When Miss Temple launched her terrible and unwilling accusation against her father, and was carried unconscious from the room, I realized that I was, to all intents and purposes, a free man. Whatever the circumstantial evidence which had been so cleverly brought against me by the Scotland Yard men, I knew that it could have no weight against actual testimony to the effect that it was Major Temple, and not myself, who had, early that morning, crept out upon the roof of the porch and entered Ashton's room by way of his window. Miss Temple, it is true, had testified that the window was closed, but she could not know whether or not it was bolted, or whether Ashton had opened it later, before retiring, to secure fresh air in his room during the night. To me it seemed probable that he had. How to account for its subsequent rebolting from the inside I could not imagine, unless Major Temple had done it, unknown to me, when we first entered the room on the morning of the tragedy. I looked to see all these matters cleared up when he was placed upon the stand, and I was not surprised to see one of the officers in the court approach the figure sitting bowed and silent among the buzzing spectators and, laying a hand upon his shoulder, bend down and whisper a few low words into his unheeding ear. That Major Temple's arrest must inevitably follow his daughter's testimony was apparent to everyone. He arose and was about to accompany the officer to the dock, when there was a murmur of voices about the door, and I saw Sergeant McQuade enter with the ugly figure of Li Min beside him, followed by the interpreter, while Inspector Burns, stepping quickly to the Magistrate's desk, said a few hurried words to him in a low voice.

The Magistrate, apparently very much surprised, turned to the court-room, rapped loudly for order and motioned to the officer in charge of Major Temple to release him. Sergeant McQuade, meanwhile, with his prisoner, had advanced to the dock, and without further ceremony I saw the court attendants administer the oath, the import of this being explained to the Chinaman by the interpreter.

I learned afterward that Li Min, upon his first appearance as a witness, had been under the impression that he was being tried for his attempt to steal my satchel, and, as he did not then know that his compatriots in London had secured the emerald, feared to make disclosures regarding his attempt to secure it which would inform the police of its whereabouts. The interpreter, a Chinaman of the better class, who was in the habit of acting in this capacity for the police, had argued with him during the noon hour, had convinced him that he was not charged with any crime, that the emerald Buddha had been secured by his friends in London, and was, ere now, no doubt, on its way back to China. Under these circumstances he was at last persuaded to tell his story and, after an interminable amount of questioning, it was at last dragged from him. I have placed his testimony together into the form of a narrative, which will enable the reader to understand its purport, without being under the necessity of going through the laborious cross-questioning by the Magistrate and the interpreter which was necessary in order to drag it forth.

