cried, rising. "Why, my boy, I knew him well. I was in the Indian service for fifteen years, and who did not know him, who has spent much time in that benighted country? Many's the time I've dined with him at our club in Calcutta. He was a fine man, and, if I remember rightly, he refused a knighthood for his services." He came up to me and took my hand. "It's all very sudden, I must say, but I should be very glad to see Muriel happily married, and, if she believes you to be the right man, I shall interpose no objections. But I should advise that you both wait a reasonable time, until you are certain that you have not made any mistake. As for me, I am an old man, and I have traveled all over the world, but the only real happiness I have ever found was in the love of my wife. She went out to India with me, and she never came back." He turned and gazed into the fire to hide his emotions. "I have become half-mad over this business of collecting antiquities and curios," he resumed, presently, "but it isn't real, it's only an insane hobby after all, and I have only just realized how selfish it all is, and how selfish I have been as well, to consider for a moment bartering my daughter's happiness for a miserable Chinese idol to which I never had any right in the first place." He drew a cigar from his pocket and lighted it hurriedly.
I thanked him for his attitude toward my suit, and agreed to leave the setting of our marriage day entirely in the hands of himself and Muriel. Then, seeing that he was tired out after the long strain of the day, I bade him good-night and retired to my room.
As I stopped at my doorway, I noticed that the door of the green room stood partly open, and, filled with a curious fascination, I once more peered into its dark and silent interior. I could see only the faint outlines of the tall, old-fashioned bed, against the dim night light of the sky without the windows. I stepped inside, acting upon the impulse of the moment, and striking a wax taper lit one of the gas jets in the heavy, old-fashioned bronze chandelier. The room seemed comfortable enough, although I felt that peculiar stifling sensation which I had noticed upon my first entering it. I looked about, and wondered for the thousandth time what strange secret lay concealed within its walls, what mysterious influence existed which was potent to strike down man or beast alike without warning, as though by the hand of death itself. I longed to penetrate to the heart of this mystery, to satisfy myself, at least, that what had occurred herein had not been supernatural, the action of unknown forces, but merely some working of well-known natural laws, obscure perhaps, but none the less understandable, if but the secret could once be grasped. Suddenly I was seized with an idea. Why should I not spend the night here, instead of in the room across the hall, and possibly thus determine the grim secret, which had set our reason and common sense at naught. The idea grew upon me, and so strongly was I possessed with it that I at once returned to my own room, undressed, put on my pajamas, and, taking from my dressing-case, which had been sent down from London, a small pocket revolver that I always carried with me and had never yet used, I crossed the hall into the room opposite, carrying with me some extra coverings for my bed. I did not feel at all sleepy, so, after closing the door and climbing, not without difficulty, into the high poster bed, I lay back comfortably upon the pillows and proceeded to occupy myself in reading a magazine which I had found lying upon the table in my own room.
Chapter 13
A NIGHT OF HORROR
The night that I spent in the green room was in many ways like the one which Robert Ashton spent there. A heavy rain had set in, and the wind from the southwest was driving it against the windows of the room, just as it had done that other night. I had attempted to raise one of the windows before turning in, but it was impossible to keep it open for any length of time as the rain drove in fiercely and threatened to flood the room. As I lay in bed, unable to concentrate my thoughts upon the magazine I had picked up, I began to reconstruct in my mind the scene which had been enacted in this room but a few nights before. I pictured Robert Ashton, sitting at the small, marble-topped table, laboriously copying the inscription upon the base of the emerald figure, for what purpose I could not imagine. I saw him as he opened the door for Miss Temple, his painful interview with her, and his anger at its conclusion. Then, no doubt, he sat down and thought the whole thing over. He remembered Major Temple's threat that he should never leave the house and take the emerald with him. Possibly he may have supposed that Muriel and her father were in league in some way to obtain possession of the jewel and thus defraud him, he felt, of the fruits of his labors. No doubt the question of where to place the stone, during the night, to insure its absolute safety, became in his mind an important one. He determined to hide it, and cast about for a place of concealment. To secrete it about the room would be impracticable: it must be so situated that he could instantly remove it if necessary. Yet to place it in his bag among his other belongings would be no concealment at all. Probably he gave a quick glance about the room, and then the cake of soap, green like the emerald itself, lying upon the washstand, suggested a hiding-place which, because of its very conspicuousness, would be thought of by no one. To cut the cake in half, lengthways, with a knife or more probably a piece of thread, was the work of but a moment. The hollowing out of the chamber within, no doubt, took longer. A glance about for a scrap of paper or other material, to hold the bits of soap as he slowly dug them out with his penknife, revealed the handkerchief lying close at hand upon the floor where Miss Temple had dropped it. Soon the thing was done—the great emerald snugly placed in its improvised case, and the edges of the two halves of the soap softened with water and pressed tightly together until they were once more united. Then it was only necessary to use the soap once to wash his hands, and the telltale line between the two halves would disappear. That his plan had indeed been an ingenious one, subsequent events proved, for the room was searched, twice by the police, once by myself and Major Temple, and once by Li Min, yet of all the people bent upon discovering the jewel, not one had given the cake of soap, lying so obviously and properly in its china dish, more than a cursory glance.
Then I thought, what next? No doubt Ashton had turned off the gas and climbed into bed. I say climbed advisedly, for the bed, one of those old-fashioned four posters with a feather mattress under the hair one, was far higher from the floor than are our modern beds, and to facilitate getting into it, there stood beside it a little, low, wooden stool, by which one ascended to its snowy heights.
Presently, over my imaginings, I felt myself growing unaccountably sleepy and tired. I realized that the strain of the long day had been a heavy one. In spite of the feelings of horror with which the room had at first inspired me, I could see no reason for going without a good night's rest. There was no priceless jewel concealed upon the premises, to bring down upon me either the vengeance of Buddha or the murderous attacks of my fellow men. I laughed a little at my earlier fears as I rose in bed, reached over to the chandelier and turned out the light. The sighing and moaning of the wind, and the dashing of the rain against the window panes were the last sound I heard as I passed into a heavy and restless sleep.
I must have slept for several hours, during which I tossed about, a prey to broken and tortured dreams. At one time I seemed to be again in the underground temple of Buddha, and the glittering green figure of the deity seemed to grow and swell until it filled the whole room, forcing me down and ever down until I seemed to be choking under its enormous weight. Again I thought myself imprisoned in a huge cake of soap, which closed about me slowly and with irresistible force while I vainly tried to force it back with my hands to keep from smothering. For a long time I seemed to be beneath a dark cloud which dissolved into glittering points of light, only to be swallowed up in darkness again. After a time I seemed to be struggling to free myself from a huge, soft object which lay upon my chest and threatened to strangle me. I discovered at last that it was the dead body of Boris, the great mastiff, which, try as I would, I could not free myself from. Presently the dog seemed to become suddenly alive and its huge, dripping jaws opened and closed tightly upon my throat. I struggled madly to extricate myself from his grasp, but I seemed to be slowly, but surely, choking to death. In a madness of fear I half awoke, trembling and weak, and, with a cry, thrust the imaginary body of the animal from me and sprang to my feet in the bed. I saw nothing but the faint light of the window
