Monte Irvin raised his head and stared dully at Margaret Halley. It was very quiet in the library of the big old-fashioned house at Prince's Gate. A faint crackling sound which proceeded from the fire was clearly audible. Margaret's grey eyes were anxiously watching the man whose pose as he sat in the deep, saddle-back chair so curiously suggested collapse.
 
“Drugs,” he whispered. “Drugs.”
 
Few of his City associates would have recognized the voice; all would have been shocked to see the change which had taken place in the man.
 
“You really understand why I have told you, Mr. Irvin, don't you?” said Margaret almost pleadingly. “Dr. Burton thought you should not be told, but then Dr. Burton did not know you were going to ask me point blank. And I thought it better that you should know the truth, bad as it is, rather than—”
 
“Rather than suspect—worse things,” whispered Irvin. “Of course, you were right, Miss Halley. I am very, very grateful to you for telling me. I realize what courage it must have called for. Believe me, I shall always remember—”
 
He broke off, staring across the room at his wife's portrait. Then:
 
“If only I had known,” he added.
 
Irvin exhibited greater composure than Margaret had ventured to anticipate. She was confirmed in her opinion that he should be told the truth.
 
“I would have told you long ago,” she said, “if I had thought that any good could result from my doing so. Frankly, I had hoped to cure Rita of the habit, and I believe I might have succeeded in time.”
 
“There has been no mention of drugs in connection with the case,” said Monte Irvin, speaking monotonously. “In the Press, I mean.”
 
“Hitherto there has not,” she replied. “But there is a hint of it in one of this evening's papers, and I determined to give you the exact facts so far as they are known to me before some garbled account came to your ears.”
 
“Thank you,” he said, “thank you. I had felt for a long time that I was getting out of touch with Rita, that she had other confidants. Have you any idea who they were, Miss Halley?”
 
He raised his eyes, looking at her pathetically. Margaret hesitated, then:
 
“Well,” she replied, “I am afraid Nina knew.”
 
“Her maid?”
 
“I think she must have known.”
 
He sighed.
 
“The police have interrogated her,” he said. “Probably she is being watched.”
 
“Oh, I don't think she knows anything about the drug syndicate,” declared Margaret. “She merely acted as confidential messenger. Poor Sir Lucien Pyne, I am sure, was addicted to drugs.”
 
“Do you think”—Irvin spoke in a very low voice—“do you think he led her into the habit?”
 
Margaret bit her lip, staring down at the red carpet.
 
“I would hate to slander a man who can never defend himself,” she replied finally. “But—I have sometimes thought he did.”
 
Silence fell. Both were contemplating a theory which neither dared to express in words.
 
“You see,” continued Margaret, “it is evident that this man Kazmah was patronized by people so highly placed that it is hopeless to look for information from them. Again, such people have influence. I don't suggest that they are using it to protect Kazmah, but I have no doubt they are doing so to protect themselves.”
 
Monte Irvin raised his eyes to her face. A weary, sad look had come into them.
 
“You mean that it may be to somebody's interest to hush up the matter as much as possible?”
 
Margaret nodded her head.
 
“The prevalence of the drug habit in society—especially in London society—is a secret which has remained hidden so long from the general public,” she replied, “that one cannot help looking for bribery and corruption. The stage is made the scapegoat whenever the voice of scandal breathes the word 'dope,' but we rarely hear the names of the worst offenders even whispered. I have thought for a long time that the authorities must know the names of the receivers and distributors of cocaine, veronal, opium, and the other drugs, huge quantities of which find their way regularly to the West End of London. Pharmacists sometimes experience the greatest difficulty in obtaining the drugs which they legitimately require, and the prices have increased extraordinarily. Cocaine, for instance, has gone up from five and sixpence an ounce to eighty-seven shillings, and heroin from three and sixpence to over forty shillings, while opium that was once about twenty shillings a pound is now eight times the price.”
 
Monte Irvin listened attentively.
 
“In the course of my Guildhall duties,” he said slowly, “I have been brought in contact frequently with police officers of all ranks. If influential people are really at work protecting these villains who deal illicitly in drugs, I don't think, and I am not prepared to believe, that they have corrupted the police.”
 
“Neither do I believe so, Mr. Irvin!” said Margaret eagerly.
&n............