“Oh, no; my man goes to Limehouse for it. Ah! here she is.”
A woman came in, carrying a brown leather attaché case. She had left her hat and coat in the hall, and wore a smart blue serge skirt and a white blouse. She was not tall, but she possessed a remarkably beautiful figure which the cut of her garments was not intended to disguise, and her height was appreciably increased by a pair of suéde shoes having the most wonderful heels which Rita ever remembered to have seen worn on or off the stage. They seemed to make her small feet appear smaller, and lent to her slender ankles an exaggerated frontal curve.
Her hair was of that true, glossy black which suggests the blue sheen of raven’s plumage, and her thickly fringed eyes were dark and southern as her hair. She had full, voluptuous lips, and a bold self-assurance. In the swift, calculating glance which she cast about the room there was something greedy and evil; and when it rested upon Rita Dresden’s dainty beauty to the evil greed was added cruelty.
“Another little sister, dear Lola,” murmured Kilfane. “Of course, you know who it is? This, my daughter,” turning the sleepy glance towards Rita, “is our officiating priestess, Mrs. Sin.”
The woman so strangely named revealed her gleaming teeth in a swift, unpleasant smile, then her nostrils dilated and she glanced about her suspiciously.
“Someone smokes the chandu cigarettes,” she said, speaking in a low tone which, nevertheless, failed to disguise her harsh voice, and with a very marked accent.
“I am the offender, dear Lola,” said Kilfane, dreamily waving his cigarette towards her. “I have managed to make the last hundred spin out. You have brought me a new supply?”
“Oh no, indeed,” replied Mrs. Sin, tossing her head in a manner oddly reminiscent of a once famous Spanish dancer. “Next Tuesday you get some more. Ah! it is no good! You talk and talk and it cannot alter anything. Until they come I cannot give them to you.”
“But it appears to me,” murmured Kilfane, “that the supply is always growing less.”
“Of course. The best goes all to Edinburgh now. I have only three sticks of Yezd left of all my stock.”