Then he bent still farther over the matting.
"Humn," he said, ruminatively. "That scent again. Huile de jasmin, eh?" There was a note of satisfaction in his voice. "Huile de jasmin! No wonder it lingered. Look, here is another spot," creeping on all fours in the direction of the perfumed trail, he put his finger upon a tiny oily patch and smiled up into the astonished Superintendent's face. "Oh, I know this stuff well. At one time its real scent was only used in the harems of the great Rajahs, and they used to have a few drops put in receptacles attached to the back of their jewels. Sometimes a ring would bear its odour, sometimes a bracelet or earring. Later, though, it became more common and was used in the bazaars."
"Bazaars?" said Mr. Narkom. "Then it's Indian, you mean."
"My dear chap, do you remember that Lady Brenton was born in India? That is where Sir Edgar's father met and married her."
Cleek nodded and went on as though Mr. Narkom had not interrupted him.
"I said 'was', remember," he said. "It is still just as generally used, but since the days when the favourites of the Harem alone had permission to use it, I have no doubt some enterprising Eurasian has manufactured it, and sells the scent over here. Not but what I am not going to keep an eye on all that little Hindoo gang over the other side of the village. I have set Dollops to work, too. I had the pleasure of meeting one of them, a Mr. Gunga Dall, a few hours ago, and before I make up my mind, there are still others. Lady Brenton herself uses the scent; Miss Jennifer, too, is mighty fond of it—I noticed at lunch. But don't forget Dr. Verrall is also an Anglo-Indian. Yes, my friend, a good many roads lead to Rome—still——" His voice trailed off into silence, for his mind had gone back again to that first eventful journey to Cheyne Court, when, looking out in the March mist, he had seen the figure of a woman cross the lawn.
But was it a woman, or simply a man in the flowing robes of the East? If it had been Miss Jennifer, what was she doing that other night when the man was murdered?
His gaze was fixed almost unseeing in its intentness, but suddenly his eye caught a stray sunbeam which was reflected on something thrown down beside the white bed. He gave a sort of cry and pounced upon it.
Mr. Narkom fairly gasped in his excitement, at this action.
"Cleek!" Mr. Narkom said, agitatedly. "What is it?"