"That brings me to my last point, sir. From Mrs. Irvin's maid I
learned that her mistress was acquainted with a certain Mrs. Sin."
"Mrs. Sin? Incredible name."
"She's a woman reputed to be married to a Chinaman. Inspector
Whiteleaf, of Vine Street, knows her by sight as one of the night-club
birds--a sort of mysterious fungus, sir, flowering in the dark and
fattening on gilded fools. Unless I'm greatly mistaken, Mrs. Sin is
the link between the doped cigarettes and the missing Kazmah."
"Does anyone know where she lives?"
"Lots of 'em know!" snapped Kerry. "But it's making them speak."
"To whom do you more particularly refer, Chief Inspector?"
"To the moneyed asses and the brainless women belonging to a certain
West End set, sir," said Kerry savagely. "They go in for every
monstrosity from Buenos Ayres, Port Said and Pekin. They get up dances
that would make a wooden horse blush. They eat hashish and they smoke
opium. They inject morphine, and they would have their hair dyed blue
if they heard it was 'being done.'"
"Ah," sighed the Assistant Commissioner, "a very delicate and complex
case, Chief Inspector. The agony of mind which Mr. Irvin must be
suffering is too horrible for one to contemplate.
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