The Clue of the Twisted Candles | Page 3

looked at him in surprise and was somewhat piqued.
"I flatter myself it is impossible to tell how my stories will end until the
last chapter," he said.
Kara nodded.
"That would be so in the case of the average reader, but you forget that
I am a student. I follow every little thread of the clue which you leave
exposed."
"You should meet T. X.," said John, with a laugh, as he rose from his
chair to poke the fire.
"T. X.?"
"T. X. Meredith. He is the most ingenious beggar you could meet. We
were at Caius together, and he is by way of being a great pal of mine.
He is in the Criminal Investigation Department."

Kara nodded. There was the light of interest in his eyes and he would
have pursued the discussion further, but at the moment dinner was
announced.
It was not a particularly cheerful meal because Grace did not as usual
join in the conversation, and it was left to Kara and to her husband to
supply the deficiencies. She was experiencing a curious sense of
depression, a premonition of evil which she could not define. Again
and again in the course of the dinner she took her mind back to the
events of the day to discover the reason for her unease.
Usually when she adopted this method she came upon the trivial causes
in which apprehension was born, but now she was puzzled to find that a
solution was denied her. Her letters of the morning had been pleasant,
neither the house nor the servants had given her any trouble. She was
well herself, and though she knew John had a little money trouble,
since his unfortunate speculation in Roumanian gold shares, and she
half suspected that he had had to borrow money to make good his
losses, yet his prospects were so excellent and the success of his last
book so promising that she, probably seeing with a clearer vision the
unimportance of those money worries, was less concerned about the
problem than he.
"You will have your coffee in the study, I suppose," said Grace, "and I
know you'll excuse me; I have to see Mrs. Chandler on the mundane
subject of laundry."
She favoured Kara with a little nod as she left the room and touched
John's shoulder lightly with her hand in passing.
Kara's eyes followed her graceful figure until she was out of view,
then:
"I want to see you, Kara," said John Lexman, "if you will give me five
minutes."
"You can have five hours, if you like," said the other, easily.

They went into the study together; the maid brought the coffee and
liqueur, and placed them on a little table near the fire and disappeared.
For a time the conversation was general. Kara, who was a frank
admirer of the comfort of the room and who lamented his own inability
to secure with money the cosiness which John had obtained at little cost,
went on a foraging expedition whilst his host applied himself to a proof
which needed correcting.
"I suppose it is impossible for you to have electric light here," Kara
asked.
"Quite," replied the other.
"Why?"
"I rather like the light of this lamp."
"It isn't the lamp," drawled the Greek and made a little grimace; "I hate
these candles."
He waved his hand to the mantle-shelf where the six tall, white, waxen
candles stood out from two wall sconces.
"Why on earth do you hate candles?" asked the other in surprise.
Kara made no reply for the moment, but shrugged his shoulders.
Presently he spoke.
"If you were ever tied down to a chair and by the side of that chair was
a small keg of black powder and stuck in that powder was a small
candle that burnt lower and lower every minute - my God!"
John was amazed to see the perspiration stand upon the forehead of his
guest.
"That sounds thrilling," he said.
The Greek wiped his forehead with a silk handkerchief and his hand

shook a little.
"It was something more than thrilling," he said.
"And when did this occur?" asked the author curiously.
"In Albania," replied the other; "it was many years ago, but the devils
are always sending me reminders of the fact."
He did not attempt to explain who the devils were or under what
circumstances he was brought to this unhappy pass, but changed the
subject definitely.
Sauntering round the cosy room he followed the bookshelf which filled
one wall and stopped now and again to examine some title. Presently
he drew forth a stout volume.
"'Wild Brazil'," he read, "by George Gathercole - do you know
Gathercole?"
John was filling his pipe from a big blue jar on his desk and nodded.
"Met him