Dope

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"Another gentleman? Who the devil's the other gentleman?"

"I don't know, sir. He came with Inspector Whiteleaf, and was inside
for nearly an hour."

"Inspector Whiteleaf is off duty. What time was this?"

"Twelve-thirty, sir."

Kerry chewed reflectively ere nodding to the man and passing on.

"Another gentleman!" he muttered, entering the hallway. "Why didn't
Inspector Warley report this? Who the devil--" Deep in thought he
walked upstairs, finding his way by the light of the pocket torch
which he carried. A second constable was on duty at Kazmah's door. He
saluted.

"Anything to report?" rapped Kerry.

"Yes, sir. The body has been removed, and the gentleman with
Inspector--"

"Damn that for a tale! Describe this gentleman."

"Rather tall, pale, dark, clean-shaven. Wore a fur-collared overcoat,
collar turned up. He was accompanied by Inspector Whiteleaf."

"H'm. Anything else?"

"Yes. About an hour ago I heard a noise on the next floor--"

"Eh!" snapped Kerry, and shone the light suddenly into the man's face
so that he blinked furiously.

"Eh? What kind of noise?"

"Very slight. Like something moving."

"Like something! Like what thing? A cat or an elephant?"

"More like, say, a box or a piece of furniture."

"And you did--what?"

"I went up to the top landing and listened."

"What did you hear?"

"Nothing at all."

Chief Inspector Kerry chewed audibly.

"All quiet?" he snapped.

"Absolutely. But I'm certain I heard something all the same."

"How long had Inspector Whiteleaf and this dark horse in the fur coat
been gone at the time you heard the noise?"

"About half an hour, sir."

"Do you think the noise came from the landing or from one of the
offices above?"

"An office I should say. It was very dim."

Chief Inspector Kerry pushed upon the broken door, and walked into the
rooms of Kazmah. Flashing the ray of his torch on the wall, he found
the switch and snapped up the lights. He removed his overall and
tossed it on a divan with his cane. Then, tilting his bowler further
forward, he thrust his hands into his reefer pockets, and stood
staring toward the door, beyond which lay the room of the murder, in
darkness.

"Who is he?" he muttered. "What's it mean?"

Taking up the torch, he walked through and turned on the lights in the
inner rooms. For a long time he stood staring at the little square
window low down behind the ebony chair, striving to imagine uses for
it as his wife had urged him to do. The globular green lamp in the
second apartment was worked by three switches situated in the inside
room, and he had discovered that in this way the visitor who came to
consult Kazmah was treated to the illusion of a gradually falling
darkness. Then, the door in the first partition being opened, whoever
sat in the ebony chair would become visible by the gradual uncovering
of a light situated above the chair. On this light being covered again
the figure would apparently fade away.

It was ingenious, and, so far, quite clear. But two things badly
puzzled the inquirer; the little window down behind the chair, and the
fact that all the arrangements for raising and lowering the lights
were situated not in the narrow chamber in which Kazmah's chair stood,
and in which Sir Lucien had been found, but in the room behind it--the
room with which the little window communicated.

The table upon which the telephone rested was set immediately under
this mysterious window, the window was provided with a green blind,
and the switchboard controlling the complicated lighting scheme was
also within reach of anyone seated at the table.

Kerry rolled mint gum from side to side of his mouth, and absently
tried the handle of the door opening out from this interior room--
evidently the office of the establishment--into the corridor. He knew
it to be locked. Turning, he walked through the suite and out on to
the landing, passing the constable and going upstairs to the top
floor, torch in hand.

From the main landing he walked along the narrow corridor until he
stood at the head of the back stairs. The door nearest to him bore the
name: "Cubanis Cigarette Company." He tried the handle. The door was
locked, as he had anticipated. Kneeling down, he peered into the
keyhole, holding the electric torch close beside his face and chewing
industriously.

Ere long he stood up, descended again, but by the back stair, and
stood staring reflectively at the door communicating with Kazmah's
inner room. Then walking along the corridor to where the man stood on,
the landing, he went in again to the mysterious apartments, but only
to get his cane and his overall and to turn out the lights.

Five minutes later he was ringing the late Sir Lucien's door-bell.

A constable admitted him, and he walked straight through into the
study where Coombes, looking very tired but smiling undauntedly, sat
at a littered table studying piles of documents.

"Anything to report?" rapped Kerry.

"The man, Mareno, has gone to bed, and the expert from the Home office
has been--"

Inspector Kerry brought his cane down with a crash upon the table,
whereat Coombes started nervously.

