I, Spy - 6 Espionage & Detective Books in One Edition. Frederic Arnold Kummer
sprang upon him, or whether the uproar into which the town was thrown reached the house at which the disguise had been assumed, he of course never knew, but it is certain that, after progressing toward Pekin for two days, they became aware that they were being followed by a numerous party of Chinese upon horseback, armed with pikes, bows and arrows, and some muskets. They got wind of the pursuing party before they themselves were seen, and, swerving from the main road, abandoned their horses in a lonely bit of wood, and while Ashton hid in the underbrush, his servant, after waiting until their pursuers had passed, went out and procured at a near-by village a set of Chinese clothing similar to his own, which Ashton donned after burying his own belongings in a swampy pond in the wood. From here on his adventures were exciting and varied, but as they progressed in a southeasterly direction they got beyond the zone which had been affected by the robbery of the temple, and at last succeeded in reaching the coast. From here they went north to Pekin, where the pseudo-Chinamen disappeared one night into the house where Ashton maintained his headquarters while in Pekin, and the next morning Ashton appeared in European clothing, and began making arrangements to leave for his long trip to England. The rest of the story you know. He arrived here last night, and this morning he was found murdered and the emerald Buddha has disappeared. God knows what influences have been at work in his taking off. As for me, I know no more about it than you do."
As Major Temple concluded his story, he gazed at Sergeant McQuade and myself in turn, then passed his hand nervously over his forehead, as though the strain of the tragedy had begun to tell upon him severely.
McQuade rose, and I did likewise, and, bidding the Major good-night we left the room, leaving him sitting dejectedly enough, I thought, in his easy chair, patting the head of his great mastiff, Boris. It was past midnight when I left McQuade at the foot of the staircase, and, in spite of all the excitement of the day, I found myself so worn out that I was asleep almost as soon as I had placed my head upon the pillow.
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,