“At least, I can guess,” he said, dropping his voice.
Then he got up and, standing before her with his hands in his pockets, looked down at her steadily and continued:
“It has to do with a drug.”
At the word drug she winced visibly, and her pale face changed.
“The drug is cocaine,” he went on slowly, “and the victim is—a lady in this house.”
Sophy’s white cheeks were now aflame; bright tears stood in her eyes; she was passing through a painful crisis. To assent would amount to a betrayal. Should she put him off with a lie? There seemed to be an interminable pause before she spoke.
“Why do you say this to me?” she asked in a low voice.
“FitzGerald has means of finding out curious facts, and sometimes he tumbles into a thing by accident; he is mad keen to scotch this cocaine business, and incidentally discovered that one of Ah Shee’s best customers was—you know who. She has been procuring the stuff for the last three years. I believe you have only recently found out the hideous fact, and this accounts for what anyone can see with half an eye—your look of care and anxiety. I am well aware that I have undertaken a dangerous mission in coming here to tell you this. Possibly you may never speak to me again; but I take the risk, because I do want so very, very badly to be of some use and to stand by you.”
There was nothing for it but to accept the situation, and at last she said:
“The only way in which you can help me is by keeping silent.”