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  THE GREEN GOD

  [Illustration: "GENTLEMEN," HE SAID IN A FRIGHTENED SORT OF VOICE, "MISS
  TEMPLE CANNOT BE FOUND."]




  THE
  GREEN
  GOD

  by

  Frederic Arnold Kummer

  Illustrations by
  R. F. Schabelitz

  NEW YORK
  W. J. WATT & COMPANY
  PUBLISHERS

  COPYRIGHT, 1911, BY
  W. J. WATT & COMPANY

  _Published September_

  PRESS OF
  BRAUNWORTH & CO.
  BOOKBINDERS AND PRINTERS
  BROOKLYN, N. Y.




  CONTENTS


  CHAPTER                               PAGE

     I MR. ASHTON                          1

    II A CRY IN THE MORNING               28

   III A QUEER DISCOVERY                  48

    IV I ADVISE MISS TEMPLE               79

     V MAJOR TEMPLE'S STORY              101

    VI THE ORIENTAL PERFUME              120

   VII IN THE TEMPLE OF BUDDHA           142

  VIII INSPECTOR BURNS' CONCLUSIONS      161

    IX MISS TEMPLE'S DISAPPEARANCE       182

     X MISS TEMPLE'S TESTIMONY           198

    XI THE VENGEANCE OF BUDDHA           228

   XII I ASK MISS TEMPLE A QUESTION      247

  XIII A NIGHT OF HORROR                 267

   XIV THE SECRET OF THE GREEN ROOM      286




THE GREEN GOD




CHAPTER I

MR. ASHTON


The dull October afternoon was rapidly drawing to a close as I passed
through the village of Pinhoe, and set my steps rather wearily toward
Exeter. I had conceived the idea, some time before, of walking from
London to Torquay, partly because I felt the need of the exercise and
fresh air, and partly because I wanted to do some sketching in the
southwest counties. Perhaps had I realized, when I started out, what
manner of adventure would befall me in the neighborhood of the town of
Exeter, I should have given that place a wide berth. As matters now
stood, my chief concern at the moment was to decide whether or not I
could reach there before the impending storm broke. For a time I had
thought of spending the night at the inn at Pinhoe, but, after a careful
examination of the wind-swept sky and the masses of dun colored clouds
rolling up from the southwest, I decided that I could cover the
intervening five miles and reach the Half Moon Hotel in High street
before the coming of the storm. I had left Pinhoe perhaps half a mile to
the rear, when the strong southwest gale whipped into my face some drops
of cold, stinging rain which gave me warning that my calculations as to
the proximity of the storm had been anything but correct. I hesitated,
uncertain whether to go forward in the face of the gale, or to beat a
hasty retreat to the village, when I heard behind me the sound of an
approaching automobile.

The car was proceeding at a moderate speed, and as I stepped to the side
of the road to allow it to pass, it slowed up, and I heard a gruff, but
not unpleasant, voice asking me whether I could point out the way to
Major Temple's place. I glanced up, and saw a tall, heavily built man,
of perhaps some forty years of age, leaning from the rear seat of the
motor. He was bronzed and rugged with the mark of the traveler upon him,
and although his face at first impressed me unpleasantly, the impression
was dispelled in part at least by his peculiarly attractive smile. I
informed him that I could not direct him to the place in question, since
I was myself a comparative stranger to that part of England. He then
asked me if I was going toward Exeter. Upon my informing him not only
that I was, but that I was particularly desirous of reaching it before
the coming of the rain, he at once invited me to get into the car, with
the remark that he could at least carry me the major part of the way.

I hesitated a moment, but, seeing no reason to refuse the offer, I
thanked him and got into the car, and we proceeded toward the town at a
fairly rapid rate. My companion seemed disinclined to talk, and puffed
nervously at a long cheroot. I lighted my pipe, with some difficulty on
account of the wind, and fell to studying the face of the man beside me.
He was a good-looking fellow, of a sort, with a somewhat sensuous face,
and I felt certain that his short, stubby black mustache concealed a
rather cruel mouth. Evidently a man to gain his ends, I thought, without
being over nice as to the means he employed. Presently he turned to me.
"I understand," he said, "that Major Temple's place is upon the main
road, about half a mile this side of Exeter. There is a gray-stone
gateway, with a lodge. I shall try the first entrance answering that
description. The Major only leased the place recently, so I imagine he
is not at all well known hereabouts." He leaned forward and spoke to
his chauffeur.

I explained my presence upon the Exeter road, and suggested that I would
leave the car as soon as we reached the gateway in question, and
continue upon foot the balance of my way. My companion nodded, and we
smoked in silence for a few moments. Suddenly, with a great swirl of
dead leaves, and a squall of cold rain, the storm broke upon us. The
force of the gale was terrific, and although the car was provided with a
leather top, the wind-swept rain poured in and threatened to drench us
to the skin. My companion drew the heavy lap-robe close about his chin,
and motioned to me to do likewise, and a moment later we turned quickly
into a handsome, gray-stone gateway and up a long, straight gravel road,
bordered on each side by a row of beautiful oaks. I glanced up at my new
acquaintance in some surprise, but he only smiled and nodded, so I said
no more, realizing that he could hardly set me down in the face of such
a storm.

