Late on the following evening, when the house was quiet and the servants had departed to their _godowns_, or the bazaar, and the “missy” was supposed to have retired, Sophy slipped on a dressing-gown and soft slippers and made her way into the anteroom, usually occupied in the day-time by her aunt, now dimly illuminated by one electric light. Before the door of the next apartment hung a heavy curtain which, when drawn aside, revealed a thick darkness, a peculiar odour, and the sound of rapid breathing. Sophy groped with her hand along the wall, found the switch, and the room and its contents were instantly revealed. A richly-carved bedstead, a masterpiece of Burmese work, stood in the middle of the floor; at either side were small tables, one heaped with an untidy pile of books and magazines; on the other were bottles, glasses and little boxes. In turning the switch Sophy had lit the bulb which hung directly over Mrs. Krauss’s couch, and there, by its pitiless glare, she lay fully exposed, sunken in a sleep resembling a swoon, her splendid black hair lying loose upon the pillows. She looked woefully old and shrunken, her arms, displayed by an open-sleeved silk nightgown, were thin and strangely discoloured. As Sophy stood surveying the scene the bathroom door opened softly and Lily stepped over the threshold. “Oh, my missy! Whatever are you doing here?” she exclaimed, throwing up her hands. “I am searching for the hypodermic syringe by which you reduce my aunt,” pointing to the bed, “to this horrible condition. Come with me, Lily,” leading the way to the outer room. “I have something to say to you.” The ayah’s face was almost green; she was shaking all over, but after a moment’s hesitation she ultimately obeyed in sullen silence. “I was not aware until two days ago,” resumed Sophy, “that my aunt took drugs and that you supplied them.” “I don’t know what the missy is talking about,” stammered Lily. “Oh yes, you understand, and Mr. Krauss will understand. At present he has no idea of my aunt’s real ailment.” “Missy going to tell _him_? Well, if I am sent away to Madras and the drug taken from the missis she will soon die—you will see!” Lily’s tone was more triumphant than regretful. “She will die anyway,” rejoined Sophy, “and it were better that she should die in her senses than a drugged victim to cocaine. How long has this been going on?” “Two, three years—maybe four years.” “Four years!” repeated Sophy incredulously. “Yes, missis plenty sick—no sleep getting; doctor ordering small dose sleep mixture; missis liking too much, taking more and more, and more.” “And you have kept her supplied—you get it from Ah Shee?” “If not me, then some other woman. I plenty fond of missis and I kept her secret.” “And, no doubt, she has paid you well.”