"
"Absolutely incredible!" declared Mollie, opening a large box of
cigarettes. "Will you have one, dear?"
"No, thanks. By the way, they are not from Buenos Ayres, I suppose?"
Mollie, cigarette in hand, stared, round-eyed, and:
"Oh, my dear Miss Halley!" she cried, "what an idea! Such a funny
thing to suggest."
Margaret smiled coolly.
"Poor Sir Lucien used to smoke cigarettes of that kind," she
explained, "and I thought perhaps you smoked them, too."
Mollie shook her head and lighted the cigarette.
"He gave me one once, and it made me feel quite sick," she declared.
Margaret glanced at the speaker, and knew immediately that Mollie had
determined to deny all knowledge of the drug coterie. Because there is
no problem of psychology harder than that offered by a perverted mind,
Margaret was misled in ascribing this secrecy to a desire to avoid
becoming involved in a scandal. Therefore:
"Do you quite realize, Miss Gretna," she said quietly, "that every
hour wasted now in tracing Rita may mean, must mean, an hour of agony
for her?"
"Oh, don't! please don't!" cried Mollie, clasping her hands. "I cannot
bear to think of it."
"God knows in whose hands she is. Then there is poor Mr. Irvin. He is
utterly prostrated.
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