"Yes. Kuan Yin."
"This is worth following up," said Vaughan.
"It sounds as though Gran and Finch were both a little mad at the time," said his wife.
"At the time," repeated Nicholas. "Just how long ago did this conversation take place?"
"Oh, quite a bit ago. At the beginning of summer."
Nicholas said, pointing at Finch with his pipe: "Now, tell us exactly what led up to this conversation."
Ernest interrupted him, nervously: "The little Chinese goddess Mama brought from India! Of course. I have not seen the little figure for some time. Strange I didn't miss it! Have you noticed it lately, Augusta?"
Augusta tapped the bridge of her nose sharply with her crochet-hook, as though to stimulate her faculty of nosing out secrets. "No—I have not. It is gone! It is gone from Mama's room! It has been stolen!"
Finch burned his bridges. "No, it hasn't. She gave it to me."
"Where is it?" demanded Nicholas.
"In my room."
"I was in your room this morning," said Augusta. "I thought I smelled something strange. The goddess was not there! I should have noticed instantly!"
Finch cared for nothing now but to have this cross-questioning done with. He said, with weary contempt for the consequences: "You did not see her because she is hidden. I keep her hidden. The stuff you smelled was incense. I was burning it before her at sunrise. I forgot to shut my door when I came down."
If Finch had suddenly produced horns on his young brow, or hoofs instead of worn brown shoes, he could scarcely have appeared as a greater monstrosity to his family. The monotonous pressure of their various personalities upon his bruised spirit was violently withdrawn. The recoil was so palpable that he raised his head and drew a deep breath, as though inhaling a draught of fresh air.
They drew back shocked from a Whiteoak who had risen at sunrise to burn incense before a heathen goddess.
