Of the woman who opened the door I learned, to my relief, that the family were at their place in Scotland, and that the house, enshrouded in dust-sheets, was in the hands of herself and her husband as caretakers.
When I half lifted the young lady—whom I will here call Miss Violet Hewitt for the sake of the good name of her family—out of the taxi the woman became greatly alarmed. But I assured her there was nothing wrong; her young mistress had been taken ill, but was now much better. A doctor was not needed.
For half an hour I remained there with her, and then, as she had recovered sufficiently, I rose to go, intending to let her make her own explanations to the caretaker.
We were alone, and she was seated in a big arm-chair. She saw my intention to leave, whereupon she struggled to her feet, for she now realized to her horror what had occurred.
"You are Count von Heltzendorff!" she exclaimed, passing her hand across her brow, as though suddenly recollecting. "We met at Henley. Ah! I know I—I can't help it. I have been very foolish—but I can't help it. The craving grows upon me."
"You met my friend Lehnhardt last night, did you not?"
"Yes, I did. Quite accidentally. I was waiting in the lounge of the 'Ritz' for a man-friend with whom I had promised to dine when Mr. Lehnhardt came in and recognized me. My friend had not turned up, so I accepted his invitation to have dinner at Claridge's. This we did, and during the meal he spoke of opium, and I admitted that I was fond of it, for I smoke it sometimes at a girl-friend's at Hampstead. Therefore we agreed to go together to Lung Ching's."
"He left you there," I said.
"I know. I certainly did not expect him to go away and leave me in such a place," said the girl, who was very pretty and not more than twenty, even though addicted to the terrible opium habit. "But," she added, "you will keep my secret—won't you?"
"Most certainly, Miss Hewitt," was my reply. "This should serve as a severe lesson to you."