She said that she was
going to make a final attempt to obtain a supply of the poison which
had become indispensable to her. 'I cannot do without it!' she said.
'But if they refuse, will you give me some?'"
"What did you say?"
"I begged of her, as I had done on many previous occasions, to place
herself in my hands. But she evaded a direct answer, as is the way of
one addicted to this vice. 'If I cannot get some by tomorrow,' she
said, 'I shall go mad, or dead. Can I rely on you?'"
"I told her that I would prescribe cocaine for her on the distinct
understanding that from the first dose she was to place herself under
my care for a cure."
"She agreed?"
"She agreed. Yesterday afternoon, while I was away at an important
case, she came here. Poor Rita!" Margaret's soft voice trembled. "Look
--she left this note."
From a letter-rack she took a square sheet of paper and handed it to
the Chief Inspector. He bent his fierce eyes upon the writing--large,
irregular and shaky.
"'Dear Margaret,'" he read aloud. "'Why aren't you at home? I am wild
with pain, and feel I am going mad. Come to me directly you return,
and bring enough to keep me alive. I--', Hullo! there's no finish!"
He glanced up from the page.
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