We swirled over the wet gravel for perhaps a quarter of a mile, through
a fine park, and with a swift turn at the end brought up under the
porte-cochere of a large, gray-stone house of a peculiar and to me
somewhat gloomy and unattractive appearance. The rain, however, was now
coming down so heavily, and the wind swept with such furious strength
through the moaning trees in the park, that I saw it would be useless to
attempt to proceed against it, either on foot or in the motor, so I
followed my companion as he stepped from the machine and rang the bell.
After a short wait, the door was thrown open by a servant and we
hurriedly entered, my acquaintance calling to the chauffeur as we did so
to proceed at once to the stables and wait until the rain had moderated
before setting out upon his return journey.

We found ourselves in a large, dimly lighted hallway. I inspected the
man who had admitted us with considerable curiosity as he closed the
door behind us, not only because of his Oriental appearance--he was a
Chinaman of the better sort--but also because he was dressed in his
native garb, his richly embroidered jacket reflecting the faint light of
the hall with subdued, yet brilliant, effect. He upon his part showed
not the slightest interest in our coming, as he inspected us with his
childlike, sleepy eyes. "Tell Major Temple," said my friend to the man,
as he handed him his dripping coat and hat, "that Mr. Robert Ashton is
here, and--" He turned to me with a questioning glance. "Owen Morgan," I
replied, wondering if he would know me by name. If he did, he showed no
sign. "Just so--Mr. Owen Morgan," he continued, then strode toward a log
fire which crackled and sputtered cheerily upon the hearth of a huge
stone fireplace. I gave the man my cap and stick,--I was walking in a
heavy Norfolk jacket, my portmanteau having been sent ahead by train to
Exeter--and joined Mr. Ashton before the fire.

"I'm afraid I'm rather presuming upon the situation," I suggested, "to
make myself so much at home here; but perhaps the storm will slacken up
presently."

"Major Temple will be glad to see you, I'm sure," rejoined Mr. Ashton,
unconcernedly. "You can't possibly go on, you know--listen!" He waved
his hand toward the leaded windows against which the storm was now
driving with furious force.

"I'm afraid not," I answered, a bit ungraciously. I have a deep-rooted
dislike to imposing myself upon strangers, and I felt that my
unceremonious arrival at the house of Major Temple might be less
appreciated by that gentleman than my companion seemed to think likely.

"The Major is a queer old character," Mr. Ashton remarked, "great
traveler and collector. I'm here on a matter of business myself--partly
at least. He'll be glad to meet you. I fancy he's a bit lonely with
nobody to keep him company but his daughter. Here he comes now." He
turned toward a tall, spare man with gray hair and drooping gray
mustache, who entered the hall. His face, like Ashton's, had the dull,
burnt-in tone of brown which is acquired only by long exposure to the
sun, and which usually marks its possessor as a traveler in the hot
countries. "Ah, Ashton," exclaimed the Major, dropping his monocle,
"delighted to see you. You arrived yesterday?"--He extended his hand,
which Ashton grasped warmly.

"Late yesterday. You see I lost no time in coming to report the result
of my quest."

"And you were successful?" demanded the older man, excitedly.

"Entirely so," replied Ashton with a smile of satisfaction.

"Good--good!" The Major rubbed his hands and smiled, then apparently
observing me for the first time, glanced at Mr. Ashton with a slight
frown and an interrogative expression.

"Mr. Owen Morgan," said Ashton, lightly, "on his way to Exeter with me.
I took the liberty of bringing him in, on account of the storm."

"I am ready to go on at once," I interjected stiffly, "as soon as the
rain lets up a bit."

"Nonsense--nonsense!" The Major's voice was somewhat testy. "You can't
possibly proceed on a night like this. Make yourself at home, Sir. Any
friend of Mr. Ashton's is welcome here." He waved aside my protestations
and turned to one of the servants, who had entered the room to turn on
the lights. "Show Mr. Ashton and Mr. Morgan to their rooms, Gibson.
You'll be wanting to fix up a bit before dinner," he announced.

"I'm afraid I can't dress," I said ruefully; "my things have all gone
on to Exeter by train."

The Major favored me with a sympathetic smile. "I quite understand," he
said; "traveler's luck. I've been a bit of a traveler myself, in my day,
Mr. Morgan. My daughter will understand perfectly."

"Which rooms, Sir, shall I show the gentlemen to?" asked the man, a
trifle uneasily, I thought.

The Major looked at Ashton, and laughed. "Ashton," he said, "you know I
only took this place a short time ago on my return from my last trip to
the East, and as we do not have many visitors, it's a bit musty and out
of shape. Queer old house, I fancy. Been closed, until I let it, for
years. Supposed to be haunted or something of the sort--tales of
wandering spirits and all that. I imagine it won't worry you much." He
glanced from Ashton to myself with a quick smile of interrogation.

"Hardly," replied my companion, lighting a cigarette. "I've outgrown
ghosts. Lead on to the haunted chamber."

