next room and tell him everything. I will take care of this scoundrel until you both decide what shall be done with him.”
Husband and wife looked at each other. Both were white now.
“Enid—is there really anything to tell?” asked Barford.
She stared at him, her eyes haunted.
“Oh, Geoff—Geoff—there is so much to tell you that I—I am afraid,” she said.
Her eyes were ringed with black circles and she began to tremble.
“You—you will be astonished—disgusted—no, no, I—there is nothing to tell—nothing”
She broke off hopelessly, swaying.
Her husband, puzzled, went to her, slipping his arm about her.
“Why, darling, what is it all about?” he said tenderly. “If there's anything—some absurd slander”
Salaman turned on Sover.
“Get outside and wait for me there,” he snarled softly, and Sover made haste to obey.
The little man locked the door behind him and turned to the Barfords. The woman, close in her husband's arms, was weeping terribly.
Over the fair, gleaming head, Barford looked with mute mystified appeal at Salaman—who spoke earnestly.
“I am old enough to be the father of either of you two,” he said. “There's something to tell you that Lady Barford shrinks from. So I will do it. After all, it's not so deadly. She has been sinned against more than she has sinned. A victim—one of many. What she fears to tell you is this—that she has become a victim to the drug habit”
“Drugs! You, Enid!” Barford was appalled.
“Wait a minute, will you!” rapped Salaman.
“She is only one of many victims to the scoundrel who specializes in entrapping women into the habit—as fowlers entrap linnets. I am seeking him now. Listen carefully. He has a special drug which victims cannot easily obtain except through him—or his agents, for he rarely appears himself. After a period he deprives them of supplies and they become desperate, as drug takers do under deprivation. Then this scoundrel—this pest—the Drugmaster—Dragour, he is called—makes his bargain, always through agents. In the case of Lady Barford, Sover, her jockey, was the agent. He offered to renew her supply of the drug in return for the heirloom rubies. Lady Barford gave Sover the rubies to hand to Dragour. And, remember this—cling to this, Lord Barford—the price was light, a bagatelle compared with the price this reptile has forced from some poor souls. It happened that he has a weakness for collecting old, rare things—such things as these carved jewels—and, for his first demand, these satisfied him. It might have been worse—I tell you, it might have been a thousand times worse! You've heard of the Argrath suicide. That was Dragour's work. He ensnared Lady Argrath, and through her ruined her husband. Never mind that now. That's all your wife has to confess—and what you ought to thank God for is this that it's not come too late. You've got back the heirlooms—though they don't matter much—and you're going to get back your wife! I can see how much that matters. She takes this drug, yes—but, compared with many she's hardly more than a novice at the habit. Be glad of that, Barford, for it affects your whole life. Take her away and protect her. More than that—make sure of her. Get the best medical advice you can and act on it—for whatever it is, it's a deadly drug that Dragour uses and it grips body and soul—body and soul. You'll have to fight for her—she'll have to fight for herself—but you'll win, if you like.”
He stopped.
Lord Barford, his face white and troubled, spoke to the weeping woman.
“Is that true, Enid? All true?” he asked pitifully.
She seemed to nod, sobbing.
His voice dropped to little more than a whisper.
“Oh, my dear, why didn't you come to me and tell me—old Geoff? Haven't we always been pals? It—it just breaks my heart to think that you were afraid to tell me—me—about the miserable rubies. Never mind, never mind all that now. Mr. Chayne's right. We'll do just as he advises. Fight it out together—go round the world, fighting it all the way. Drugs! You won't be a slave to any damned drugs if we're always together, my dear. I'll fight it for you—keep you happy and laughing—laughing, girl—like it used to be. You'll see—oh, you'll see. Look up, now, darling—
