Dope

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"Gotchee no use for bran," murmured Sin Sin Wa. "Gotchee no use for
tin-tack. Gotchee no use for glue."

"Bran!" roared the man, his glance and pose very menacing. "Tin-tacks
and glue! Who the flamin' 'ell ever tried to sell you glue?"

"Me only wantchee lemindee you," said Sin Sin Wa. "No pidgin."

"George" glared for a moment, breathing heavily; then he stooped and
resumed his task, Sin Sin Wa and Sir Lucien watching him in silence. A
sound of lapping water was faintly audible.

Opening the canvas wrappings, the man began to take out and place upon
the counter a number of reddish balls of "leaf" opium, varying in
weight from about eight ounces to a pound or more.

"H'm!" murmured Sin Sin Wa. "Smyrna stuff."

From a pocket of his pea-jacket he drew a long bodkin, and taking up
one of the largest balls he thrust the bodkin in and then withdrew it,
the steel stained a coffee color. Sin Sin Wa smelled and tasted the
substance adhering to the bodkin, weighed the ball reflectively in his
yellow palm, and then set it aside. He took up a second, whereupon:

"'Alf a mo', guvnor!" cried the seaman furiously. "D'you think I'm
going to wait 'ere while you prods about in all the blasted lot? It's
damn near high tide--I shan't get out. 'Alf time! Savvy? Shove it on
the scales!"

Sin Sin Wa shook his head.

"Too muchee slick. Too muchee bhobbery," he murmured. "Sin Sin Wa
gotchee sabby what him catchee buy or no pidgin."

"What's the game?" inquired George menacingly. "Don't you know a cake
o' Smyrna when you smells it?"

"No sabby lead chop till ploddem withee dipper," explained the
Chinaman, imperturbably.

"Lead!" shouted the man. "There ain't no bloody lead in 'em!"

"H'm," murmured Sin Sin Wa smilingly. "So fashion, eh? All velly
proper."

He calmly inserted the bodkin in the second cake; seemed to meet with
some obstruction, and laid the ball down upon the counter. From
beneath his jacket he took out a clasp-knife attached to a steel
chain. Undeterred by a savage roar from the purveyor, he cut the
sticky mass in half, and digging his long nails into one of the
halves, brought out two lead shots. He directed a glance of his beady
eye upon the man.

"Bloody liar," he murmured sweetly. "Lobber."

"Who's a robber?" shouted George, his face flushing darkly, and
apparently not resenting the earlier innuendo; "Who's a robber?"

"One sarcee Smyrna feller packee stuff so fashion," murmured Sin Sin
Wa. "Thief-feller lobbee poor sailorman."

George jerked his peaked cap from his head, revealing a tangle of
unkempt red hair. He scratched his skull with savage vigor.

"Blimey!" he said pathetically. "'Ere's a go! I been done brown,
guv'nor."

"Lough luck," murmured Sin Sin Wa, and resumed his examination of the
cakes of opium.

The man watched him now in silence, only broken by exclamations of
"Blimey" and "Flaming hell" when more shot was discovered. The tests
concluded:

"Gotchee some more?" asked Sin Sin Wa.

From the canvas wrapping George took out and tossed on the counter a
square packet wrapped in grease-paper.

"H'm," murmured Sin Sin Wa, "Patna. Where you catchee?"

"Off of a lascar," growled the man.

The cake of Indian opium was submitted to the same careful scrutiny as
that which the balls of Turkish had already undergone, but the Patna
opium proved to be unadulterated. Reaching over the counter Sin Sin Wa
produced a pair of scales, and, watched keenly by George, weighed the
leaf and then the cake.

"Ten-six Smyrna; one 'leben Patna," muttered Sin Sin Wa. "You catchee
eighty jimmies."

"Eh?" roared George. "Eighty quid! Eighty quid! Flamin' blind o'
Riley! D'you think I'm up the pole? Eighty quid? You're barmy!"

"Eighty-ten," murmured Sin Sin Wa. "Eighty jimmies opium; ten bob
lead."

"I give more'n that for it!" cried the seaman. "An' I damn near hit a
police boat comin' in, too!"

Sir Lucien spoke a few words rapidly in Chinese. Sin Sin Wa performed
his curious oriental shrug, and taking a fat leather wallet from his
hip-pocket, counted out the sum of eighty-five pounds upon the
counter.

"You catchee eighty-five," he murmured. "Too muchee price."

The man grabbed the money and pocketed it without a word of
acknowledgment. He turned and strode along the room, his heavy,
iron-clamped boots ringing on the paved floor.

"Fetch a grim, Sin Sin," he cried. "I'll never get out if I don't jump
to it."

