Part 4 (1/2)

”I have not said so, Miss. This handkerchief was found in Mr. Ashton's room. It is possible that he had it himself, that he kept it, as a souvenir of some former meeting, although in that case it would hardly have retained the strong scent of perfume which I notice upon it. But you might have dropped it at table--he may have picked it up that very night. It is for these reasons, Miss, that I asked you when you last saw Mr. Ashton alive, and you refuse to answer me. I desire only the truth, Miss Temple. I have no desire to accuse anyone unjustly. Tell us, if you can, how the handkerchief came in Mr. Ashton's room.”

At these words, delivered in an earnest and convincing manner, I saw Miss Temple's face change. She felt that the detective was right, as indeed, did I, and I waited anxiously for her next words.

”I last saw Mr. Ashton,” she answered, with a faint blush, ”last night about midnight.”

Her answer was as much of a surprise to me as it evidently was to both Major Temple and the detective.

”Muriel,” exclaimed the former, in horrified tones.

”I went to his room immediately after he retired,” continued Miss Temple, with evident effort. ”I wished to tell him something--something important--before the morning, when it might have been too late. I was afraid to stand in the hallway and talk to him through the open door for fear I should be seen. I went inside. I must have dropped the handkerchief at that time.”

”Will you tell us what you wished to say to Mr. Ashton that you regarded as so important as to take you to his room at midnight?”

Again Miss Temple hesitated, then evidently decided to tell all. ”I went to tell him,” she said, gravely, ”that, no matter what my father might promise him, I would refuse to marry him under any circ.u.mstances. I told him that, if he turned over the emerald to my father under any such promise, he would do so at his own risk. I begged him to release me from the engagement which my father had made, and to give me back a letter in which, at my father's demand, I had in a moment of weakness consented to it.”

”And he refused?” asked the detective.

”He refused.” Miss Temple bowed her head, and I saw from the tears in her eyes that her endurance and spirit under this cross-questioning were fast deserting her.

”Then what did you do?”

”I went back to my room.”

”Did you retire?”

”No.”

”Did you remove your clothing?”

”I did not. I threw myself upon the bed until--” She hesitated, and I suddenly saw the snare into which she had been lead. When she appeared in the hallway at the time of the murder she wore a long embroidered Chinese dressing gown. Yet she had just stated that she had not undressed. McQuade, who seemed to have the mind of a hawk, seized upon it at once.

”Until what?” he asked bluntly.

”Until--this morning,” she concluded, and I instinctively felt that she was not telling the truth.

”Until you heard the commotion in the hall?” inquired McQuade, insinuatingly. I felt that I could have strangled him where he stood, but I knew in my heart that he was only doing his duty.

”Yes,” she answered.

”Then, Miss Temple, how do you explain the fact that you appeared immediately in the hall--as soon as the house was aroused--in your slippers and a dressing gown?”

She saw that she had been trapped, and still 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.