no definite purpose in this except to keep it in order to identify the perfume, and, upon returning to my room threw it into my satchel and completed the arrangements for my departure.
I was soon ready to go, and, after leaving my bag with one of McQuade's men, who was to accompany us to the railway station, I sought Miss Temple in the hope of saying good-by to her before my departure. I was lucky enough to find her in the library, sewing, and looking unusually pale and distressed. She greeted me with rising color, and I confess that I, too, felt a trifle of embarrassment. I could not forget her agitation of the day before when I had questioned her as to her movements upon the morning of the tragedy and her flat refusal to continue the conversation when I had pressed her to explain her reasons for her early morning expedition as well as her sudden return. I stood gazing at her in perplexity, but, as I did so, the beauty of her face, the clear, honest expression of her eyes once more convinced me that whatever were her reasons for silence they did not in any way implicate her in this tangled affair.
"I have come to say good-by," I said.
"Oh, are you going—I did not know." She half rose; her face filled with lively concern.
"I'm afraid I've already overstayed my time," I replied. "After all, Miss Temple, I came as a stranger and must thank you and your father for making me as welcome as you have under the existing painful circumstances."
"I have not thought of you as a stranger, Mr. Morgan," she answered simply. "You have been a great help during this trying ordeal, and I am sorry that you must go—very sorry." There was a ring of sincerity in her voice that thrilled me; my heart gave a leap, and, as I met her eyes, I realized all of a sudden that, go where I might, I could not yet go very far away from Muriel Temple. "I do not go because I desire it," I replied, in a voice from which I could not eliminate the depth and intensity of my feelings. "I am no longer needed here, and it is in the hope that I may perhaps be of some service to you in London that I have asked Sergeant McQuade's permission to accompany him there to-day. I have taken the deepest interest in this terrible affair, Miss Temple, and, if it lies in my power, I intend to find the solution of it. My reward, if I can do so, will be the knowledge that I have served you."
"You are very good, Mr. Morgan. I shall never forget it, never." She rose and placed her hand in mine, and allowed it to remain there for a moment—a moment which seemed far too short to me, since I had suddenly realized that I should be madly happy could I know that I would have the right to keep it there always. "And, when you have good news, you will come to The Oaks and tell us about it, will you not?" she concluded, with a smile that went to my heart.
"Indeed I shall, Miss Temple—you may be sure of that—and I hope it may be soon."
"So do I," she
