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 sudden anger and alarm as he
caught sight of the jewel. Major Temple, observing him at the same
moment, quickly covered the figure with his hand, and the Chinaman,
resuming almost instantly his customary look of childlike unconcern,
proceeded to offer us the contents of the tray as Miss Temple rose and
left the table. I instinctively felt that Mr. Ashton and his host
desired to be alone, so, after lighting my cigar, I excused myself and
strolled into the great hall where I stood with my back to the welcome
fire, listening to the howling of the storm without.

I had been standing there for perhaps fifteen minutes or more, when
suddenly I observed Miss Temple come quickly into the hall from a door
on the opposite side of the stairway. She looked about cautiously for a
moment, then approached me with an eager, nervous smile. I could not
help observing, as she drew near, how the beauty of her delicate, mobile
face was marred by her evident suffering. Her large dark eyes were
swollen and heavy as from much weeping and loss of sleep.

"You are a friend of Mr. Ashton's," she asked earnestly as she came up
to me. "Have you known him long?"

"Miss Temple, I am afraid I can hardly claim to be a friend of Mr.
Ashton's at all. As a matter of fact I never met him before this
afternoon."

She seemed vastly surprised. "But I thought you came with him," she
said.

I explained my presence, and mentioned my work, and my purpose in making
a walking tour along the southwest coast.

"Then you are Owen Morgan, the illustrator," she cried, with a
brilliant smile. "I know your work very well, and I am delighted to meet
you. I was afraid you, too, were in the conspiracy." Her face darkened,
and again the expression of suffering fell athwart it like the shadow of
a cloud.

"The conspiracy?" I asked, much mystified. "What conspiracy?"

Miss Temple looked apprehensively toward the door leading to the
dining-room, then her eyes sought mine and she gave me a searching look.
"I am all alone here, Mr. Morgan," she said at last, "and I need a
friend very badly. I wonder if I can depend upon you--trust you."

It is needless to say th