"So that's it!" he shouted furiously, "an 'expert from the Home
office'! So that's the dark horse in the fur coat. Coombes! I'm fed up
to the back teeth with this gun from the Home office! If I'm not to
have entire charge of the case I'll throw it up. I'll stand for no
blasted overseer checking my work! Wait till I see the Assistant
Commissioner! What the devil has the job to do with the Home office!"

"Can't say," murmured Coombes. "But he's evidently a big bug from the
way Whiteleaf treated him. He instructed me to stay in the kitchen and
keep an eye on Mareno while he prowled about in here."

"Instructed you!" cried Kerry, his teeth gleaming and his steel-blue
eyes creating upon Coombes' mind an impression that they were emitting
sparks. "Instructed you! I'll ask you a question, Detective-Sergeant
Coombes: Who is in charge of this case?"

"Well, I thought you were."

"You thought I was?"

"Well, you are."

"I am? Very well--you were saying--?"

"I was saying that I went into the kitchen--"

"Before that! Something about 'instructed.'"

Poor Coombes smiled pathetically.

"Look here," he said, bravely meeting the ferocious glare of his
superior, "as man to man. What could I do?"

"You could stop smiling!" snapped Kerry. "Hell!" He paced several
times up and down the room. "Go ahead, Coombes."

"Well, there's nothing much to report. I stayed in the kitchen, and
the man from the Home office was in here alone for about half an
hour."

"Alone?"

"Inspector Whiteleaf stayed in the dining-room."

"Had he been 'instructed' too?"

"I expect so. I think he just came along as a sort of guide."

"Ah!" muttered Kerry savagely, "a sort of guide! Any idea what the
bogey man did in here?"

"He opened the window. I heard him."

"That's funny. It's exactly what I'm going to do! This smart from
Whitehall hasn't got a corner in notions yet, Coombes."

The room was a large and lofty one, and had been used by a former
tenant as a studio. The toplights had been roofed over by Sir Lucien,
however, but the raised platform, approached by two steps, which had
probably been used as a model's throne, was a permanent fixture of the
apartment. It was backed now by bookcases, except where a blue plush
curtain was draped before a French window.

Kerry drew the curtain back, and threw open the folding leaves of the
window. He found himself looking out upon the leads of Albemarle
Street. No stars and no moon showed through the grey clouds draping
the wintry sky, but a dim and ghostly half-light nevertheless rendered
the ugly expanse visible from where he stood.

On one side loomed a huge tank, to the brink of which a rickety wooden
ladder invited the explorer to ascend. Beyond it were a series of iron
gangways and ladders forming part of the fire emergency arrangements
of the neighboring institution. Straight ahead a section of building
jutted up and revealed two small windows, which seemed to regard him
like watching eyes.

He walked out on to the roof, looking all about him. Beyond the tank
opened a frowning gully--the Arcade connecting Albemarle Street with
old Bond Street; on the other hand, the scheme of fire gangways was
continued. He began to cross the leads, going in the direction of Bond
Street. Coombes watched him from the study. When he came to the more
northerly of the two windows which had attracted his attention, he
knelt down and flashed the ray of his torch through the glass.

A kind of small warehouse was revealed, containing stacks of packages.
Immediately inside the window was a rough wooden table, and on this
table lay a number of smaller packages, apparently containing
cigarettes.

Kerry turned his attention to the fastening of the window. A glance
showed him that it was unlocked. Resting the torch on the leads, he
grasped the sash and gently raised the window, noting that it opened
almost noiselessly. Then, taking up the torch again, he stooped and
stepped in on to the table below.

It moved slightly beneath his weight. One of the legs was shorter than
its fellows. But he reached the floor as quietly as possible, and
instantly snapped off the light of the torch.

A heavy step sounded from outside--someone was mounting the stairs--
and a disk of light suddenly appeared upon the ground-glass panel of
the door.

Kerry stood quite still, chewing steadily.

"Who's there?" came the voice of the constable posted on Kazmah's
landing.

The inspector made no reply.

"Is there anyone here?" cried the man.

The disk of light disappeared, and the alert constable could be heard
moving along the corridor to inspect the other offices. But the ray
had shone upon the frosted glass long enough to enable Kerry to read
the words painted there in square black letters. They had appeared
reversed, of course, and had read thus:

.OC ETTERAGIC SINABUC

CHAPTER XI

THE DRUG SYNDICATE

At six-thirty that morning Margaret Halley was aroused by her maid--
the latter but half awake--and sitting up in bed and switching on the
lamp, she looked at the card which the servant had brought to her, and
read the following:

CHIEF INSPECTOR KERRY,
C.I.D.
New Scotland Yard, S.W.I.

