orbed by Mr. King!"

"It's almost incredible!" said Helen.

"I quite agree with you," replied her father. "Of course, most people
know that there are opium dens in London, as in almost every other big
city, but the existence of these palatial establishments, conducted by
Mr. King, although undoubtedly a fact, is a fact difficult to accept.
It doesn't seem possible that such a place can be conducted secretly;
whereas I am assured that all the efforts of Scotland Yard thus far have
failed to locate the site of the London branch."

"But surely," cried Denise Ryland, nostrils dilated indignantly, "some
of the... customers of this... disgusting place... can be followed?"...

"The difficulty is to identify them," explained Cumberly. "Opium smoking
is essentially a secret vice; a man does not visit an opium den openly
as he would visit his club; and the elaborate precautions adopted by
the women are illustrated in the case of Mrs. Vernon, and in the case of
Mrs. Leroux. It is a pathetic fact almost daily brought home to me, that
women who acquire a drug habit become more rapidly and more entirely
enslaved by it than does a man. It becomes the center of the woman's
existence; it becomes her god: all other claims, social and domestic,
are disregarded. Upon this knowledge, Mr. King has established his
undoubtedly extensive enterprise."...

Dr. Cumberly stood up.

"I will go down and see Leroux," he announced quietly. "His sorrow
hitherto has been secondary to his indignation. Possibly ignorance in
this case is preferable to the truth, but nevertheless I am determined
to tell him what I know. Give me ten minutes or so, and then join me.
Are you agreeable?"

"Quite," said Helen.

Dr. Cumberly departed upon his self-imposed mission.

XXV

FATE'S SHUTTLECOCK

Some ten minutes later, Helen Cumberly and Denise Ryland were in turn
admitted to Henry Leroux's flat. They found him seated on a couch in
his dining-room, wearing the inevitable dressing-gown. Dr. Cumberly, his
hands clasped behind him, stood looking out of the window.

Leroux's pallor now was most remarkable; his complexion had assumed an
ivory whiteness which lent his face a sort of statuesque beauty. He was
cleanly shaven (somewhat of a novelty), and his hair was brushed back
from his brow. But the dark blue eyes were very tragic.

He rose at sight of his new visitors, and a faint color momentarily
tinged his cheeks. Helen Cumberly grasped his outstre