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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