The Major turned to the servant. "Show the gentlemen to the two rooms in
the west wing, Gibson. The green room will suit Mr. Ashton, I fancy, and
perhaps Mr. Morgan will find the white and gold room across the hall
comfortable for the night."

"Very good, Sir." The man turned toward the staircase and we followed
him.

I found my room a large and fairly comfortable one, containing a great
maple bed, a chest of drawers and other furniture of an old-fashioned
sort. The place seemed stuffy with the peculiar dead atmosphere of rooms
long closed, but I soon dispelled this by throwing open one of the
windows upon that side of the room away from the force of the storm, and
busied myself in making such preparations for dinner as I could with the
few requisites which my small knapsack contained. I heard Ashton across
the hall, whistling merrily as he got into evening kit, and rather
grumbled at myself for having been drawn into my present position as an
unbidden and unprepared guest in the house of persons who were total
strangers to me.

After a considerable time, I heard the musical notes of a Chinese gong
which I took to be the signal for dinner, so making my way to the
staircase with, I fear, a somewhat sheepish expression, I saw Ashton
ahead of me, just joining at the end of the hallway a strikingly
beautiful and distinguished-looking girl, of perhaps twenty-two or
three, dressed in an evening gown of white, the very simplicity of which
only served to accentuate the splendid lines of her figure. Her face was
pale with that healthy pallor which is in some women so beautiful--a
sort of warm ivory tint--and with her splendid eyes and wide brow,
crowded with a mass of bronze-colored hair, I felt that even my critical
artistic taste could with difficulty find a flaw. It was evident that
she and Mr. Ashton knew each other well, yet it seemed to me that Miss
Temple, for so I supposed the young lady to be, did not respond with
much cordiality to the effusive greeting which Mr. Ashton bestowed upon
her. I descended the steps some distance behind them, and observed Major
Temple standing in the center of the main hall, smiling with much
apparent satisfaction at the couple ahead of me as they advanced toward
him. As I joined them, Major Temple presented me to his daughter as a
friend of Mr. Ashton's, which, it appeared to me, did not predispose
that young lady particularly in my favor, judging by the coldness with
which she received me, and then we all proceeded to the dining-room.

The dinner was excellently cooked, and was served by the same
almond-eyed Chinaman who had admitted us upon our arrival. I learned
afterwards that the Major was an enthusiastic student of Oriental art,
and that his collection of porcelains and carved ivory and jewels was
one of the finest in England. He had, it appeared, spent a great portion
of his life in the East and had only just returned from a stay of over a
year in China, during which he had penetrated far into the interior,
into that portion of the country lying toward Thibet, where Europeans do
not usually go.

During dinner, Major Temple and Mr. Ashton talked continually of China,
and referred frequently to "it," and to "the stone," although at the
time I did not grasp the meaning of their references. I attempted
without much success to carry on a conversation with Miss Temple, but
she seemed laboring under intense excitement and unable to give my
efforts any real attention, so I gradually found myself listening to the
talk between Major Temple and Mr. Ashton. As near as I could gather, the
latter had set out from Hong Kong some months before, on a search for a
certain stone or jewel which Major Temple desired for his collection,
and after an adventurous trip during which he had been forced at the
risk of his life to remain disguised as a coolie for some weeks, had
finally escaped and returned to England. There was also some talk of a
reward, though of what nature I did not understand, but it seemed to
give Mr. Ashton great satisfaction, and to cause Major Temple much
uneasiness every time it was mentioned, and I saw him glance frequently,
covertly, at the blanched face of his daughter. As Mr. Ashton brought
his thrilling story to a conclusion, he drew from his waistcoat pocket a
small, green leather case, evidently of Chinese workmanship, and,
opening it, turned out upon the white cloth what I at first thought to
be a small figure of green glass, which on closer inspection proved to
be a miniature representation of the god Buddha, standing somewhat above
an inch and a half in height, and wonderfully cut from a single
flawless emerald. I looked up at Ashton in amazement as he allowed the
gas light to play upon its marvelous beauty of color and the delicate
workmanship of its face and figure, then rolled it across the table
toward Miss Temple. It represented the well-known figure of the god,
sitting with arms extended upon its knees, its face so exquisitely
chiseled that the calm, beneficent smile was as perfect, the features as
exact, as though the figure had been of life size. As the wonderful
sparkling gem flashed across the white cloth in the direction of Miss
Temple, the latter started back in dismay and an expression of intense
horror passed over her face as she looked up and caught the burning eyes
of Mr. Ashton fixed upon hers. She returned his gaze defiantly for a
moment, then lowered her eyes and composed her features behind the cold
and impassive mask she had worn throughout the evening.

Ashton flushed a sullen red, then picked up the jewel and set it
carelessly upon the top of a cut-glass salt cellar, turning it this way
and that to catch the light. As he did so, I observed the Chinese
servant enter the doorway opposite me with cigars, cigarettes and an
alcohol lamp upon a tray, and I was startled to see his wooden,
impassive face light up with a glare of