It seems that Li Min, a native of South China, and by religion a follower of Buddha, had associated himself with the reform movement in China, which has drawn into its ranks many of the most intelligent of the Chinese. Like many of his countrymen, he was under suspicion, and, knowing the enmity of the Dowager Empress and her advisers toward the movement, had come to Hong Kong with the intention of leaving the country. His engagement as a servant by Major Temple was for him a piece of excellent luck, as it enabled him to leave China without being under any suspicion as to his motives for doing so. It was during the voyage to England, and his subsequent stay in Major Temple's service, that he first learned the story of the emerald Buddha. Piece by piece he gathered the details of the story, and from frequent conversations between Major Temple and his daughter, which they carried on without regard for his presence, he came to know of Ashton's determination to secure the sacred relic. His religious feelings were outraged by what he heard, and he promptly communicated the whole matter by letter to a Buddhist priest in Hong Kong, with the suggestion that he send word to the followers of Buddha in Ping Yang. This was done, but much time had elapsed, and, when the word at last reached Ping Yang, Ashton had already escaped with the jewel. The priest in charge of the shrine, upon receiving the information as to the stone's destination, set out at once for London with two of his followers, determined upon the recovery of the emerald at any cost. They made such speed that they got to Pekin a considerable time before Ashton arrived there, owing to his wanderings in the interior after his escape from his pursuers. They set out at once for England and arrived in London some weeks before Ashton's coming. They at once communicated not only with Li Min but with their followers in London, and a plan was worked out which would inevitably have resulted in the recovery of the jewel, had it been peaceably turned over to Major Temple as they supposed would be the case. Li Min was to notify them as soon as Ashton arrived at Major Temple's, and, after that, both he and the Major's house were to be carefully watched and the stone recovered at the first opportunity. They naturally supposed that the bargain between Major Temple and Ashton would be carried out, and the stone left in Major Temple's possession. It would then be Li Min's part to admit his confederates to the house and with their assistance steal the jewel and make away with it. When Li Min, in waiting on the table that night, first saw the emerald Buddha his impulse was to seize it at once and remove it from the impious hands of the foreign devils. This he was of course unable to do. He then planned to go into Exeter that night and send word to his confederates in London, as arranged, but, owing to the furious storm, and the impossibility of accomplishing anything at that late hour of the night, he determined to wait until early the next morning. He overheard the quarrel between Ashton and Major Temple after dinner, and the fear that the former might leave the house the next day, taking the jewel with him, had left him awake throughout the night, devising plans for the coming day. He arose about half-past four o'clock, but, as it was still raining heavily, he crept silently through the hallway of the west wing to Ashton's door, hoping to find it unfastened. Upon finding it bolted, he had gone to the window at the end of the hall, unfastened it, raised the sash and looked out. It was still raining, although not so heavily, and the light of early dawn was beginning to show in the sky. He made a quick decision to climb out upon the roof, enter Ashton's room by means of the window, secure the emerald and make his way as quickly as possible to the town, where he could place the jewel in safe hands. But, fearing lest, in the early morning light, he might be recognized by some chance early riser among the stablemen or gardeners, he descended swiftly to the main hall, threw on a long tan rain-coat and tweed cap belonging to Major Temple and, so disguised, returned once more to the upper floor and thence by way of the window to the porch roof. He was making his way quietly along to the window of Mr. Ashton's room when seen by Miss Temple, but he was so absorbed in his work that he did not observe her. Arriving at Mr. Ashton's window, he had tried it, only to find it bolted on the inside. The increasing light showed him dimly the interior of the room, with Ashton lying asleep in the bed. In trying to force the window he had cut his hand badly upon a projecting nail or bit of glass, but in his excitement he failed to realize it, and had rested his palm, covered with blood upon the window sill, his fingers pointing inward. His efforts to open the window had also resulted in some noise, which awoke the sleeping man within. What followed I will try to tell in Li Min's own words as rendered into English by the interpreter. "I saw the man (Mr. Ashton) rolling about in his bed. He seemed to be suffering, and I heard him groan and once cry out in his sleep. I pushed the window again, and it made a loud noise. The man jumped up quickly, and started toward the window. His face was white, and terrible. And, as he jumped from the bed, the hand of Buddha, the mighty, the wonderful one, who knows all things, smote him like a flash of fire. He fell upon the floor, uttering a loud cry. I was frightened, and ran along the roof and climbed into the house through the hall window. I heard sounds of someone moving about in the room of the young man (Mr. Morgan). I closed the window, but forgot to bolt it in my hurry. I ran quickly along the hall and went down the stairs. I put the coat and cap in the closet in the hall, where I had found them, and went out through the servant's entrance. I walked into Exeter and sent word to my brothers in London that the sacred relic had come. Then I had some breakfast and came back. Afterward I learned that the jewel was gone. I did not know whether The Great Buddha had taken it away or not. I tried to get into the room, but it was always locked. At last the dead man was taken away and I was sent to fix the room. I searched everywhere—under the carpets, behind the pictures, in the mattress of the bed—but I could not find the stone. At last the young man (Mr. Morgan) came into the room suddenly, and I watched him. He, too, I knew, was seeking for the jewel. After a time, he took the piece of soap and went away. I was a fool—I had not thought of the soap, which lay there in front of my eyes. It was the only thing I had not searched. I knew that, if Buddha had not taken away the stone, it must be concealed there. I watched the young man. I saw him put it in his bag. I went downstairs, and, after a while, when the satchel was left unguarded for a moment, I took it. The young man and the officer were outside and stopped me. When I was taken into the jail at Exeter, my friend, Chuen Moy came to see me. I told him through the bars what had happened. I did not know whether the young man would keep the stone or give it to the officer. I told Chuen Moy that they were both going to London in the afternoon. I told Chuen Moy to go to London and to inform our brothers that they might get the stone. I have done nothing wrong. The man who died had offended the great Buddha. He committed a sacrilege in the shrine and he deserved to die. The mighty hand of the all-powerful one was stretched out, and he fell dead. I myself have seen the miracle. It is the vengeance of Buddha."

