"That woman looks scared," said the detective.

"She _is_ scared," a.s.sented Rupert, "we have a ghost here, Mr.

Rodgers--the ghost of a monk, and Mrs. Petley thought she saw it last night."

"Really," said the detective with good-humoured contempt, "she _thought_ she saw a ghost. What nonsense."

"No, sir. It ain't nonsense."

It was the housekeeper who spoke. Having seen the Major coming up the avenue, she knew that he would require his usual gla.s.s of port, and therefore had prepared the tray, while the conversation was taking place on the terrace. This accounted for her quick return, and she set down the tray with the jingling gla.s.ses and decanter as she spoke. "It was a ghost, sure enough," said Mrs. Petley, when the small table was placed before the three gentlemen, "the ghost of Abbot Raoul. I've seen him times and again, but never so plainly as last night. It was between eleven and twelve," added Mrs. Petley without waiting for permission to speak, "and I sat up for Master Rupert here. I took a walk outside, it being fine and dry, and like a fool, I went in to the abbey."

"Why shouldn't you go there?" asked Rodgers.

"Because Abbot Raoul always walks where he was burnt," replied Mrs.

Petley, "and there he was sure enough. No moonlight could I see, but the stars gave a faint light, and he was near the square--the accursed square where they burnt the poor soul. I gave one screech as he swept past in his long robes and a cowl, and when I come to myself on the damp gra.s.s, he was gone. I hurried in and told Petley, who came out and searched, but bless you," went on the housekeeper with contempt, "he couldn't find a thing that had gone back to the other world--not he."

"It was a dream, Mrs. Petley," said Rupert soothingly.

"No, sir. Trouble is coming to the Ainsleighs, as always does when the Abbot walks. And this morning I went out and found this," and Mrs.

Petley, fishing in her capacious pocket, produced a small stick which smelt like cinnamon. Round it was a roll of scarlet paper inscribed with queer characters. Rupert stretched out his hand to take it, but the detective antic.i.p.ated him.

"It's a joss-stick," said Rodgers. "I've seen them in the Whitechapel opium dens. Humph! Why should the ghost of an old monk use a joss-stick, like the Chinese?"

Before anyone could reply, Mrs. Petley gave a cry, "I told you trouble was coming, Master Rupert, dear," she said with the tears streaming from her fat face, "and anything to do with that weary Chiner where your poor pa lost his life always do bring trouble. Oh, dear me," she put her silk ap.r.o.n to her eyes and walked slowly out of the room. "I must tell my John. He may be able to say what's coming, as he have a gift of prophecy, that he have."

When Mrs. Petley closed the door after her, the three men looked at one another. "Do you believe in this ghost, Mr. Ainsleigh?" asked the detective, examining the joss-stick.

Rupert did not give a direct answer. "I don't know what to believe, Mr.

Rodgers. Our family traditions have always pointed to the walking of Abbot Raoul before trouble, and it might be so. I have never seen the ghost myself, though."

"Your ghost is a Chinaman," said the detective, tapping the stick.

"But what would a Chinaman be doing in the cloisters?"

"Ah. That's what we've got to find out. There was a yacht in Marport Harbour last night, which came at midday, and departed in a hurry after midnight. Burgh says he believes Tung-yu went away in her, after committing the murder."

"Even if he did," said Rupert, calmly, "that does not show how the joss-stick came here, or why a Chinaman should be masquerading as a monk, for that, I take it, is your meaning."

"It is. I believe there were other Chinamen on board that boat," was the detective's reply. "Perhaps this man Hwei came to the Abbey."

"He might have come," said Ainsleigh, carelessly.

"Or Tung-yu," went on Rodgers.

"No," said the Major who had kept silent all this time, but had observed everything, "it was not Tung-yu's day."

Rodgers turned on him. "What do you mean by that?"

The Major settled himself more comfortably in his chair. "I'll tell you my adventure at Canton first," he said, "and then you may understand. I can't get to the bottom of the matter myself, for why Lo-Keong should have a private G.o.d of good luck is more than I can tell."

The others looked at him, amazed at this queer speech. "What is this private G.o.d?" asked the detective.

"I don't know, save that it is called Kw.a.n.g-ho."

Rupert started. "That was the G.o.d mentioned in the advertis.e.m.e.nt."

"Yes, so it was," replied the Major, quietly, "but just you wait and hear my story. It may lead to something being discovered."

"One moment, Mr. Ainsleigh. Show me the advertis.e.m.e.nt."

Rupert rose, and going to the writing-desk took therefrom the slip he had cut from the paper. Rodgers read it, quietly. "I see. Here is mentioned the doom of the G.o.d, Kw.a.n.g-ho."

"Lo-Keong's private G.o.d of good luck," said the Major.

"Are there private as well as public G.o.ds in China?"

Tidman looked perplexed. "I can't say. I know nothing. Wait and hear what I can tell," he settled himself again and began to speak rapidly.

"I was in Canton seven years ago," said he, "I had made my money here, and didn't intend to travel again. But Miss Wharf persuaded me to go to China, to see if I could find out why Markham Ainsleigh had been killed."

Rupert looked astonished. "Why? she hated my father."

"She loved him first and hated him later," said Tidman, quietly, "a fine woman was poor Miss Wharf. I was in love with her--"

"I never knew that Tidman."

"I was though," said the Major, "and Miss Pewsey hated me for being in love with her. I spoke badly of Miss Wharf to you Ainsleigh because I was angered with her--"

"You called her a ma.s.s of granite."

"And so she is," said the Major angrily, "she promised to marry me if I went to China and learned how your father came by his death. I did go, but I came back without learning more, than that he was murdered, so Miss Wharf refused to keep her promise. I believe it was that Pewsey cat's fault."

"Well--well--go on," said Rodgers looking at his watch, "all this business is very round-about. I want to get on with my work."

"This may have to do with it," said the Major smartly. "Well, I was in Canton, and intended to go up to the Kan-su province to make enquiries.

I met Forge in Canton. He had just come from Pekin, and showed me round.

He laughed at the idea that Markham had died by violence, and said it was dysentery."

"So he always said," murmured Rupert, who listened intently.

"And told a lie," retorted Tidman, "however I believed him, but all the same I intended to make enquiries at the mine of the Hwei River in the Kan-su province. But I stopped in Canton with Forge for a time, as he said he would go up with me. In some way, the fact of my trying to learn the truth about Markham's death got about."

"No doubt Forge told it to others," suggested Rupert.

"I don't know. I never got to the bottom of the business. But one day a half-starved Chinaman stopped me in the street, and told me he could explain, if I came with him. I went to a miserable house in a low part of the city. The man closed the door, and then drew a fan from his breast--"

"The fan in question?" asked Rodgers making a note.

"Yes--the very article. He told me that this fan would reveal the truth, and offered it to me."