In the silence of this den of human misery, where each victim was bound to his neighbor by the same chains that made him a slave, a long stride was taken on this night toward the oblivion of death. Strange scenes sometimes occur in these places, and one was on the tapis for this night. So interested had the detective been in watching the couple opposite, that he seldom glanced at any of the others. By mere chance his eyes alighted upon the second veiled woman, and at the same moment he saw that something was wrong. She had swept her veil aside, and the light revealed a face at once handsome and dissipated—she had been a beauty earlier in life. Just now this face was distorted. Pain racked it. Eric Darrell saw the awful hand of death there—he knew the wretched woman must have some heart trouble which was aggravated by the opium, and that she was dying. He beckoned to the Yankee who represented the American side of the firm. Then he pointed to the struggling woman. The other sprang to her. There was a gasp and all was over—death had come to her in the opium den. By this time Eric was out on the floor, and it was well he happened to be there, for the man showed the white feather at once, fearing lest a thing of this kind would ruin his business. Luckily a strong hand was at the helm. The orders Eric gave were obeyed—no one was allowed to leave the place. Most of those present manifested no interest in the game—their minds were wholly taken up with heavenly visions—death might come and go without their notice. Eric knew what must be done. The woman was elegantly dressed—she was no doubt the wife of a wealthy citizen, and if it were known that she had expired in this fashionable opium joint the shame would be terrible. He aroused the widow. The other veiled lady was trembling, having gained her feet, but she would answer no questions, only sob and wring her hands, while the artist pretended not to notice any one, though eagerly taking it all in. When the dashing widow was brought out of her dreams and made to realize the truth, she too seemed overwhelmed. Eric took hold of her. His strong mind controlled hers, and he soon made her see how essential it was that this awful business be kept a dead secret. She must confide in him, giving the name and address of the deceased—he would then see that the body was taken there unknown to a living soul save the driver, and the secret would be locked in the breast of her husband. The world she moved in would attend her funeral, and never dream that she had died in any other place than at home. This gave the widow hope. She whispered the lady’s name and residence to the detective, who wrote them down. He was surprised to discover that her husband was a prominent business man down town. It was an awful business, but he managed it with great circumspection—the body was placed in a hack, and the driver did not know but what she was merely sick.