"No," said Penn coolly; "I cannot. This is a particular perfume which comes from the Island of Sumatra. I have a cousin there who knows that I like perfumes, and he sent me a single bottle."
"Can't I buy it anywhere?"
"No, it is not to be obtained in England," said Penn curtly. "In that case," said Halliday slowly, "it is strange that I should have smelt the same perfume on the clothes of Sir Charles after his death."
"Did you?" Penn looked surprised. "That is impossible. Why, Sir Charles detested scents, and I never dared to use this one until I left him for the night."
"You used it on the night of the murder?"
"Of course. I used it every night when I left Sir Charles. On that evening he sent me away with my usual batch of letters, and was going down to the House later. I would not have seen him until the next morning, so I took the opportunity to indulge in this taste."
"Then how did Sir Charles's clothes become impregnated with it?"
"I am unable to say. Why do you ask? Surely" – Penn turned an alarmed face towards the speaker, and looked yellower than ever-"surely you do not suspect me of keeping back anything from the police likely to lead to the detection of the assassin."
"Ask yourself, Mr. Penn," said Dan coldly. "I and Inspector Tenson and Mr. Durwin smelt this particular perfume on the clothes of the dead man, and I do not mind telling you that the police consider it something of a clue."
"A clue to what? To me? It must be, since I alone possess this scent. I certainly came into the library when summoned by Mr. Durwin, and I helped to look after Sir Charles. As I was strongly perfumed with the scent it is not impossible that my employer's clothes took what, doubtless, you will call the taint. I think," ended Penn in a dignified manner, "that such is the proper explanation. You have found a mare's nest, Mr. Halliday."
"Upon my word, I believe I have," said Dan, quite good-humoredly, "but you must forgive me, Mr. Penn. Inspector Tenson agreed with me that the fly and the scent were clues."
"About the fly I know nothing," said the secretary positively, "but this scent is not to be had in England, and Sir Charles's clothes could only have gathered the fragrance from mine. If Inspector Tenson suspects me-"
"No, no, no!" interrupted Halliday quickly. "I assure you that he does not."
"He would if you told him of our meeting," retorted Penn as they passed into Piccadilly Circus, "and as I don't like even a suspicion to rest on me, Mr. Halliday-for my good name is my fortune-I shall go and see him and explain the whole circumstance. Indeed, if he wishes it, I shall give him the bottle which my cousin sent me from Sumatra, and never shall I use the scent again. I do not like these injurious suspicions."
"Don't make a mountain out of a mole-hill," said Dan, drily; "if I have hurt your feelings, I apologize."
"I accept your apology only on condition that you accept my explanation." Dan inwardly chuckled at Penn's dignity, but replied, readily enough. "Oh, yes, for if I did not accept your explanation I should not make any apology. You are probably right since the scent must have got on to Sir Charles's clothes from your own. The clue-as we took it to be-has ended in smoke."
"But don't you think that I should see Inspector Tenson and explain?"
"There is no need," Dan assured him, soothingly. "If the Inspector says anything about the scent, I shall explain; and, after all, it was I who suggested the perfume as a clue." "Would you like what is left of the bottle?" asked Penn, pacified by the very frank apology of the other. "No, thanks, I never use perfumes. I hate them."
"So did Sir Charles," mused Penn, and eyeing Dan with a lack-lustre gaze. "I wonder he did not suspect me of liking them. If he had come upon me scented in this manner, he would have kicked me out."
"It is to be hoped Lord Curberry has not the same dislike," said Dan, who having learned all he wished, desired to escape from such boring society. "No, he has not," said Penn with great simplicity; "he is very kind to me. I suppose he will marry Miss Moon."
"Then you suppose wrong. He will not," snapped Halliday roughly. "He loves her devotedly," insisted the secretary, and with a glint of malice in his pale-colored eyes. "Good-day," rejoined Dan shortly, as he did not wish to argue the matter. He turned into Regent Street-for by this time they had crossed the Circus-when Penn ran after him and seized his arm. "Is there any chance of the woman who killed Sir Charles being found?"
"No," replied Dan, halting for a moment. "Why?"
"Because Sir Charles was good to me, and I should like his death to be avenged. That is only natural. Surely the police will search."
"They are searching, Mr. Penn, and can discover nothing."
"Perhaps Lord Curberry may hunt for this woman. I shall ask him to, and as he loves Miss Moon so devotedly, he will try to learn the truth." Irritated by this speech-for Penn knew very well of the rivalry-Dan became scarlet. "I shall discover the truth. Lord Curberry need not trouble himself." "If you discover the truth-" began Penn, and hesitated. "Well?" asked Halliday sharply. "I think Lord Curberry will certainly marry Miss Moon."
"What do you mean by that?" demanded Dan, but Penn gave no answer. Shaking his head significantly, he stepped back, and in one moment was lost in the midst of the crowd which thronged the corner. Halliday would have followed, for the man's last observation seemed to hint that he knew more about the truth than he was disposed to admit; but many people came between him and the secretary, so it was impossible to get hold of him again. Dan was forced to walk on alone and he walked on pondering deeply. Did Penn know the truth? It seemed impossible that he should know it. The evidence of the typewriting girl went to show that he had not left his private room all the evening until summoned by Durwin when the death was discovered. What Penn said about the perfume appeared to be reasonable enough, as he certainly had handled the body, and if reeking of the scent-as he was reeking on this very day-it was not surprising that the odor should communicate itself to the dress clothes of the dead man. Some odors cling very powerfully, and endure for a considerable time. This Sumatra scent assuredly had done so, for it was quite three hours after the death that Dan himself had seen the corpse, and even then he had smelt the perfume. However, on the face of it, Halliday saw no reason to doubt Penn's statement, and quite understood how he became, through Sir John's mediation, the secretary of Lord Curberry. Only the last speech of the secretary was strange. Why should he say that, if the truth were discovered by Dan, Curberry would marry the girl, when, on the discovery of the truth-so far as Dan could see-the marriage of himself to Lillian depended? Dan could find no answer to this question, and had half a mind to follow Penn to his new employer's house, so as to force an explanation. But as he knew Curberry did not like him, he decided to let matters stand as they were, and only reveal what he had heard to Laurance. For the next four or five days, young Halliday went about his business in a quiet, determined manner, and thought as little as possible of Lillian. He did not even write or call to see her, since he wished to give up his whole attention to discovering the truth about Moon's death. If he thought of love and Lillian, he certainly could not concentrate his mind on the necessary search. And it was very necessary, if he intended to marry the girl. He became certain that in some way Sir John intended to trick him, but if he found out the false Mrs. Brown, and solved the mystery, Sir John would be forced out of sheer justice to sanction the marriage. It was heroical of Halliday to turn his thoughts from his beloved and it was no easy task to one so deeply in love as he. But he saw the need of it, and manfully set himself to endure present pain for future joy. Whether Lillian saw things in the same light, or resented his neglect, he did not know, as he had no word from her, neither came there any letter from Mrs. Bolstreath. Dan had, certainly been pushed out of the girl's life by her astute uncle; but it was his own common sense that kept him out of it-for the time being-be it understood. Love demands its martyrs, and Halliday had become one for Love's sake. By doing so, although he knew it not, he was displaying more real love towards her than he had ever done in his life before. Meanwhile, Laurance lost no time