"I should advise you to make no assertions and to mention no names," replied Olive, keeping her temper. "What I say I intend to do. You marry me on these terms or not at all." "I will marry you," said Carson, frowning, "if only to humble you." Olive turned on him. "You--you humble me? You, a foolish weak----Go away, Angus, or I may say much we may both regret." "I will not go away," he said, the latent obstinacy of his nature asserting itself. "Let us make our bargain once and for all. I will marry you----" "And be my husband in name only?" "Yes," he whispered, with so strange a glance that she started back, "in name only. I agree to your terms--for my own private reasons. But, should this Mallow return----" "Leave Mr. Mallow's name out of our conversation," interrupted Olive imperiously; "there is nothing between us that you need trouble about. I do not conceal things." "Do I?" asked Carson, with bland inquiry. "Ask yourself, Angus." She looked at him hard. "What do you know about Athelstane Place?" CHAPTER XI. THE NEW MAID. 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." "That is strange," said Carson, biting his finger-nails--"very strange. I remember now. Semberry did mention this murder to me." "But I thought you said you had not heard of the locality?" "For the moment I forgot. I recollect now that he mentioned the name casually. But he said nothing about any smell of sandal-wood. I should like to hear more about that. Very strange," said Carson, musingly. "But what, may I ask, can this murder have to do with me?" If the man was acting, his powers of simulation were marvellous. Olive did not think he was acting. He had not the strength or self-control to mask his feelings so completely. The last shadow of doubt vanished from her mind. There could be no question as to the _bona fides_ of the man. "If you do not know, I do not," she retorted, and walked back to the drawing-room.