Sin Sin Wa took the lantern from the counter and followed. Opening a
door at the further end of the place, he set the lantern at the head
of three descending wooden steps discovered. With the opening of the
door the sound of lapping water had grown perceptibly louder. George
clattered down the steps, which led to a second but much stouter door.
Sin Sin Wa followed, nearly closing the first door, so that only a
faint streak of light crept down to them.

The second door was opened, and the clangor of the Surrey shore
suddenly proclaimed itself. Cold, damp air touched them, and the faint
light of the lantern above cast their shadows over unctuous gliding
water, which lapped the step upon which they stood. Slimy shapes
uprose dim and ghostly from its darkly moving surface.

A boat was swinging from a ring beside the door, and into it George
tumbled. He unhitched the lashings, and strongly thrust the boat out
upon the water. Coming to the first of the dim shapes, he grasped it
and thereby propelled the skiff to another beyond. These indistinct
shapes were the piles supporting the structure of a wharf.

"Good night, guv'nor!" he cried hoarsely

"So-long," muttered Sin Sin Wa.

He waited until the boat was swallowed in the deeper shadows, then
reclosed the water-gate and ascended to the room where Sir Lucien
awaited. Such was the receiving office of Sin Sin Wa. While the wharf
remained untenanted it was not likely to be discovered by the
authorities, for even at low tide the river-door was invisible from
passing craft. Prospective lessees who had taken the trouble to
inquire about the rental had learned that it was so high as to be
prohibitive.

Sin Sin Wa paid fair prices and paid cash. This was no more than a
commercial necessity. For those who have opium, cocaine, veronal, or
heroin to sell can always find a ready market in London and elsewhere.
But one sufficiently curious and clever enough to have solved the
riddle of the vacant wharf would have discovered that the mysterious
owner who showed himself so loath to accept reasonable offers for the
property could well afford to be thus independent. Those who control
"the traffic" control El Dorado--a city of gold which, unlike the
fabled Manoa, actually exists and yields its riches to the
unscrupulous adventurer.

Smiling his mirthless, eternal smile, Sin Sin Wa placed the newly
purchased stock upon a shelf immediately behind Sam Tuk; and Sam Tuk
exhibited the first evidence of animation which had escaped him
throughout the progress of the "deal." He slowly nodded his hairless
head.

CHAPTER XX

KAZMAH'S METHODS

Rita Dresden married Monte Irvin in the spring and bade farewell to
the stage. The goal long held in view was attained at last. But
another farewell which at one time she had contemplated eagerly no
longer appeared desirable or even possible. To cocamania had been
added a tolerance for opium, and at the last party given by Cyrus
Kilfane she had learned that she could smoke nearly as much opium as
the American habitue.

The altered attitude of Sir Lucien surprised and annoyed her. He, who
had first introduced her to the spirit of the coca leaf and to the
goddess of the poppy, seemed suddenly to have determined to convince
her of the folly of these communions. He only succeeded in losing her
confidence. She twice visited the "House of a Hundred Raptures" with
Mollie Gretna, and once with Mollie and Kilfane, unknown to Sir
Lucien.

Urgent affairs of some kind necessitated his leaving England a few
weeks before the date fixed for Rita's wedding, and as Kilfane had
already returned to America, Rita recognized with a certain dismay
that she would be left to her own resources--handicapped by the
presence of a watchful husband. This subtle change in her view of
Monte Irvin she was incapable of appreciating, for Rita was no
psychologist. But the effect of the drug habit was pointedly
illustrated by the fact that in a period of little more than six
months, from regarding Monte Irvin as a rock of refuge--a chance of
salvation--she had come to regard him in the light of an obstacle to
her indulgence. Not that her respect had diminished. She really loved
at last, and so well that the idea of discovery by this man whose
wholesomeness was the trait of character which most potently attracted
her, was too appalling to be contemplated. The chance of discovery
would be enhanced, she recognized, by the absence of her friends and
accomplices.

Of course she was acquainted with many other devotees. In fact, she
met so many of them that she had grown reconciled to her habits,
believing them to be common to all "smart" people--a part of the
Bohemian life. The truth of the matter was that she had become a
prominent member of a coterie closely knit and associated by a bond of
mutual vice--a kind of masonry whereof Kazmah of Bond Street was Grand
Master and Mrs. Sin Grand Mistress.