"Oh, dear," she said sleepily, "what an appallingly early visitor. Is
the bath ready yet, Janet?"

"I'm afraid not," replied the maid, a plain, elderly woman of the
old-fashioned useful servant type. "Shall I take a kettle into the
bathroom?"

"Yes--that will have to do. Tell Inspector Kerry that I shall not be
long."

Five minutes later Margaret entered her little consulting-room, where
Kerry, having adjusted his tie, was standing before the mirror in the
overmantle, staring at a large photograph of the charming lady doctor
in military uniform. Kerry's fierce eyes sparkled appreciatively as
his glance rested on the tall figure arrayed in a woollen dressing-
gown, the masculine style of which by no means disguised the beauty of
Margaret's athletic figure. She had hastily arranged her bright hair
with deliberate neglect of all affectation. She belonged to that
ultra-modern school which scorns to sue masculine admiration, but
which cannot dispense with it nevertheless. She aspired to be assessed
upon an intellectual basis, an ambition which her unfortunate good
looks rendered difficult of achievement.

"Good morning, Inspector," she said composedly. "I was expecting you."

"Really, miss?" Kerry stared curiously. "Then you know what I've come
about?"

"I think so. Won't you sit down? I am afraid the room is rather cold.
Is it about--Sir Lucien Pyne?"

"Well," replied Kerry, "it concerns him certainly. I've been in
communication by telephone with Hinkes, Mr. Monte Irvin's butler, and
from him I learned that you were professionally attending Mrs. Irvin."

"I was not her regular medical adviser, but--"

Margaret hesitated, glancing rapidly at the Inspector, and then down
at the writing-table before which she was seated. She began to tap the
blotting-pad with an ivory paper-knife. Kerry was watching her
intently.

"Upon your evidence, Miss Halley," he said rapidly, "may depend the
life of the missing woman."

"Oh!" cried Margaret, "whatever can have happened to her? I rang up as
late as two o'clock this morning; after that I abandoned hope."

"There's something underlying the case that I don't understand, miss.
I look to you to put me wise."

She turned to him impulsively.

"I will tell you all I know, Inspector," she said. "I will be
perfectly frank with you."

"Good!" rapped Kerry. "Now--you have known Mrs. Monte Irvin for some
time?"

"For about two years."

"You didn't know her when she was on the stage?"

"No. I met her at a Red Cross concert at which she sang."

"Do you think she loved her husband?"

"I know she did."

"Was there any--prior attachment?"

"Not that I know of."

"Mr. Quentin Gray?"

Margaret smiled, rather mirthlessly.

"He is my cousin, Inspector, and it was I who introduced him to Rita
Irvin. I sincerely wish I had never done so. He lost his head
completely."

"There was nothing in Mrs. Irvin's attitude towards him to justify her
husband's jealousy?"

"She was always frightfully indiscreet, Inspector, but nothing more.
You see, she is greatly admired, and is used to the company of silly,
adoring men. Her husband doesn't really understand the ways of these
Bohemian folks. I knew it would lead to trouble sooner or later."

"Ah!"

Chief Inspector Kerry thrust his hands into the pockets of his jacket.

"Now--Sir Lucien?"

Margaret tapped more rapidly with the paper-knife.

"Sir Lucien belonged to a set of which Rita had been a member during
her stage career. I think--he admired her; in fact, I believe he had
offered her marriage. But she did not care for him in the least--in
that way."

"Then in what way did she care for him?" rapped Kerry.

"Well--now we are coming to the point." Momentarily she hesitated,
then: "They were both addicted--"

"Yes?"

"--to drugs."

"Eh?" Kerry's eyes grew hard and fierce in a moment. "What drugs?"

"All sorts of drugs. Shortly after I became acquainted with Rita Irvin
I learned that she was a victim of the drug habit, and I tried to cure
her. I regret to say that I failed. At that time she had acquired a
taste for opium."

Kerry said not a word, and Margaret raised her head and looked at him
pathetically.

"I can see that you have no pity for the victims of this ghastly vice,
Inspector Kerry," she said.

"I haven't!" he snapped fiercely. "I admit I haven't, miss. It's bad
enough in the heathens, but for an Englishwoman to dope herself is
downright unchristian and beastly."

