The Jade God by Alan Sullivan (snow like ashes series txt) 📕

it for several reasons. She admitted being lonely, and also welcomed anything that lifted her brother out of himself. For the past few weeks she had watched him closely, saying nothing. He was less distrait and more like his old self, but she knew that the novel progressed not at all. He was busy in his own peculiar way, and she asked no questions.

She was charmed with Mrs. Millicent, found they had much in common, and noted with contentment that Jean and her brother seemed like old friends. While all four were together, the subject of Beech Lodge was instinctively avoided, but a little later Derrick found himself in the cottage garden with Jean. It was after a pause that she sent him a straight questioning look.

“Well, I’m waiting. Something tells me you’ve been very busy and, I think, successful.”

“Busy, yes,” he smiled, “but I don’t know how successful.”

“Did you have a long talk at the police station?”

“Fairly long. The sergeant regarded me at first as most officials regard the amateur, but he was interested before I left. It seems that he regards your father’s case as the one unsatisfactory spot on his record. It’s odd to talk to a man who is so blunt and at the same time has to admit that he’s beaten.”

“But you haven’t told me yet. I know by your face there’s something.”

“Yes,” he admitted, “there is. Will you let me know what you can about a small image that came from Burma?”

“The jade god?” she said swiftly.

“Yes⁠—or devil.”

“How extraordinary! Have you come to that, too?”

“Or else it came to me. Look!”

She shrank involuntarily, then, without touching the thing he had taken from his pocket, stared at it closely.

“Are there two? Where did you find that?”

“No,” he smiled, “this is a cast in green wax made from a mold I took of the image itself. I⁠—” he hesitated⁠—“I did not like to carry the original about with me.”

“I think you are very wise, but where did you find the original?” Her eyes were full of wonder.

“It happened a week ago, the day before I went to see Sergeant Burke. I was in the study, looking at your father’s portrait as I often do, when it seemed more than ever that he was trying to tell me something. That has often been the case before, but never as vividly. He wanted to speak, and I believe he was speaking, but not in a language I could understand. Then I got up and stood in front of him and could have sworn the expression of his eyes changed. They appeared to be looking down at something below himself and not far away. Without knowing it I put out my hand as though to meet an invisible one held out to me, and touched the oak frame on the side of the mantel. You know those old carvings?”

“Yes,” she said breathlessly.

“It was just under the upper one. Then I heard a click, and a small panel fell forward, opening a tiny cupboard about six inches square. The original of this thing was inside, as though it had been waiting for me. I did not touch it at once but looked up, and there was a sort of relief in the painted eyes.”

“Go on; please go on!”

“I haven’t much more to say, as yet, except that to my knowledge both Perkins and Martin have searched the study for something I take to be the original of this. There’s one other thing to be found now. Evidence was given that it was there that evening and has not been seen since.”

“I know what that is.”

“Well, I have an idea it’s not far away.”

“Why do you say that?”

“I don’t know, but I feel it. Meantime will you tell me what you know of the image?”

“Father brought it back from Burma about seven years ago,” she said slowly, “and seemed both to love and fear it. I have always thought it terrible, as though half the evil in the world had been captured in that bit of green stone. From the time he brought it back he himself appeared to change. I felt that the more because we were very near each other, he and I, and he believed what you believe. We never talked much about it, as that didn’t seem necessary. As to the image, I knew it was somewhere in the study but didn’t know where. No one did. All he ever said about it was that he got it up country. I have seen Perkins come in when it was on the desk, try not to look at it, then stare as though fascinated.”

“Did Martin ever see it?” put in Derrick.

“Yes, and it had the same effect on him. I often wanted to smile at grown people feeling like that, but somehow I couldn’t.”

“Then, if either Perkins or Martin wanted it there would have been no great difficulty in stealing it?”

“Perhaps not, but I had a queer idea that though their fingers itched for it they were afraid to touch it.”

“Yet it kept Perkins at Beech Lodge, and brought Martin back half round the world. It sent out vibrations to which they had to respond.”

“You believe that?”

He nodded.

“It all fits in,” she admitted slowly. “Always in the study I’ve felt some kind of war going on between influences; good fighting with evil. Father used to feel that, too. The room found its own voice and spoke, and against that was the voice of the jade god, confusing and confounding everything with threatening messages.”

“And you are satisfied there was no common interest between Perkins and Martin?”

“I don’t see how that could be. She never had anything to do with him and didn’t even like having him about the house. I never saw them together.”

“May I ask if you know what your father actually did in Burma?”

“No, sometimes he talked about the Mong Hills, but he never made any money in the Orient and used to come back saying that he