r moved a muscle
throughout the interview. But finally he assured me that all the
receivers in England had amalgamated, and that the price he charged
represented a very narrow margin of profit. Of course he is a liar. He
is making a fortune. Do you know him personally?"

"No," replied Sir Lucien, "outside his Bond Street home of mystery he is
unknown. A clever man, as you say. You obtain your opium from Lola?"

"Yes. Kazmah sent her to me. She keeps me on ridiculously low rations,
and if I had not brought my own outfit I don't think she would have
sold me one. Of course, her game is beating up clients for the Limehouse
dive."

"You have visited 'The House of a Hundred Raptures'?"

"Many times, at week-ends. Opium, like wine, is better enjoyed in
company."

"Does she post you the opium?"

"Oh, no; my man goes to Limehouse for it. Ah! here she is."

A woman came in, carrying a brown leather attache 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 suede 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 h