“Right-o!” he said awkwardly, and tossed the cigarette in the fire. “You used to smoke like a furnace, Margaret. Is this some new ‘cult’?”
“I still smoke a great deal more than is good for me,” she confessed, “but I don’t smoke opium.”
The effect of these words upon the two men who listened was curious. Gray turned an angry glance upon the brown packet lying on the table, and “Faugh!” he exclaimed, and drawing a handkerchief from his sleeve began disgustedly to wipe his lips. Seton stared hard at the speaker, tossed his cheroot into the fire, and taking up the packet withdrew a cigarette and sniffed at it critically. Margaret watched him.
He tore the wrapping off, and tasted a strand of the tobacco.
“Good heavens!” he whispered. “Gray, these things are doped!”
CHAPTER X.
SIR LUCIEN’S STUDY WINDOW
Old Bond Street presented a gloomy and deserted prospect to Chief Inspector Kerry as he turned out of Piccadilly and swung along toward the premises of Kazmah. He glanced at the names on some of the shop windows as he passed, and wondered if the furriers, jewelers and other merchants dealing in costly wares properly appreciated the services of the Metropolitan Police Force. He thought of the peacefully slumbering tradesmen in their suburban homes, the safety of their stocks wholly dependent upon the vigilance of that Unsleeping Eye—for to an unsleeping eye he mentally compared the service of which he was a member.
A constable stood on duty before the door of the block. Red Kerry was known by sight and reputation to every member of the force, and the constable saluted as the celebrated Chief Inspector appeared.
“Anything to report, constable?”
“Yes, sir.”