ouse
and get each a steaming drink of hot brandy, after which we ate a hasty
breakfast. The detective, who seemed thoughtful and little inclined to
talk, then drove at once to Number 30, Kingsgate Street, and, finding
his two men still on duty, ordered them to enter the house. The bell was
first rung several times without any response, and then McQuade and his
men burst in the door. There were no lights within, and, when the
long-closed shutters were at last forced open, it was seen at once that
the house was completely unfurnished. We descended into the cellar, but
found no signs of occupancy anywhere. The place had evidently been long
closed. McQuade looked about in perplexity. Evidently there was a tunnel
somewhere, leading from this house to some other in the neighborhood, or
else the Chinamen had boldly carried us out through the backyard and
into some house adjoining. The Sergeant explained the case to his men,
ordered them to return to Scotland Yard, obtain a relief and investigate
every house in the block, and even those on the opposite side of the
street, since a tunnel might as well have led in that direction as any
other. Personally I felt no great interest in the capture of the
Chinamen. They had the emerald Buddha, it is true, but they had a better
right to it than ever Ashton had, I fancy, and, now that he was dead, it
seemed useless to bring trouble upon his relatives, in case he had any,
by placing in their hands so dangerous an article. I was infinitely
more concerned in determining who was responsible for Robert Ashton's
death, and I could not see that the events of the evening had thrown
much light upon it. I left McQuade and returned to my studio, agreeing
to meet him there at three the same afternoon, and return to The Oaks
with him. Just why he intended returning there, or why he wished me to
accompany him, I did not then see, but I was only too glad of an
opportunity again to see Miss Temple. The detective seemed especially
serious and taciturn, and, in reply to my questions as to the two
Chinamen from Exeter, he informed me that they knew nothing of the
matter and had been discharged. I went back to my studio in rather an
unpleasant frame of mind, took a hot bath, and slept until luncheon.

CHAPTER VIII

INSPECTOR BURNS' CONCLUSIONS

I was sitting in my studio, at about half-past two that afternoon,
awaiting McQuade's arrival, when a messenger boy dashed up to my door
and handed me a t