The relations existing between Kazmah and his clients were of a most
peculiar nature, too, and must have piqued the curiosity of anyone but
a drug-slave. Having seen him once, in his oracular cave, Rita had
been accepted as one of the initiated. Thereafter she had had no
occasion to interview the strange, immobile Egyptian, nor had she
experienced any desire to do so. The method of obtaining drugs was a
simple one. She had merely to present herself at the establishment in
Bond Street and to purchase either a flask of perfume or a box of
sweetmeats. There were several varieties of perfume, and each
corresponded to a particular drug. The sweetmeats corresponded to
morphine. Rashid, the attendant, knew all Kazmah's clients, and with
the box or flask he gave them a quantity of the required drug. This
scheme was precautionary. For if a visitor should chance to be
challenged on leaving the place, there was the legitimate purchase to
show in evidence of the purpose of the visit.

No conversation was necessary, merely the selection of a scent and the
exchange of a sum of money. Rashid retired to wrap up the purchase,
and with it a second and smaller package was slipped into the
customer's hand. That the prices charged were excessive--nay,
ridiculous--did not concern Rita, for, in common with the rest of her
kind, she was careless of expenditure.

Opium, alone, Kazmah did not sell. He sold morphine, tincture of
opium, and other preparations; but those who sought the solace of the
pipe were compelled to deal with Mrs. Sin. She would arrange parties,
or would prepare the "Hundred Raptures" in Limehouse for visitors;
but, except in the form of opiated cigarettes, she could rarely be
induced to part with any of the precious gum. Thus she cleverly kept a
firm hold upon the devotees of the poppy.

Drug-takers form a kind of brotherhood, and outside the charmed circle
they are secretive as members of the Mafia, the Camorra, or the
Catouse-Menegant.

In this secrecy, which, indeed, is a recognized symptom of drug mania,
lay Kazmah's security. Rita experienced no desire to peer behind the
veil which, literally and metaphorically, he had placed between
himself and the world. At first she had been vaguely curious, and had
questioned Sir Lucien and others, but nobody seemed to know the real
identity of Kazmah, and nobody seemed to care provided that he
continued to supply drugs. They all led secret, veiled lives, these
slaves of the laboratory, and that Kazmah should do likewise did not
surprise them. He had excellent reasons.

During this early stage of faint curiosity she had suggested to Sir
Lucien that for Kazmah to conduct a dream-reading business seemed to
be to add to the likelihood of police interference.

The baronet had smiled sardonically.

"It is an additional safeguard," he had assured her. "It corresponds to
the method of a notorious Paris assassin who was very generally
regarded by the police as a cunning pickpocket. Kazmah's business of
'dreamreading' does not actually come within the Act. He is clever
enough for that. Remember, he does not profess to tell fortunes. It
also enables him to balk idle curiosity."

At the time of her marriage Rita was hopelessly in the toils, and had
been really panic-stricken at the prospect--once so golden--of a
protracted sojourn abroad. The war, which rendered travel impossible,
she regarded rather in the light of a heaven-sent boon. Irvin, though
personally favoring a quiet ceremony, recognized that Rita cherished a
desire to quit theatreland in a chariot of fire, and accordingly the
wedding was on a scale of magnificence which outshone that of any
other celebrated during the season. Even the lugubrious Mr. Esden, who
gave his daughter away, was seen to smile twice. Mrs. Esden moved in a
rarified atmosphere of gratified ambition and parental pride, which no
doubt closely resembled that which the angels breathe.

It was during the early days of her married life, and while Sir Lucien
was still abroad, that Rita began to experience difficulty in
obtaining the drugs which she required. She had lost touch to a
certain extent with her former associates; but she had retained her
maid, Nina, and the girl regularly went to Kazmah's and returned with
the little flasks of perfume. When an accredited representative was
sent upon such a mission, Kazmah dispatched the drugs disguised in a
scent flask; but on each successive occasion that Nina went to him the
prices increased, and finally became so exorbitant that even Rita grew
astonished and dismayed.

She mentioned the matter to another habitue, a lady of title addicted
to the use of the hypodermic syringe, and learned that she (Rita) was
being charged nearly twice as much as her friend.

"I should bring the man to his senses, dear," said her ladyship. "I
know a doctor who will be only too glad to supply you. When I say a
doctor, he is no longer recognized by the B.M.A., but he's none the
less clever and kind for all that."

To the clever and kind medical man Rita repaired on the following day,
bearing a written introduction from her friend. The discredited
physician supplied her for a short time, charging only moderate fees.
Then, suddenly, this second source of supply was closed. The man
declared that he was being watched by the police, and that he dared
not continue to supply her with cocaine and veronal. His shifty eyes
gave the lie to his words, but he was firm in his resolution, whatever
may have led him to it, and Rita was driven back to Kazmah. His
charges had become more exorbitant than ever, but her need was
imperative. Nevertheless, she endeavored to find another drug dealer,
and after a time was again successful.

