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.