“Other drugs,” drawled Sir Lucien, “merely stimulate one’s normal mental activities. _Chandu_ is a key to another life. Cocaine, for instance enhances our capacity for work. It is only a heretic like De Quincey who prostitutes the magic gum to such base purposes. _Chandu_ is misunderstood in Europe; in Asia it is the companion of the aesthete’s leisure.” “But surely,” said Rita, “one pipe of opium will not produce all these wonders.” “Some people never experience them at all,” interrupted Miss Gretna. “The great idea is to get into a comfortable position, and just resign yourself—let yourself go. Oh, it’s heavenly!” Cyrus Kilfane turned his dull eyes in Rita’s direction. “A question of temperament and adaptability,” he murmured. “De Quincey, Pyne”—slowly turning towards the baronet—“is didactic, of course; but his _Confessions_ may be true, nevertheless. He forgets, you see, that he possessed an unusual constitution, and the temperament of a Norwegian herring. He forgets, too, that he was a laudanum drinker, not an opium smoker. Now you, my daughter”—the lustreless eyes again sought Rita’s flushed face—“are vivid—intensely vital. If you can succeed in resigning yourself to the hypnosis induced your experiences will be delightful. Trust your Uncle Cy.” Leaving Rita chatting with Miss Gretna, Kilfane took Pyne aside, offering him a cigarette from an ornate, jewelled case. “Hello,” said the baronet, “can you still get these?” “With the utmost difficulty,” murmured Kilfane, returning the case to his pocket. “Lola charges me five guineas a hundred for them, and only supplies them as a favor. I shall be glad to get back home, Pyne. The right stuff is the wrong price in London.” Sir Lucien laughed sardonically, lighting Kilfane’s cigarette and then his own. “I find it so myself,” he said. “Everything except opium is to be had at Kazmah’s, and nothing except opium interests me.” “He supplies me with cocaine,” murmured the comedian. “His figure works out, as nearly as I can estimate it, at 10s 7½d. a grain. I saw him about it yesterday afternoon, pointing out to the brown guy that as the wholesale price is roughly 2¼d., I regarded his margin of profit as somewhat broad.” “Indeed!” “The first time I had ever seen him, Pyne. I brought an introduction from Dr. Silver, of New York, and Kazmah supplied me without question—at a price.” “You always saw Rashîd?” “Yes. If there were other visitors I waited. But yesterday I made a personal appointment with Kazmah. He pretended to think I had come to have a dream interpreted. He is clever, Pyne. He never moved a muscle throughout the interview. But finally he assured me that all the receivers in England had amalgamated, and that the price he charged represented a very narrow margin of profit. Of course he is a liar. He is making a fortune. Do you know him personally?”