"Yet I have come across so many of these cases, during the war and
since, that I have begun to understand how easy, how dreadfully easy
it is, for a woman especially, to fall into the fatal habit.
Bereavement or that most frightful of all mental agonies, suspense,
will too often lead the poor victim into the path that promises
forgetfulness. Rita Irvin's case is less excusable. I think she must
have begun drug-taking because of the mental and nervous exhaustion
resulting from late hours and over-much gaiety. The demands of her
profession proved too great for her impaired nervous energy, and she
sought some stimulant which would enable her to appear bright on the
stage when actually she should have been recuperating, in sleep, that
loss of vital force which can be recuperated in no other way."

"But opium!" snapped Kerry.

"I am afraid her other drug habits had impaired her will, and shaken
her self-control. She was tempted to try opium by its promise of a new
and novel excitement."

"Her husband, I take it, was ignorant of all this?"

"I believe he was. Quentin--Mr. Gray--had no idea of it either."

"Then it was Sir Lucien Pyne who was in her confidence in the matter?"

Margaret nodded slowly, still tapping the blotting-pad.

"He used to accompany her to places where drugs could be obtained, and
on several occasions--I cannot say how many--I believe he went with
her to some den in Chinatown. It may have been due to Mr. Irvin's
discovery that his wife could not satisfactorily account for some of
these absences from home which led him to suspect her fidelity."

"Ah!" said Kerry hardly, "I shouldn't wonder. And now"--he thrust out
a pointing finger--"where did she get these drugs?"

Margaret met the fierce stare composedly.

"I have said that I shall be quite frank," she replied. "In my opinion
she obtained them from Kazmah."

"Kazmah!" shouted Kerry. "Excuse me, miss, but I see I've been wearing
blinkers without knowing it! Kazmah's was a dope-shop?"

"That has been my belief for a long time, Inspector. I may add that I
have never been able to obtain a shred of evidence to prove it. I am
so keenly interested in seeing the people who pander to this horrible
vice unmasked and dealt with as they merit, that I have tried many
times to find out if my suspicion was correct."

Inspector Kerry was writhing his shoulders excitedly. "Did you ever
visit Kazmah?" he asked.

"Yes. I asked Rita Irvin to take me, but she refused, and I could see
that the request embarrassed her. So I went alone."

"Describe exactly what took place."

Margaret Halley stared reflectively at the blotting-pad for a moment,
and then described a typical seance at Kazmah's. In conclusion:

"As I came away," she said, "I bought a bottle of every kind of
perfume on sale, some of the incense, and also a box of sweetmeat; but
they all proved to be perfectly harmless. I analyzed them."

Kerry's eyes glistened with admiration.

"We could do with you at the Yard, miss," he said. "Excuse me for
saying so."

Margaret smiled rather wanly.

"Now--this man Kazmah," resumed the Chief Inspector. "Did you ever see
him again?"

"Never. I have been trying for months and months to find out who he
is."

Kerry's face became very grim.

"About ten trained men are trying to find that out at the present
moment!" he rapped. "Do you think he wore a make-up?"

"He may have done so," Margaret admitted. "But his features were
obviously undisguised, and his eyes one would recognize anywhere. They
were larger than any human eyes I have ever seen."

"He couldn't have been the Egyptian who looked after the shop, for
instance?"

"Impossible! He did not remotely resemble him. Besides, the man to
whom you refer remained outside to receive other visitors. Oh, that's
out of the question, Inspector."

"The light was very dim?"

"Very dim indeed, and Kazmah never once raised his head. Indeed,
except for a dignified gesture of greeting and one of dismissal, he
never moved. His immobility was rather uncanny."

Kerry began to pace up and down the narrow room, and:

"He bore no resemblance to the late Sir Lucien Pyne, for instance?" he
rapped.

Margaret laughed outright and her laughter was so inoffensive and so
musical that the Chief Inspector laughed also.

"That's more hopeless than ever!" she said. "Poor Sir Lucien had
strong, harsh features and rather small eyes. He wore a moustache,
too. But Sir Lucien, I feel sure, was one of Kazmah's clients."

"Ah!" said Kerry. "And what leads you to suppose Miss Halley, that
this Kazmah dealt in drugs?"

"Well, you see, Rita Irvin was always going there to buy perfumes, and
she frequently sent her maid as well."

"But"--Kerry stared--"you say that the perfume was harmless."

"That which was sold to casual visitors was harmless, Inspector. But I
strongly suspect that regular clients were supplied with something
quite different. You see, I know no fewer than thirty unfortunate
women in the West End of London alone who are simply helpless slaves
to various drugs, and I think it more than a coincidence that upon
their dressing-tables I have almost invariably found one or more of
Kazmah's peculiar antique flasks."

Chief Inspector Kerry's jaw muscles protruded conspicuously.

"You speak of patients?" he asked.

Margaret nodded her head.

