“There is such a strong perfume about it,” sniffed Random pointedly.

“I should think you knew that scent by this time, Sir Frank.  I use no other and never have done.  Smell!” and she passed a flimsy handkerchief of lace.

Random took the handkerchief and placed it to his nostrils.  As he did so a strange expression of triumph crept into his eyes.

“I think you told me once that it was a Chinese perfume,” he said, returning the handkerchief.

Mrs. Jasher nodded, well pleased.

“I get it from a friend of my late husband who is in the British Embassy at Pekin.  No one uses it but me.”

“But surely some other person uses it?”

“Not in England; and I do not know why you should say so.  It is a specialty of mine.  Why,” she added playfully, “if you met me in the dark you should know me, by this scent.”

“Can you swear that no one else has ever used this perfume?” asked Random.

Mrs. Jasher lifted her penciled eyebrows.

“I do not know why you should ask me to swear,” she said quietly, “but I assure you that I keep this perfume which comes from China to myself.  Not even Lucy Kendal has it, although she greatly desired some.  We women are selfish in some things, my dear man.  It’s a most delicious perfume.”

“Yes,” said Sir Frank, staring at her, “and very strong.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Nothing.  Only I should think that such a perfume would be good for the cold you contracted by going to London last night.”

Mrs. Jasher turned suddenly pale under her rouge, and her hand clenched the fan so tightly as to break the handle.

“I have not been to London for quite a month,” she faltered.  “What a strange remark!”

“A true one,” said the baronet, fumbling in the pocket of his jacket.  “You went to London last night by the seven o’clock train to post this,” and he held out the anonymous letter.

The widow, now quite pale, and looking years older, sat up on the couch with a painful effort, which suggested old age.

“I don’t understand,” she said, trying to speak calmly.  “I was not in London, and I did not post any letter.  If you came here to insult me—­”

“There can be no insult in asking a few questions,” said Random, throwing aside his stiffness and speaking decisively.  “I received this letter, which bears a London postmark, by the mid-day post.  The handwriting is disguised, and there is neither address nor signature nor date.  You manufactured your communication very cleverly, Mrs. Jasher, but you forgot that the Chinese perfume might betray you.”

“The perfume! the perfume!” Mrs. Jasher gasped and saw in a moment how the late conversation had led her to fall into a trap.

“The letter retains traces of the perfume you use,” went on the baronet relentlessly.  “I have a remarkably keen sense of smell, and, as scent is a most powerful aid to memory, I speedily recollected that you used this especial perfume.  You told me a few moments ago that no one else used it, and so you have proved the truth of my statement that this letter”—­he tapped it—­“is written by you.”