I would be delayed in joining her. On my way back I took a short cut over the fields, and found myself approaching The Oaks from the rear, through a bit of woodland, which through neglect had become filled with underbrush. The sun had already set, or else the gloom of the autumn afternoon obscured its later rays, for the wood was shadowy and dark, and as I emerged from it, near a line of hedge which separated it from the kitchen gardens of The Oaks, I observed two figures standing near a gateway in the hedge, talking together earnestly. I came upon them suddenly, and, as I did so, they separated and one of them disappeared swiftly into the shadows of the wood while the other advanced rapidly toward the house. I quickened my steps, and, as the figure ahead of me reached the higher ground in the rear of the house, I saw that it was Li Min. He appeared unconscious of my presence and vanished rapidly into the house. The circumstance filled me with vague suspicions, though I could not tell just why. Instinctively, as I approached the house, I turned toward the west wing, and, as I reached the rear corner of the building, I stepped back on the grass, beyond the gravel walk, to obtain a view of the windows above. As I moved backward over the turf, until I could reach a point where I could see over the edge of the porch roof, I suddenly tripped over an object in the grass and nearly fell. As I recovered myself, I looked to see what it was, and picked up a short, thick iron poker with a heavy octagonal brass knob at one end of it. As I held it in my hand, I realized at once that with such a weapon as this the strange wound in Ashton's head could readily have been made. I examined the pointed prismatic knob carefully, but, beyond being somewhat stained from lying in the wet grass, it showed no other marks of the gruesome use to which I instinctively felt it had been put. Wrapping it carefully in my handkerchief, I carried it to my room, and took the precaution to lock it safely in one of the drawers of the dresser, pending an opportunity to show it privately to Sergeant McQuade upon his return from Exeter.
Chapter 5
MAJOR TEMPLE'S STORY
We sat in the dimly lighted library after dinner, having been joined by Sergeant McQuade who returned from Exeter about nine. I had not seen Miss Temple alone, since dinner, as she had retired to her room as soon as our silent meal was over. The Major, after furnishing us with some excellent cigars, and some specially fine liqueur brandy, settled himself in his easy chair and proceeded to tell us of his experiences, and those of Robert Ashton, in the pursuit of the emerald Buddha. He seemed anxious to do this, to show to the detective the probability of the murder of Ashton having occurred in an attempt upon the part of some Chinese secret or religious society to recover the jewel. He showed no feeling of animosity toward the man from Scotland Yard whether he felt it or not, and had either concluded that the latter's sharp questioning of his daughter was justified by the curious and inexplicable circumstances which surrounded the tragedy, or else was desirous of covering up his own knowledge of the matter by assuming a manner at once frank and ingenuous.
"I spent almost all of last year," said the Major, "in traveling through the interior of China. I was for a long time stationed in India, and although I was placed upon the retired list nearly ten years ago, the spirit of the East has called me, its fascination has drawn me toward the rising sun, ever since. I had traveled extensively in India, Siam, Persia and even Japan, and was familiar with most of the Chinese cities upon and near the coast, but the interior was to me until last year almost a sealed book. My daughter and I arrived at Pekin early last spring, and, after spending nearly a month in that city, we began an extensive trip toward the West. I had made somewhat of a study of Chinese, while in India, having always been attracted by the art and history of that remarkable country, and during our stay in Pekin, and later, while traveling inland, I managed to pick up enough of the local dialects to make myself understood. We traveled on horseback, and had a considerable retinue of native servants which we took along with us from Pekin. The expedition was safe enough, barring the usual attempts of sneak thieves upon our stores, and while to persons not accustomed to traveling in such countries the journey would no doubt have been full of hardships, to us, familiar with such work, it was fairly comfortable. We paid good prices for what we bought en route, had no religious views to promulgate, and, by minding our own business strictly, we had no trouble with the natives of any serious moment. I had managed to pick up a few samples of old porcelain and one or two excellent ivories of great age and beauty, but, beyond these, the trip had not yielded much in the way of curios for my collection, when in June we reached the city of Ping Yang. We found this place peculiarly interesting to us, with a population noticeably different from the inhabitants of the seaport towns, and we remained there perhaps a month. I spent a good deal of time wandering about the town, looking at such examples of old bronzes, embroideries, curious bits of jewelry, etc., as I could find in the shops and bazaars, and I frequently had occasion to pass a small temple, maintained by the Buddhists in one of the lower quarters of the town. Not over half of the Chinese are Buddhists, as perhaps you may know, the number of devotees of that religion being considerably greater in the western and northwestern part of the empire, toward Thibet, from which country the religion originally passed into China. This temple, of which I speak, was a small one, but was notable because of the fact that a portion of the bone of the little finger of Buddha was preserved, or said to be preserved, among the relics of the shrine. I had frequently observed the priest, who had charge of the temple, sitting sunning himself outside its doorway as I passed, and on several occasions I had dropped some coins into his hand with a salutation which would be equivalent to our English good luck. One day when I was passing, I remarked to one of my servants who was with me and who understood English fairly well, that I was curious to see the interior of the shrine, and he, after a conversation with the temple priest, informed me that, if I wished it, there would be no objection to my doing so. I thereupon entered and found myself in a gloomy chamber dimly illuminated by several oil lamps hanging from the low ceiling. Around the walls of the room hung some wonderful embroideries, which represented, so the priest informed me, incidents in the life of Buddha. There were no seats, of course, and the floor was of hard-packed clay. At the center of the rear end of the room was a high wooden screen, elaborately carved, and lacquered in dull red and gold. Through an opening in this screen I perceived a large bronze figure of the Buddha, before which was arranged, upon the low altar, a profusion of flowers and food, offerings of the faithful to the deity. There were a number of small candles burning before the bronze figure, and behind and beyond it I saw a small room which evidently served as the living or sleeping chamber of the temple priest. After he had shown me everything in the room with much pride—he seemed a simple and earnest old fellow—I made ready to depart and, before doing so, drew from my pocket a handful of the brass coins, called cash, with which you are no doubt familiar, and thrust them into the old fellow's outstretched hands. He seemed deeply grateful and said a few words in his native tongue to my servant, who turned to me with the information that the priest was about to accord me an especial honor by showing me the sacred relic of the Buddha. He approached the altar, and, taking a key from his girdle, opened a small gold box covered with wonderful repoussé work, which stood directly in front of the sitting figure of the god, and rested between his knees. Upon opening this box, he drew forth a small ivory shrine, also elaborately carved, which he set upon the top of the first box, and arranged so that the light from the candles fell upon it. He then opened the ivory box with a small gold key, and I looked in. The relic of the Buddha, a small and insignificant looking piece of dirty brown bone, I paid slight attention to, for in that box, glistening and glowing with the most wonderful color in the light of the candles, stood the emerald Buddha. The relic lay upon a piece of white silk, at the bottom of the box. There was a shelf in the box, of ivory, half-way up its height, and upon this shelf, occupying the upper half of the ivory casket, stood the emerald, its brilliant color and marvelous workmanship rendered the more noticeable by the white background of the ivory. I inquired as to its history, through my servant, and was informed that it had been brought to Ping Yang many centuries before, by the priest who brought the relic from Thibet and founded the temple. He told me that it was an emerald, but neither the fact of its enormous size and value as a jewel nor its priceless beauty as an example of the most exquisite workmanship in the carving and cutting of gems that I had ever seen seemed to appeal to him. To him its value
