had evidently been left by
Ashton. I picked up the soap and examined it, and at once recognized the
pungent odor of which I have spoken. The coincidence struck me as being
queer--the presence of this same perfume upon Miss Temple's
handkerchief--and I was at a loss to account for it. I picked up the
cake of soap, observing its perfume closely, then, noticing that the
Chinaman was regarding me with a particularly malevolent gaze, I retired
to my room, taking the soap with me. I had no definite purpose in this
except to keep it in order to identify the perfume, and, upon returning
to my room threw it into my satchel and completed the arrangements for
my departure.

I was soon ready to go, and, after leaving my bag with one of McQuade's
men, who was to accompany us to the railway station, I sought Miss
Temple in the hope of saying good-by to her before my departure. I
was lucky enough to find her in the library, sewing, and looking
unusually pale and distressed. She greeted me with rising color, and I
confess that I, too, felt a trifle of embarrassment. I could not forget
her agitation of the day before when I had questioned her as to her
movements upon the morning of the tragedy and her flat refusal to
continue the conversation when I had pressed her to explain her reasons
for her early morning expedition as well as her sudden return. I stood
gazing at her in perplexity, but, as I did so, the beauty of her face,
the clear, honest expression of her eyes once more convinced me that
whatever were her reasons for silence they did not in any way implicate
_her_ in this tangled affair.

[Illustration: "I HAVE COME TO SAY GOOD-BY," I SAID.]

"I have come to say good-by," I said.

"Oh, are you going--I did not know." She half rose; her face filled with
lively concern.

"I'm afraid I've already overstayed my time," I replied. "After all,
Miss Temple, I came as a stranger and must thank you and your father for
making me as welcome as you have under the existing painful
circumstances."

"I have not thought of you as a stranger, Mr. Morgan," she answered
simply. "You have been a great help during this trying ordeal, and I am
sorry that you must go--very sorry." There was a ring of sincerity in
her voice that thrilled me; my heart gave a leap, and, as I met her
eyes, I realized all of a sudden that, go where I might, I could not yet
go very far away from Muriel Temple. "I do not go because I desire it,"
I replied, in a voice f