Laurence bowed, and as he did so he became aware of a faint drowsy odour.
It was the perfume of sandal-wood.
[CHAPTER V.]
THE SUSPICIONS OF LAURENCE MALLOW.
O all things odours are the most powerful to stimulate a dormant memory; to bring back in a flash an especial scene, a peculiar face, a particular conversation. Nothing was further from Mallow's mind than the mysterious murder of Athelstane Place, yet the moment that whiff of sandal-wood titillated his nostrils, he recalled at once the theory of the newspapers and the wild suggestion of Lord Aldean.
For the moment he was so bewildered that he stood tongue-tied before Mr. Carson. That young gentleman, on his part, appeared to be amused, if a trifle astonished.
"You have seen me before," he asked in a pleasant voice, with a slight and agreeable accent. "No? Is there anything strange about me then that you----"
"I--I--I really beg your pardon," stammered Mallow, scrambling out of his unpleasant position as best he could; "but I--that is--I fancied I did know your face."
"You have been in India, then?"
"Yes, Mr. Carson; I was in India some months ago."