I, Spy - 6 Espionage & Detective Books in One Edition. Frederic Arnold Kummer
her presence of mind did not entirely desert her. "I had begun to change," she cried, nervously.
"Were you out of the house this morning, Miss Temple, at or about the time of the murder? Were you at the corner of the porch under Mr. Ashton's room?" The detective's manner was brutal in its cruel insistence.
Miss Temple gasped faintly, then looked at her father. Her eyes were filled with tears. "I—I refuse to answer any more questions," she cried, and, sobbing violently, turned and left the room.
McQuade strode quickly toward Major Temple, who had observed the scene in amazed and horrified silence. "Major Temple," he said, sternly, "much as I regret it, I am obliged to ask you to allow me to go at once to Miss Temple's room."
"To her room," gasped the Major.
"Yes. I will be but a moment. It is imperative that I make some investigations there immediately."
"Sir," thundered the Major, "do you mean for a moment to imply that my daughter had any hand in this business? By God, Sir—I warn you—" he towered over the detective, his face flushed, his clenched fist raised in anger.
McQuade held up his hand. "Major Temple, the truth can harm no one who is innocent. Miss Temple has, I fear, not been entirely frank with me. It is my duty to search her room at once—and I trust that you will not attempt to interpose any obstacles to my doing so." He started toward the door, and Major Temple and I followed reluctantly enough. With a growl of suppressed rage the girl's father lead the way to her room to which she had not herself returned. As though by instinct, the detective went to a large closet between the dressing-room and bedroom, threw it open, and after a search of but a few moments drew forth a pair of boots damp and covered with mud, and a brown tweed walking skirt, the lower edge of which was still damp and mud stained. He looked at the Major significantly. "Major Temple," he said, "your daughter left the house, in these shoes and this skirt, some time close to daybreak. The murder occurred about that time. If you will induce her to tell fully and frankly why she did so, and why she seems so anxious to conceal the fact, I am sure that it will spare her and all of us a great deal of annoyance and trouble, and assist us materially in arriving at the truth." As he concluded, sounds below announced the arrival of the police and the divisional surgeon from the town, and, with a curt nod, he left us and descended to the hall.
Chapter 4
I ADVISE MISS TEMPLE
I left the room and went down to the main hall. The divisional surgeon, with McQuade and his men had already proceeded to the scene of the tragedy, and as I did not suppose that I would be wanted there, I left the house and started out across the beautiful lawns, now partially covered with the fallen leaves of oak and elm, my mind filled with conflicting thoughts and emotions. As I passed out, I met Miss Temple coming along the porch, wearing a long cloak, and evidently prepared for a walk, so I suggested, rather awkwardly, remembering her look of annoyance during the examination by Sergeant McQuade, that I should be happy to accompany her. Somewhat to my surprise she accepted my offer at once, and we started briskly off along the main driveway leading to the highroad. Miss Temple, of lithe and slender build, was, I soon found, an enthusiastic walker, and set the pace with a free and swinging stride that rejoiced my heart. I dislike walking with most women, whose short and halting steps make accompanying them but an irritation. I did not say anything as we walked along, except to comment upon the change of weather and the beauty of the day, for I felt sure that she would prefer to be left to her own thoughts after the trying ordeal through which she had just passed. She was silent all the way down to the entrance to the grounds, and seemed to feel oppressed by the house and its proximity, but as soon as we set out along the main road toward Pinhoe over which Ashton and I had traveled the evening before, she seemed to brighten up, and, turning to me, said, with surprising suddenness: "Do you believe, Mr. Morgan, that I had any part in this terrible affair? The questions the detective asked me indicated that he had."
"Certainly not," I said. "And, if you will permit me to say so, Miss Temple, I think you would have been wiser had you been entirely frank with him."
"What do you mean?" she asked, indignantly.
I felt disappointed, somehow, at her manner.
"Miss Temple," I said, gently, "you at first refused to admit that you had sought an interview with Mr. Ashton at midnight. I fully understood your reasons for your refusal. It was an unconventional thing to do, and you feared the misjudgment of persons at large, although to me it appeared, in the light of my knowledge of the case, a most natural action. Mr. Ashton still retained the jewel, and, if he gave it up after your warning, he could not have complained of the consequences. But I am sorry, Miss Temple, that you were not as frank about your leaving the house, as he believes you did, early this morning."
"Why does he believe that?" she asked, spiritedly.
"Because, in the first place, he found footprints—the footprints of a woman's shoe, in the gravel walk, from the west corner of the porch to the main entrance. They lead only one way. After questioning you, he searched your room, and found the skirt and shoes which you wore, both wet and covered with mud. The rain did not stop until three or four this morning. The footprints were made after the rain, or they would have been washed away and obliterated by it. For these reasons, he fully believes you were out of the house close to daybreak, which was the time of the murder."
"The brute," said Miss Temple, indignantly, "to enter my rooms!"
"It is after all only his duty, Miss Temple," I replied.
"Well, perhaps you are right. But suppose I did go outside at that time—suppose I had decided to run away from Mr. Ashton, and my father, and their wretched conspiracy against my happiness, what guilt is there in that? I came back, did I not?"
"Why," I inquired, "did you come back?"
She glanced quickly at me, with a look of fear.
"I—I—that I refuse to explain to anyone. After all, Mr. Morgan, I certainly am not obliged to tell the police my very thoughts."
Her persistency in evading any explanation of her actions of the morning surprised and annoyed me. "You will remember, Miss Temple, that I said the footprints lead in one direction only, and that was toward the house. Mr. McQuade does not believe that you left the house in the same way that you returned to it."
"What on earth does he believe then?" she inquired with a slight laugh, which was the first sign of brightness I had seen in her since she left me with a smile the night before. I could not help admiring her beautiful mouth and her white, even teeth as she turned inquiringly to me. Yet my answer was such as to drive that smile from her face for a long time to come.
"He believes this, Miss Temple, or at least he thinks of it as a possibility: Whoever committed the murder reached the porch roof by means of the window at the end of the upper hall, and, after entering and leaving Mr. Ashton's room, descended in some way from the porch to the pathway, and re-entered the house by the main entrance. Your footsteps are the only ones so far that fit in with this theory."
"It is absurd!" said my companion, with a look of terror. "How could the window have been rebolted? Why should the murderer not have re-entered the house in the same way he left it? How does he know that there was anyone upon the roof at all?"
"In answer to the first objection, he claims that someone interested in the murderer's welfare might have rebolted the window upon entering the room. That would of course mean either your father or myself. To the second, that whoever committed the crime feared to enter the hall by the window after the house had been aroused. To the third, there is positive evidence of the presence of someone having been upon the roof, at Mr. Ashton's window."
"What evidence?" She seemed greatly alarmed; her clenched hands and rapid breathing indicated some intense inward emotion.
"The faint print of a hand—in blood, upon the window sill. With these things to face, Miss Temple, you will, I'm sure, see the advisability of explaining