At a certain supper club she was introduced to a suave little man,
quite palpably an uninterned alien, who smilingly offered to provide
her with any drug to be found in the British Pharmacopeia, at most
moderate charges. With this little German-Jew villain she made a pact,
reflecting that, provided that his wares were of good quality, she had
triumphed over Kazmah.

The craving for chandu seized her sometimes and refused to be
exorcised by morphia, laudanum, or any other form of opium; but she
had not dared to spend a night at the "House of a Hundred Raptures"
since her marriage. Her new German friend volunteered to supply the
necessary gum, outfit, and to provide an apartment where she might
safely indulge in smoking. She declined--at first. But finally, on
Mollie Gretna's return from France, where she had been acting as a
nurse, Rita and Mollie accepted the suave alien's invitation to spend
an evening in his private opium divan.

Many thousands of careers were wrecked by the war, and to the war and
the consequent absence of her husband Rita undoubtedly owed her
relapse into opium-smoking. That she would have continued secretly to
employ cocaine, veronal, and possibly morphine was probable enough;
but the constant society of Monte Irvin must have made it extremely
difficult for her to indulge the craving for chandu. She began to
regret the gaiety of her old life. Loneliness and monotony plunged her
into a state of suicidal depression, and she grasped eagerly at every
promise of excitement.

It was at about this time that she met Margaret Halley, and between
the two, so contrary in disposition, a close friendship arose. The
girl doctor ere long discovered Rita's secret, of course, and the
discovery was hastened by an event which occurred shortly after they
had become acquainted.

The suave alien gentleman disappeared.

That was the entire story in five words--or all of the story that Rita
ever learned. His apartments were labelled "To Let," and the night
clubs knew him no more. Rita for a time was deprived of drugs, and the
nervous collapse which resulted revealed to Margaret Halley's trained
perceptions the truth respecting her friend.

Kazmah's terms proved to be more outrageous than ever, but Rita found
herself again compelled to resort to the Egyptian. She went personally
to the rooms in old Bond Street and arranged with Rashid to see Kazmah
on the following day, Friday, for Kazmah only received visitors by
appointment. As it chanced, Sir Lucien Pyne returned to England on
Thursday night and called upon Rita at Prince's Gate. She welcomed him
as a friend in need, unfolding the pitiful story, to the truth of
which her nervous condition bore eloquent testimony.

Sir Lucien began to pace up and down the charming little room in which
Rita had received him. She watched him, haggard-eyed. Presently:

"Leave Kazmah to me," he said. "If you visit him he will merely shield
himself behind the mystical business, or assure you that he is making
no profit on his sales. Kilfane had similar trouble with him."

"Then you will see him?" asked Rita.

"I will make a point of interviewing him in the morning. Meanwhile, if
you will send Nina around to Albemarle Street in about an hour I will
see what can be done."

"Oh, Lucy," whispered Rita, "what a pal you are."

Sir Lucien smiled in his cold fashion.

"I try to be," he said enigmatically; "but I don't always succeed." He
turned to her. "Have you ever thought of giving up this doping?" he
asked. "Have you ever realized that with increasing tolerance the
quantities must increase as well, and that a day is sure to come
when--"

Rita repressed a nervous shudder.

"You are trying to frighten me," she replied. "You have tried before;
I don't know why. But it's no good, Lucy. You know I cannot give it
up."

"You can try."

"I don't want to try!" she cried irritably. "It will be time enough
when Monte is back again, and we can really 'live.' This wretched
existence, with everything restricted and rationed, and all one's
friends in Flanders or Mesopotamia or somewhere, drives me mad! I tell
you I should die, Lucy, if I tried to do without it now."

The hollow presence of reform contemplated in a hazy future did not
deceive Sir Lucien. He suppressed a sigh, and changed the topic of
conversation.

CHAPTER XXI

THE CIGARETTES FROM BUENOS AYRES

Sir Lucien's intervention proved successful. Kazmah's charges became
more modest, and Rita no longer found it necessary to deprive herself
of hats and dresses in order to obtain drugs. But, nevertheless, these
were not the halcyon days of old. She was now surrounded by spies. It
was necessary to resort to all kinds of subterfuge in order to cover
her expenditures at the establishment in old Bond Street. Her husband
never questioned her outlay, but on the other hand it was expedient to
be armed against the possibility of his doing so, and Rita's debts
were accumulating formidably.

