“I think she must have known.”
He sighed.
“The police have interrogated her,” he said. “Probably she is being watched.”
“Oh, I don’t think she knows anything about the drug syndicate,” declared Margaret. “She merely acted as confidential messenger. Poor Sir Lucien Pyne, I am sure, was addicted to drugs.”
“Do you think”—Irvin spoke in a very low voice—“do you think he led her into the habit?”
Margaret bit her lip, staring down at the red carpet.
“I would hate to slander a man who can never defend himself,” she replied finally. “But—I have sometimes thought he did.”
Silence fell. Both were contemplating a theory which neither dared to express in words.
“You see,” continued Margaret, “it is evident that this man Kazmah was patronized by people so highly placed that it is hopeless to look for information from them. Again, such people have influence. I don’t suggest that they are using it to protect Kazmah, but I have no doubt they are doing so to protect themselves.”
Monte Irvin raised his eyes to her face. A weary, sad look had come into them.