At that moment Muriel came in, glancing about, I felt, for me. She came toward me, as I rose from my chair, with a happy smile, which slowly faded away and was replaced by a look of deepest concern as she saw my bandaged head. "Why, Owen!" It was almost the first time she had called me by my Christian name and it made me feel wildly happy in spite of the racking pains in my head. "What on earth is the matter? Are you hurt?" She came up and took my hand, unmindful of the presence of her father and the man from Scotland Yard.
"Not much," I managed to reply; "just a nasty bit of a cut about the head. I slept in the green room last night, and, as I was just telling your father, I managed to find out the secret of Mr. Ashton's death, but I had rather a bad quarter of an hour doing so." I smiled ruefully and felt my turban to see if it was on straight.
"You—you slept in that room!" she cried, turning a bit white. "Why—you—what could you have been thinking of?"
"Don't think about it," I said, patting the hand she had placed upon my arm. My realization of her concern, her love, her fears, because of my possible danger, filled me with joy. "We are just going there now, and I hope to explain to all of you just what happened. But I would not advise you to use it as a guest chamber, in future," I concluded with a slight laugh.
The Major led the way, with Sergeant McQuade at his heels. The little man from Scotland Yard was all professional eagerness. He felt, no doubt, that his reputation as a detective had been brought into question. He had worked on the case for nearly a week and had succeeded only in arresting a number of innocent persons, while it was left for myself, a rank outsider, to discover the solution of the mystery which had so completely baffled himself and his men. I could not help feeling a secret sensation of satisfaction. The Sergeant had acted very decently all through, I had to admit, but I had not quite forgiven Inspector Burns and himself for the famous theory they had so carefully constructed, which resulted in so much suffering on Muriel's part, as well as a great deal of discomfort and unhappiness upon my own.
As we followed the others up the stairway, she took my arm and pressed it gently, and the look she gave me repaid me many times over for all the horrors of the night just past.
McQuade took out his key as we reached the door of the room, but I explained that it was not locked, and that Major Temple had opened it the night before with a duplicate key. The pool of blood on the floor of the hall, which had collected while I lay there earlier in the morning, still gave mute evidence of the experience through which I had passed. Muriel shuddered as she looked at it, but I hurriedly pushed open the door, and bade the others enter. I had no desire for further sympathy nor did I wish to bring about any dramatic climax. We all entered, the Major and Muriel looking about fearsomely as though they momentarily expected some unseen figure to rise and confront them, weapon in hand. When they had all got inside, I closed the door and said: "The weapon that fractured Mr. Ashton's skull has been in plain view to everyone, ever since the morning his death was discovered. There it is," I continued, quietly, and pointed to the heavy bronze chandelier which hung from the ceiling close to the side of the bed.