I may so describe it, about the place, is the scent of a burnt joss
stick. It clings to the passage and the bedroom in which the body was
found.. . . Ah, by the way, Mrs. Lester wrote a letter, which her
visitor posted, and the addressee, her aunt, is in communication with
the police. The text tends to clear the man of suspicion.... Yes, if,
by chance, I find myself at liberty tomorrow, I'll 'phone you at your
city office. I'll find the number in the directory, of course?... O,
thanks-- I'll jot it down-- 00400 Bank.... Goodnight! Too bad that
this wretched affair should interfere with our crusade, which, the
more I think of it, the stronger it appeals. Au revoir, then."

In reality, Forbes had not said one word about his peace propaganda,
but he had evidently been quick to realize that Theydon was purposely
giving their talk a twist in that direction. A muttered "I
understand-- perfectly," showed this, and he did not strive to conceal
the alarm which possessed him when Theydon spoke of the joss stick. He
murmured distinctly, "Great Heavens! Then I was not mistaken," and
again voiced his distress on hearing of the letter.

But he made matters easy by pressing Theydon to come and see him on
the morrow, either at his office in Old Broad Street or at his
residence. On the whole, Theydon did not care who heard what he had
said, but it was a relief to find that he had to ring for readmission
to No. 17.

Furneaux opened the door.

"You soon got rid of your friend, then?" said the detective, while
they were on the way to rejoin Winter.