"When a woman becomes addicted to the drug habit," she explained, "she
sometimes shuns her regular medical adviser. I have many patients who
came to me originally simply because they dared not face their family
doctor. In fact, since I gave up Army work, my little practice has
threatened to develop into that of a drug-habit specialist."

"Have you taxed any of these people with obtaining drugs from Kazmah?"

"Not directly. It would have been undiplomatic. But I have tried to
surprise them into telling me. Unfortunately, these poor people are as
cunning as any other kind of maniac, for, of course, it becomes a form
of mania. They recognize that confession might lead to a stoppage of
supplies--the eventuality they most dread."

"Did you examine the contents of any of these flasks found on
dressing-tables?"

"I rarely had an opportunity; but when I did they proved to contain
perfume when they contained anything."

"H'm," mused Kerry, and although in deference to Margaret, he had
denied himself chewing-gum, his jaws worked automatically. "I gather
that Mrs. Monte Irvin had expressed a wish to see you last night?"

"Yes. Apparently she was threatened with a shortage of cocaine."

"Cocaine was her drug?"

"One of them. She had tried them all, poor, silly girl! You must
understand that for a habitual drug-taker suddenly to be deprived of
drugs would lead to complete collapse, perhaps death. And during the
last few days I had noticed a peculiar nervous symptom in Rita Irvin
which had interested me. Finally, the day before yesterday, she
confessed that her usual source of supply had been closed to her. Her
words were very vague, but I gathered that some form of coercion was
being employed."

"With what object?"

"I have no idea. But she used the words, 'They will drive me mad,' and
seemed to be in a dangerously nervous condition. She said that she was
going to make a final attempt to obtain a supply of the poison which
had become indispensable to her. 'I cannot do without it!' she said.
'But if they refuse, will you give me some?'"

"What did you say?"

"I begged of her, as I had done on many previous occasions, to place
herself in my hands. But she evaded a direct answer, as is the way of
one addicted to this vice. 'If I cannot get some by tomorrow,' she
said, 'I shall go mad, or dead. Can I rely on you?'"

"I told her that I would prescribe cocaine for her on the distinct
understanding that from the first dose she was to place herself under
my care for a cure."

"She agreed?"

"She agreed. Yesterday afternoon, while I was away at an important
case, she came here. Poor Rita!" Margaret's soft voice trembled. "Look
--she left this note."

From a letter-rack she took a square sheet of paper and handed it to
the Chief Inspector. He bent his fierce eyes upon the writing--large,
irregular and shaky.

"'Dear Margaret,'" he read aloud. "'Why aren't you at home? I am wild
with pain, and feel I am going mad. Come to me directly you return,
and bring enough to keep me alive. I--', Hullo! there's no finish!"

He glanced up from the page. Margaret Halley's eyes were dim.

"She despaired of my coming and went to Kazmah," she said. "Can you
doubt that that was what she went for?"

"No!" snapped Kerry savagely, "I can't. But do you mean to tell me,
Miss Halley, that Mrs. Irvin couldn't get cocaine anywhere else? I
know for a fact that it's smuggled in regularly, and there's more than
one receiver."

Margaret looked at him strangely.

"I know it, too, Inspector," she said quietly. "Owing to the lack of
enterprise on the part of our British drug-houses, even reputable
chemists are sometimes dependent upon illicit stock from Japan and
America. But do you know that the price of these smuggled drugs has
latterly become so high as to be prohibitive in many cases?"

"I don't. What are you driving at, miss?"

"At this: Somebody had made a corner in contraband drugs. The most
wicked syndicate that ever was formed has got control of the lives of,
it may be, thousands of drug-slaves!"

Kerry's teeth closed with a sharp snap.

"At last," he said, "I see where the smart from the Home office comes
in."

"The Secretary of State has appointed a special independent
commissioner to inquire into this hellish traffic," replied Margaret
quietly. "I am glad to say that I have helped in getting this done by
the representations which I have made to my uncle, Lord Wrexborough.
But I give you my word, Inspector Kerry, that I have withheld nothing
from you any more than from him."

"Him!" snapped Kerry, eyes fiercely ablaze.

"From the Home Office representative--before whom I have already given
evidence."

Chief Inspector Kerry took up his hat, cane and overall from the chair
upon which he had placed them and, his face a savage red mask, bowed
with a fine courtesy. He burned to learn particulars; he disdained to
obtain them from a woman.

"Good morning, Miss Halley," he said. "I am greatly indebted to you."

He walked stiffly from the room and out of the flat without waiting
for a servant to open the door.

PART SECOND

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