stick."

Theydon turned troubled eyes on the wizened little man who seemed to
have the power of reading his secret thought.

"A joss stick," he repeated. "Isn't that some sort of incense used by
Chinese in their temples?"

"Yes," said Furneaux.

"Lots of ladies burn them in their boudoirs nowadays," explained
Winter offhandedly.

"The Chinese burn them to propitiate evil spirits," murmured Furneaux.
"The Taou gods are mostly deities of a very unpleasant frame of mind.
The mere scowl of one of them from a painted fan suggests novel and
painful forms of torture. I've seen Shang Ti grinning at me from a
porcelain vase, otherwise exquisite, and felt my hair rising."

"I do wish you wouldn't talk nonsense, Charles," said Winter, frowning
heavily.

"Am I talking nonsense, Mr. Theydon?" demanded Furneaux. "Didn't your
flesh creep when that queer perfume assailed your nostrils, which are
not yet altogether atrophied by the reek of thousands of rank cigars?"

"Stop it!" commanded Winter, throwing open a door.

"And they christened him Leander-- Leander, who swam the Hellespont
for love of a woman!" muttered Furneaux.