I do not know what the effect of this weird story was upon the others in the court-room, but to me it rang with all the accents of sincerity and truth. Not that I believed in the vengeance of Buddha, although even that I was not in the face of the evidence prepared to deny, but the actual events of his story, as he related them, explained everything, and nothing. There were no clues which had not been unraveled and made clear, yet we were as far from the solution of the mystery as ever. My heart gave a great leap of joy when I heard the Chinaman's simple, sincere confession, and knew that, because of his disguise, his tan coat and cap, Muriel had been mistaken in supposing the figure on the roof to have been her father. For I knew that this terrible thing about her father, which she so firmly believed, and which she had for days kept locked in the recesses of her heart, must have almost broken it during those many hours of uncertainty and fear. Yet for my sake, she had told the terrible truth, as she believed it, and to save me she had gone all the way to London, to ask my advice as to the proper course for her to pursue. I realized what it must have meant to her to launch that fearful accusation against her own father and I began to hope that she might have for me a feeling not dissimilar to that which I so strongly felt for her.

There was some confusion in the court-room when Li Min finished his story, several of the spectators began to laugh at what they considered a remarkably ingenious, yet ridiculous, defense on the Chinaman's part. As they glanced at the Magistrate, however, they saw nothing approaching amusement upon his grim face. On the contrary it was very evident, when Li Min had been taken back to his cell, that he not only believed the Chinaman's story, but had been very deeply impressed by it.

Major Temple was put upon the stand again, but his examination resulted only in a repetition of his former statements and a forcible denial that he had left his room from the moment he retired the evening preceding Mr. Ashton's death until he heard my cries for help the next morning. There was no evidence now to connect either Miss Temple, her father or myself with the death of the collector. Li Min had borne out my story regarding the taking of the cake of soap in every particular. I was discharged, along with Major Temple and Miss Temple, and only Li Min remained in custody. He was, of course, held upon the technical charge of assaulting McQuade and threatening him with a deadly weapon. Inspector Burns and Sergeant McQuade both signified their intention of going to London at once. The latter, however, arranged to come down to The Oaks the following day to make a final examination into the mystery. He did not believe for a moment that part of Li Min's story which referred to the sudden death of Mr. Ashton, and was already working on some theory, which he did not elaborate to me, whereby Li Min might have been able to open the window of the dead man's room, enter, commit the murder and rebolt the window behind him after he had left. If he could establish this, he felt sure that he could send Li Min to the gallows. I was requested by Major Temple, who seemed much broken in health and spirits by the events of the past few days, to accompany him and his daughter back to The Oaks, an invitation of which I was by no means slow to avail myself. The poor girl was greatly upset, and very much tired out, and we made haste to get her home as quickly as possible. I was too sick of the whole matter of Mr. Ashton's death to discuss it, although the Major broached the subject several times on our way back. I wanted to get Miss Temple home, where I hoped for an opportunity to have a talk with her, and to show in some way my appreciation of her efforts in my behalf, and her trip to London to see me. I had wired the caretaker at my studio in town early that morning to send me down some clothes, and I hoped to be able to appear at dinner in a more presentable costume than the walking suit which I had been forced to wear, throughout my remarkable series of adventures, for the past five days.

It was close to five o'clock when we arrived home, and I found my belongings awaiting me. I was given the same room that I had previously occupied and, when I appeared at dinner at eight, I felt like a human being for the first time since I had entered Major Temple's door. I was glad to see that both the Major and his daughter were much rested, and we sat down to dinner with some show of cheerfulness, Miss Temple looking especially charming in a green silk evening gown which to my artist's eyes made her a picture that I longed to put on canvas. I told her so, and we were soon discussing pictures, and art generally, at a lively rate. Only the Major seemed depressed, and I imagine this came from his regret at the loss of the wonderful emerald Buddha. He did not refer to it in any way, but I was conscious of a far-away look in his eyes which spoke volumes. What had become of the jewel, I did not know, but I fancied that McQuade's hurried trip to London had something to do with the search his men were making for the lost underground temple of Buddha and thought it more than likely that I would know more about it when he returned the next day.

We passed an hour very pleasantly at table, and after dinner Major Temple excused himself upon the plea that he wanted to write some letters and retired to his den, while Miss Temple and I sat down before the fire in the library for our first real tÊte-À-tÊte. It had begun to rain heavily outside, with a stiff breeze blowing from the southwest, and it seemed wonderfully fine and warm and altogether delightful, sitting here in the firelight with the woman I loved beside me.