From a letter-rack she took a square sheet of paper and handed it to the Chief Inspector. He bent his fierce eyes upon the writing—large, irregular and shaky.
“‘Dear Margaret,’” he read aloud. “‘Why aren’t you at home? I am wild with pain, and feel I am going mad. Come to me directly you return, and bring enough to keep me alive. I—’, Hullo! there’s no finish!”
He glanced up from the page. Margaret Halley’s eyes were dim.
“She despaired of my coming and went to Kazmah,” she said. “Can you doubt that that was what she went for?”
“No!” snapped Kerry savagely, “I can’t. But do you mean to tell me, Miss Halley, that Mrs. Irvin couldn’t get cocaine anywhere else? I know for a fact that it’s smuggled in regularly, and there’s more than one receiver.”
Margaret looked at him strangely.
“I know it, too, Inspector,” she said quietly. “Owing to the lack of enterprise on the part of our British drug-houses, even reputable chemists are sometimes dependent upon illicit stock from Japan and America. But do you know that the price of these smuggled drugs has latterly become so high as to be prohibitive in many cases?”
“I don’t. What are you driving at, miss?”
“At this: Somebody had made a corner in contraband drugs. The most wicked syndicate that ever was formed has got control of the lives of, it may be, thousands of drug-slaves!”
Kerry’s teeth closed with a sharp snap.