Detective and mystery stories; Drug traffic -- Fiction
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.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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