Any belief that Olive might still have entertained in the accuracy of Mallow's suggestion was speedily dispelled by the expression of sheer amazement upon Carson's face. He remained cool and perfectly colourless.
"What do I know of Athelstane Place?" he repeated blankly. "Why, I never heard of Athelstane Place."
"You don't read your newspaper, then?"
"No; after living all my life in India, the English newspapers contain nothing likely to interest me. But why do you ask me these strange questions?"
"I will tell you, if you will answer me a still stranger one."
"What is it?" asked Carson, apparently much mystified. "Why do your clothes smell so of sandal-wood?"
"Is that all? Why, because I keep them in a sandal-wood chest."
"Which you brought from India?"
"Yes, I bought it from a Chinaman in Bombay. I like the scent of the wood. Is the odour disagreeable to you? I hope not. Had I known I should have bought new clothes in London."
"The odour is not in itself disagreeable," replied Olive, "but in Athelstane Place a man was murdered whose clothes also smelt strongly of this sandal-wood."