Then the news came that Angus Carson and his friend Major Semberry had arrived, and were in possession of the garden of flowers, and presumably of the nymphs who haunted it. Mallow's spirits suddenly went down to zero, and, in a moping mood, he worried Aldean for two whole days. On the third he resolved to meet his rival face to face; so, taking advantage of Aldean's absence at Reading, he walked over to the Manor House, and was duly shown into the drawing-room. Remembering their last meeting, Olive blushed as she gave Mallow her hand. Then, to cover her confusion, she presented Mallow to a tall, slender young man in a grey tweed suit, with his right hand in a black silk sling. "Mr. Mallow, this is Mr. Carson." 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." "Then it is quite possible that we met there, Mr. Mallow, although I cannot recall having seen you. This is the first time I have visited England. Forgive me if I am somewhat lax in the observance of your social customs--one always shakes hands here, I believe, when presented; you must let me then give you my left hand." "Is your right disabled?" asked Mallow, shaking the hand this affable young man extended. "I am sorry to say it is, Mr. Mallow. I hurt it some months back, shooting in India; the bones are diseased, and, since my arrival, I have been having it attended to by one of your clever London surgeons. I am relieved to say that he did not consider amputation to be necessary." Here, again, was another circumstance which immediately struck Mallow as peculiar. The right hand of the dead man in Athelstane Place had been cutoff; the right hand of Mr. Carson was diseased, and had narrowly escaped amputation. This was a strange coincidence.