McQuade and threatening him with a deadly weapon. Inspector Burns and Sergeant McQuade both signified their intention of going to London at once. The latter, however, arranged to come down to The Oaks the following day to make a final examination into the mystery. He did not believe for a moment that part of Li Min's story which referred to the sudden death of Mr. Ashton, and was already working on some theory, which he did not elaborate to me, whereby Li Min might have been able to open the window of the dead man's room, enter, commit the murder and rebolt the window behind him after he had left. If he could establish this, he felt sure that he could send Li Min to the gallows. I was requested by Major Temple, who seemed much broken in health and spirits by the events of the past few days, to accompany him and his daughter back to The Oaks, an invitation of which I was by no means slow to avail myself. The poor girl was greatly upset, and very much tired out, and we made haste to get her home as quickly as possible. I was too sick of the whole matter of Mr. Ashton's death to discuss it, although the Major broached the subject several times on our way back. I wanted to get Miss Temple home, where I hoped for an opportunity to have a talk with her, and to show in some way my appreciation of her efforts in my behalf, and her trip to London to see me. I had wired the caretaker at my studio in town early that morning to send me down some clothes, and I hoped to be able to appear at dinner in a more presentable costume than the walking suit which I had been forced to wear, throughout my remarkable series of adventures, for the past five days.
It was close to five o'clock when we arrived home, and I found my belongings awaiting me. I was given the same room that I had previously occupied and, when I appeared at dinner at eight, I felt like a human being for the first time since I had entered Major Temple's door. I was glad to see that both the Major and his daughter were much rested, and we sat down to dinner with some show of cheerfulness, Miss Temple looking especially charming in a green silk evening gown which to my artist's eyes made her a picture that I longed to put on canvas. I told her so, and we were soon discussing pictures, and art generally, at a lively rate. Only the Major seemed depressed, and I imagine this came from his regret at the loss of the wonderful emerald Buddha. He did not refer to it in any way, but I was conscious of a far-away look in his eyes which spoke volumes. What had become of the jewel, I did not know, but I fancied that McQuade's hurried trip to London had something to do with the search his men were making for the lost underground temple of Buddha and thought it more than likely that I would know more about it when he returned the next day.
We passed an hour very pleasantly at table, and after dinner Major Temple excused himself upon the plea that he wanted to write some letters and retired to his den, while Miss Temple and I sat down before the fire in the library for our first real tête-à-tête. It had begun to rain heavily outside, with a stiff breeze blowing from the southwest, and it seemed wonderfully fine and warm and altogether delightful, sitting here in the firelight with the woman I loved beside me.
Chapter 12
I ASK MISS TEMPLE A QUESTION
"Miss Temple," I said, as we sat beside each other on the big leather-covered settle facing the fire, "I want to thank you with all my heart for going up to London to see me. I know why you went and can never tell you how deeply I appreciate it."
She looked at me with her bewitching smile, which somehow made me feel both delightfully happy and yet vaguely uncertain of myself. "I had to come, Mr. Morgan," she said. "As soon as I knew the police were fastening their suspicions upon you, I knew I should be obliged to tell what I had seen. Yet I felt horrified at the thought of accusing my father. I could not understand his being where I imagined I saw him. I knew his mad desire for the jewel and was filled with dismay at the thought that he would attempt to secure it by such means. Of course I had no thought then of Mr. Ashton's death. I ran to my room, threw off my wet clothes, and appeared in the hall just as your cries aroused the house. Li Min must have re-entered the house just after I retired to my room. I did not look into the hallway of the west wing. I avoided doing so purposely, as I did not wish to humiliate my father by letting him know that I had seen him on the roof. Of course I was deceived by the long coat and cap. My father is of about the same height as Li Min, and I had been so accustomed to seeing him in that particular coat and cap—he invariably wore them when walking about the grounds—that I felt no doubt whatever as to his identity. Had I found you in London, Mr. Morgan, I should have told you everything and been guided by your advice."
"I wish you had found me there," I said, "but, as it is, everything has turned out well. Only I am sorry that you should have had to undergo such a terrible experience."
"Oh, it wasn't so bad. They gave me a very comfortable room at the police station in London, and the matron was extremely kind. I might have enjoyed the experience thoroughly, had I not been so terribly worried about my father." The dark shadow which fell across her face reminded me forcibly of the suffering she had undergone. I hastened to change the subject.
"Sometime I hope to show you London and my studio under different circumstances," I said. "I've got a lot of interesting old things there that I've picked up. You must surely come."
"Oh, I should love to. And your pictures! You must show me those, too."
"I'll be glad to. We will get up a party, some time. I've lots of delightful friends among the painters and musical people. You'd like them, I know."
"It's the life I've always dreamed of," she said, her cheeks flushing with excitement. "I've been to so many places, Rome and Paris, and Vienna and Cairo, and the East, you know, but I really know very little about them. The outside I have seen, of course, but the real life—that I have missed. And now we are stuck down here, where we don't know anybody, because father fancies it is good for his health. I suppose it is, but it isn't real, joyous living. I hardly feel alive."
"But you go to London, don't you? Your father spoke of his house there."
"Oh, yes, we are there a great deal, but father's friends are mostly professors of Assyriology and Egyptology, and people of that sort, and they come and stay for hours and talk about scarabs and hieroglyphics and mummies, and all that sort of thing. Sometimes I feel almost as though I were about to become a mummy myself."
She certainly did not look it, with her wonderful color, heightened by the firelight and her large and brilliant eyes. I could not help looking deep into them as I replied.
"We must prevent that, at all costs. Let me show you what it is to really live."
"Isn't that rather a large order? And we have known each other for so short a time, too." She laughed nervously, but did not seem displeased at my remark.
"I think the experiences of the past week have caused us to know each other very well," I said, gravely, "and I hope you may think as much of the friendship which has come to us as I do."
"Are we then really friends?" she said slowly. "I never had a man friend—nor very many of any sort, I fear. We have always moved about so much from place to place."
I regretted my choice of words. I could readily believe that she would not find it easy to have a man friend, for he would at once proceed to fall head over heels in love with her, as I had done. "Perhaps not friends," I said, and, as I did so, I placed my hand over hers, which lay beside me upon the leather seat of the settle. "At least not friends only. I suppose, Miss Temple, that you will be very much surprised, when I tell you that I have never thought of you in that way. I have always dreamed, all my life, of a woman like you, who would be close beside me, and share all my hopes and dreams, and be the cause of them all as well, and be glad of my successes and not think the less of me because of my failures. But a woman to be all that must be more than a man's friend,
