more concerned in determining who was responsible for Robert Ashton's death, and I could not see that the events of the evening had thrown much light upon it. I left McQuade and returned to my studio, agreeing to meet him there at three the same afternoon, and return to The Oaks with him. Just why he intended returning there, or why he wished me to accompany him, I did not then see, but I was only too glad of an opportunity again to see Miss Temple. The detective seemed especially serious and taciturn, and, in reply to my questions as to the two Chinamen from Exeter, he informed me that they knew nothing of the matter and had been discharged. I went back to my studio in rather an unpleasant frame of mind, took a hot bath, and slept until luncheon.
Chapter 8
INSPECTOR BURNS' CONCLUSIONS
I was sitting in my studio, at about half-past two that afternoon, awaiting McQuade's arrival, when a messenger boy dashed up to my door and handed me a telegram. I examined the pink slip with some curiosity, but no great interest, when, glancing, as is my habit, at the signature first, I was astounded to see that it was from Miss Temple. It was as follows:
"Police have discovered weapon in your room wrapped in your handkerchief.
"Muriel Temple."
So strong is the consciousness of innocence that even after reading this telegram I had no thought of what this new discovery might portend to me. It was strange, I thought, that I had forgotten the thing. But I remembered now that, when I first found it, Sergeant McQuade was in Exeter, and, when he returned, the entire evening until a late hour was taken up with Major Temple's account of his and Ashton's adventures in China. The next morning the coroner's inquest occupied all my thoughts, and then came Li Min's arrest and our hurried departure for London. Since then, I had had no opportunity to converse at any length with the detective. I laid the telegram open upon the table, thinking that, if the Scotland Yard man did not already know of the discovery, I would be able to inform him of it on his arrival.
He came on the stroke of three, and with him was a burly, deep-chested, ruddy-faced man, with twinkling eyes and iron-gray whiskers, whom he introduced to me as Inspector Burns, of Scotland Yard. I bade them be seated, and offered cigars, which they refused. Both seemed a trifle constrained, I thought. The Sergeant began the conversation.
"I have brought Inspector Burns with me," he said, slowly; "he wants to ask you a few questions."
I turned to the Inspector and smiled. I was quite ready to answer any questions that he might care to ask, and I so informed him.
"Mr. Morgan," he began, "about that cake of soap which, as the events of last night showed, contained the missing jewel cleverly hidden within it. Will you be so good as to tell Sergeant McQuade and myself how it happened to be in your possession?"
"Certainly," I replied, without hesitation. "I was in my room at Major Temple's house yesterday morning, and I heard someone moving about in the green room in which Mr. Ashton was killed. You are no doubt aware that the doors of the two rooms are directly opposite each other?"
"I know that," he replied, gravely.
"I saw, by looking into the mirror on my dresser, that the person in the other room was Major Temple's Chinese servant, Li Min. He seemed to me to be acting very suspiciously."
"What was he doing?" inquired the Inspector, with a look at Sergeant McQuade.
"Apparently he was searching the room for something—I could not, of course, tell what. I left my room and came upon him suddenly, whereupon he pretended to be busily engaged in setting the room to rights. I had noticed, immediately upon entering the room, a strong odor of perfume, a queer, Oriental perfume that at once attracted my attention, because—" I hesitated.
"Because of what?" asked the Inspector shortly.
"Because it was the same as that upon the handkerchief which Miss Temple had left in the room upon her visit there the night before, and which was found there by Sergeant McQuade the next day."
"What importance did you attach to that fact?"
"I do not know—I cannot say. There seems no explanation of the matter. But, at the time of which I speak, it struck me as being peculiar—I looked about and found that the perfume came from a cake of soap upon the washstand, near which I stood. It had evidently been left there by Mr. Ashton, and, being so natural and usual an object, must have been overlooked by the police when the room was searched."
"Why did you remove it?"
"Because I wished a means of identifying the perfume. I felt then, and still feel, that there was some intimate and unusual reason for the presence of that perfume upon Miss Temple's handkerchief."
"Mr. Morgan, why, since you were pretending to assist Sergeant McQuade by every means in your power to secure the missing jewel, and apprehend Mr. Ashton's murderer, did you fail to disclose to him the facts that you have just related?" The Inspector's manner was increasingly uncompromising. "Did you have any reason to suspect that the jewel was hidden in the cake of soap?"
"None whatever. I did not mention the matter to the Sergeant because it seemed too vague and unimportant—it indicated nothing."
The Inspector frowned. "Of that you were perhaps not the best judge. You committed a grave error. I dislike to imply that it might have been anything worse." He glanced at a notebook he held in his hand. I began to feel indignant at the tone and manner in which he was conducting his cross-questioning.
"Is it not true, Mr. Morgan," he asked suddenly, "that Miss Temple was violently opposed to any marriage with Mr. Ashton, and that either his death, or the abstracting of the jewel which was to have been the price paid by him for her hand, would have been of great benefit to her?"
"Miss Temple could have no hand in such an affair. It is preposterous!" I cried angrily.
"I do not imply that she could, or would." The Inspector was irritatingly calm. "I merely asked you if such an event or events would not have been to her benefit?"
"I suppose they would," I answered, sulkily, "if you put it that way."
"Did not Miss Temple ask you to assist her in preventing this marriage, Mr. Morgan, the night before the tragedy, and did you not promise to help her in every way in your power?"
"This is absurd," I cried, now thoroughly angry. "You will be accusing me of murdering Mr. Ashton next."
"So long as we have not done so, Mr. Morgan, you need not accuse yourself. We only know, so far, that the jewel for which Mr. Ashton was murdered has been found in your possession."
The significant way in which he uttered these words thrilled me with a vague sense of alarm. There upon the table, before Sergeant McQuade, lay Miss Temple's telegram. It was open, and I felt sure he had already read it. My mind seemed confused—my brain on fire. The Inspector turned to McQuade. "Sergeant," he said, "you have the handkerchief in question with you, I believe?"
McQuade nodded, then drew from his pocket a leather wallet, and, extracting the folded handkerchief from its recesses, spread it carefully upon the table. He then produced a magnifying glass from one of his pockets and requested me to examine the surface of the bit of cambric and lace. I did so, and observed that it was covered with minute particles of some green
