The Clue of the Twisted Candles | Page 2

his way into the semi-finals of the amateur
boxing championship of England. His face was strong, lean, yet
well-moulded. His eyes were grey and deep, his eyebrows straight and
a little forbidding. The clean-shaven mouth was big and generous, and
the healthy tan of his cheek told of a life lived in the open air.
There was nothing of the recluse or the student in his appearance. He
was in fact a typical, healthy-looking Britisher, very much like any
other man of his class whom one would meet in the mess-room of the
British army, in the wardrooms of the fleet, or in the far-off posts of the
Empire, where the administrative cogs of the great machine are to be
seen at work.
There was a little tap at the door, and before he could say "Come in" it
was pushed open and Grace Lexman entered.
If you described her as brave and sweet you might secure from that
brief description both her manner and her charm. He half crossed the

room to meet her, and kissed her tenderly.
"I didn't know you were back until - " she said; linking her arm in his.
"Until you saw the horrible mess my mackintosh has made," he smiled.
"I know your methods, Watson!"
She laughed, but became serious again.
"I am very glad you've come back. We have a visitor," she said.
He raised his eyebrows.
"A visitor? Whoever came down on a day like this?"
She looked at him a little strangely.
"Mr. Kara," she said.
"Kara? How long has he been here?"
"He came at four."
There was nothing enthusiastic in her tone.
"I can't understand why you don't like old Kara," rallied her husband.
"There are very many reasons," she replied, a little curtly for her.
"Anyway," said John Lexman, after a moment's thought, "his arrival is
rather opportune. Where is he?"
"He is in the drawing-room."
The Priory drawing-room was a low-ceilinged, rambling apartment, "all
old print and chrysanthemums," to use Lexman's description. Cosy
armchairs, a grand piano, an almost medieval open grate, faced with
dull-green tiles, a well-worn but cheerful carpet and two big silver
candelabras were the principal features which attracted the newcomer.

There was in this room a harmony, a quiet order and a soothing quality
which made it a haven of rest to a literary man with jagged nerves. Two
big bronze bowls were filled with early violets, another blazed like a
pale sun with primroses, and the early woodland flowers filled the
room with a faint fragrance.
A man rose to his feet, as John Lexman entered and crossed the room
with an easy carriage. He was a man possessed of singular beauty of
face and of figure. Half a head taller than the author, he carried himself
with such a grace as to conceal his height.
"I missed you in town," he said, "so I thought I'd run down on the off
chance of seeing you."
He spoke in the well-modulated tone of one who had had a long
acquaintance with the public schools and universities of England. There
was no trace of any foreign accent, yet Remington Kara was a Greek
and had been born and partly educated in the more turbulent area of
Albania.
The two men shook hands warmly.
"You'll stay to dinner?"
Kara glanced round with a smile at Grace Lexman. She sat
uncomfortably upright, her hands loosely folded on her lap, her face
devoid of encouragement.
"If Mrs. Lexman doesn't object," said the Greek.
"I should be pleased, if you would," she said, almost mechanically; "it
is a horrid night and you won't get anything worth eating this side of
London and I doubt very much," she smiled a little, "if the meal I can
give you will be worthy of that description."
"What you can give me will be more than sufficient," he said, with a
little bow, and turned to her husband.

In a few minutes they were deep in a discussion of books and places,
and Grace seized the opportunity to make her escape. From books in
general to Lexman's books in particular the conversation flowed.
"I've read every one of them, you know," said Kara.
John made a little face. "Poor devil," he said sardonically.
"On the contrary," said Kara, "I am not to be pitied. There is a great
criminal lost in you, Lexman."
"Thank you," said John.
"I am not being uncomplimentary, am I?" smiled the Greek. "I am
merely referring to the ingenuity of your plots. Sometimes your books
baffle and annoy me. If I cannot see the solution of your mysteries
before the book is half through, it angers me a little. Of course in the
majority of cases I know the solution before I have reached the fifth
chapter."
John