Then there was Margaret Halley to consider. Rita had never hitherto
given her confidence to anyone who was not addicted to the same
practices as herself, and she frequently experienced embarrassment
beneath the grave scrutiny of Margaret's watchful eyes. In another
this attitude of gentle disapproval would have been irritating, but
Rita loved and admired Margaret, and suffered accordingly.

As for Sir Lucien, she had ceased to understand him. An impalpable
barrier seemed to have arisen between them. The inner man had became
inaccessible. Her mind was not subtle enough to grasp the real
explanation of this change in her old lover. Being based upon wrong
premises, her inferences were necessarily wide of the truth, and she
believed that Sir Lucien was jealous of Margaret's cousin, Quentin
Gray.

Gray met Rita at Margaret Halley's flat shortly after he had returned
home from service in the East, and he immediately conceived a violent
infatuation for this pretty friend of his cousin's. In this respect
his conduct was in no way peculiar. Few men were proof against the
seductive Mrs. Monte Irvin, not because she designedly encouraged
admiration, but because she was one of those fortunately rare
characters who inspire it without conscious effort. Her appeal to men
was sweetly feminine and quite lacking in that self-assertive and
masculine "take me or leave me" attitude which characterizes some of
the beauties of today. There was nothing abstract about her delicate
loveliness, yet her charm was not wholly physical. Many women disliked
her.

At dance, theatre, and concert Quentin Gray played the doting
cavalier; and Rita, who was used to at least one such adoring
attendant, accepted his homage without demur. Monte Irvin returned to
civil life, but Rita showed no disposition to dispense with her new
admirer. Both Gray and Sir Lucien had become frequent visitors at
Prince's Gate, and Irvin, who understood his wife's character up to a
point, made them his friends.

Shortly after Monte Irvin's return Sir Lucien taxed Rita again with
her increasing subjection to drugs. She was in a particularly gay
humor, as the supplies from Kazmah had been regular, and she
laughingly fenced with him when he reminded her of her declared
intention to reform when her husband should return.

"You are really as bad as Margaret," she declared. "There is nothing
the matter with me. You talk of 'curing' me as though I were ill.
Physician, heal thyself."

The sardonic smile momentarily showed upon Pyne's face, and:

"I know when and where to pull up, Rita," he said. "A woman never
knows this. If I were deprived of opium tomorrow I could get along
without it."

"I have given up opium," replied Rita. "It's too much trouble, and the
last time Mollie and I went--"

She paused, glancing quickly at Sir Lucien.

"Go on," he said grimly. "I know you have been to Sin Sin Wa's. What
happened the last time?"

"Well," continued Rita hurriedly, "Monte seemed to be vaguely
suspicious. Besides, Mrs. Sin charged me most preposterously. I really
cannot afford it, Lucy."

"I am glad you cannot. But what I was about to say was this: Suppose
you were to be deprived, not of 'chard', but of cocaine and veronal,
do you know what would happen to you?"

"Oh!" whispered Rita, "why will you persist in trying to frighten me!
I am not going to be deprived of them."

"I persist, dear, because I want you to try, gradually, to depend less
upon drugs, so that if the worst should happen you would have a
chance."

Rita stood up and faced him, biting her lip.

"Lucy," she said, "do you mean that Kazmah--"

"I mean that anything might happen, Rita. After all, we do possess a
police service in London, and one day there might be an accident.
Kazmah has certain influence, but it may be withdrawn. Rita, won't you
try?"

She was watching him closely, and now the pupils of her beautiful eyes
became dilated.

"You know something," she said slowly, "which you are keeping from
me."

He laughed and turned aside.

"I know that I am compelled to leave England again, Rita, for a time;
and I should be a happier man if I knew that you were not so utterly
dependent upon Kazmah."

"Oh, Lucy, are you going away again?"

"I must. But I shall not be absent long, I hope."

Rita sank down upon the settee from which she had risen, and was
silent for some time; then:

"I will try, Lucy," she promised. "I will go to Margaret Halley, as
she is always asking me to do."

"Good girl," said Pyne quietly. "It is just a question of making the
effort, Rita. You will succeed, with Margaret's help."

A short time later Sir Lucien left England, but throughout the last
week that he remained in London Rita spent a great part of every day
in his company. She had latterly begun to experience an odd kind of
remorse for her treatment of the inscrutably reserved baronet. His
earlier intentions she had not forgotten, but she had long ago
forgiven them, and now she often felt sorry for this man whom she had
deliberately used as a stepping-stone to fortune.

Gray was quite unable to conceal his jealousy. He seemed to think that
he had a proprietary right to Mrs. Monte Irvin's society, and during
the week preceding Sir Lucien's departure Gray came perilously near to
making himself ridiculous on more than one occasion.

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