I, Spy - 6 Espionage & Detective Books in One Edition. Frederic Arnold Kummer

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 opposite me, and with a mad desire for air I sprang violently toward it, my right foot, as I lurched heavily outward, coming down upon the wooden stool by the side of the bed. And, as I thus dashed headlong in the direction of the window, gasping desperately for breath, I suddenly felt a violent glancing blow upon the side of my head, that shook me to the very marrow, and stretched me stunned and unconscious upon the floor.

      I must have remained in this position for several moments, although I had no means of knowing, when I slowly awoke to consciousness, how long a time my insensibility had lasted. Slowly my mind began to grasp the fact that something strange, almost unbelievable, had happened to me, although what it was I did not then understand. I seemed to be swimming in a vast limitless space, filled with light, which gradually contracted until it became a single glowing spark which seemed to be myself, my intelligence. This process of coming back, as it were, seemed to take an age, yet I know now that it could not have been more than a few brief moments. When at last I opened my eyes, and realized my situation, I was intensely weak, and still gasping madly for air. I seemed unable to breathe—my lungs, my heart seemed oppressed as though by heavy weights. I slowly and painfully struggled to my knees and raised my hand to my head, which seemed ready to burst with pain. It came away dripping with blood. The sudden shock of the realization that I was wounded, together with the sharp pain which the touching of the wound gave me, roused me to the necessity of quick and sudden action. I tried to rise, but my legs seemed made of stone. I fell over upon my side and then began to crawl laboriously and painfully toward the door. The choking sensation increased every moment. For a time I thought I should never be able to reach it, and then with a rush I thought of Muriel, and all that the future held for us, and I made a last terrible effort, dragged myself across the few feet remaining between myself and the door, and, with barely enough strength left to reach up and turn the knob, managed somehow to fall across the threshold and into the hall.

      I fell with my head and most of my body in the passageway, and, as a result of my almost superhuman efforts, must have again become unconscious. When I once more revived, I no longer felt the horrible sensation of choking which had before oppressed me, and I attributed this to the cold air of the hall. I felt very weak, and my head was lying in a pool of blood, but my senses were fairly clear, and I knew that I must regain my room and attempt in some way to stop the flow of blood from my wound. After some difficulty I managed to rise, and staggered into my room. My first thought was of a flask of whiskey which I usually carried in my bag. I prayed that in sending down my things from London it had not been removed. After groping about for a few moments I came upon it, and lost no time in swallowing the bulk of its contents. Under this sudden and violent stimulation I began to feel better, my strength began to return, and I managed to find a wax taper and light the gas. A look into the mirror caused me to shudder. My face and the entire right side of my head was a gory mass of blood, which, even as I stood there, dripped in heavy drops upon the white cloth on the top of the dresser. I hastily seized a towel and managed to bring my face to some appearance of the human, after which I soaked a couple of handkerchiefs in cold water and bound them upon the wound. It proved to be a long, irregular gash, extending from the side of my head some two or more inches back of the temple down nearly or quite to my right ear. It was still bleeding profusely, but the blood matting with my hair, had begun to coagulate and in the course of an hour or more, during which I constantly renewed the application of the cold water, had practically ceased to flow. I bound my head up, removed the remaining traces of blood from my face and then, returning cautiously to the green room, entered and looked about me. The light from my own room, and the gray signs of dawn without enabled me to see that it was empty. There was no silent figure crouching within, waiting to deal me another deadly blow, nor had I expected to find any. I took one look about, seized my watch from the table and fled. But, when I left that chamber of horrors, and closed the door behind me, I knew how Robert Ashton had come to his death.

      On returning again to my own room I glanced hurriedly at my watch. It was nearly six o'clock.

      The stimulation of the whiskey had by this time begun to wear off, and I lay down upon the bed to rest. Presently I fell asleep, from pure exhaustion, and did not awake until I was aroused by a tapping at the door. I looked at my watch. It was after ten o'clock, and the bright morning sun was glistening upon the bare ground and the trees without, brilliant in their coats of frozen rain. One of the maids had brought up my breakfast upon a tray, and I managed to take it from her without exhibiting my bound-up head and generally gory appearance. The whole right shoulder and side of the pajamas which I still wore were caked with blood. I sent word to Major Temple that I would join him shortly, and requested the maid to inform him that, should Sergeant McQuade arrive, he be asked to postpone his final examination of the green room until I had seen him. In somewhat less than an hour I had managed to get myself into fairly presentable condition, and with my head bound up in towels that looked for all the world like an Eastern turban, I slowly descended to the main hall and entered the library.

      Major Temple was standing with his back to the fire, talking