Have you ever thought about what fiction is? Probably, such a question may seem surprising: and so everything is clear. Every person throughout his life has to repeatedly create the works he needs for specific purposes - statements, autobiographies, dictations - using not gypsum or clay, not musical notes, not paints, but just a word. At the same time, almost every person will be very surprised if he is told that he thereby created a work of fiction, which is very different from visual art, music and sculpture making. However, everyone understands that a student's essay or dictation is fundamentally different from novels, short stories, news that are created by professional writers. In the works of professionals there is the most important difference - excogitation. But, oddly enough, in a school literature course, you don’t realize the full power of fiction. So using our website in your free time discover fiction for yourself. Dope by Sax Rohmer (highly recommended books .txt) 📖
- Author: Sax Rohmer
Book online «Dope by Sax Rohmer (highly recommended books .txt) 📖». Author Sax Rohmer
“Ah, yes,” murmured the Assistant Commissioner; “she was Rita Dresden, was she not—'The Maid of the Masque' A very pretty and talented actress. A pity—a great pity. So the girl, characteristically, is trying to save herself?”
“She is,” said Kerry grimly. “But it cuts no ice. There is another point. After this report was made out, a message reached me from Miss Halley, as a result of which I visited Mr. Quentin Gray early this morning.”
“Dear, dear,” sighed the Assistant Commissioner, “your intense zeal and activity are admirable, Chief Inspector, but appalling. And what did you learn?”
From an inside pocket Chief Inspector Kerry took out a plain brown paper packet containing several cigarettes and laid the packet on the table.
“I got these, sir,” he said grimly. “They were left at Mr. Gray's some weeks ago by the late Sir Lucien. They are doped.”
The Assistant Commissioner, his head resting upon his hand, gazed abstractedly at the packet. “If only you could trace the source of supply,” he murmured.
“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. An admirable man, too; honorable and generous. I can conceive no theory to account for the disappearance of Mrs. Irvin other than that she was a party to the murder.”
“No, sir,” said Kerry guardedly. “But we have the dope clue to work on. That the Chinese receive stuff in the East End and that it's sold in the West End every constable in the force is well aware. Leman Street is getting busy, and every shady case in the Piccadilly area will be beaten up within the next twenty-four hours, too. It's purely departmental, sir, from now onwards, and merely a question of time. Therefore I don't doubt the issue.”
Kerry paused, cleared his throat, and produced a foolscap envelope which he laid upon the table before the Assistant Commissioner.
“With very deep regret, sir,” he said, “after a long and agreeable association with the Criminal Investigation Department, I have to tender you this.”
The Assistant Commissioner took up the envelope and stared at it vaguely.
“Ah, yes, Chief Inspector,” he murmured. “Perhaps I fail entirely to follow you; I am somewhat over-worked, as you know. What does this envelope contain?”
“My resignation, sir,” replied Kerry.
CHAPTER XXIV. TO INTRODUCE 719
Some moments of silence followed. Sounds of traffic from the Embankment penetrated dimly to the room of the Assistant Commissioner; ringing of tram bells and that vague sustained noise which is created by the whirring of countless wheels along hard pavements. Finally:
“You have selected a curious moment to retire, Chief Inspector,” said the Assistant Commissioner. “Your prospects were never better. No doubt you have considered the question of your pension?”
“I know what I'm giving up, sir,” replied Kerry.
The Assistant Commissioner slowly revolved in his chair and gazed sadly at the speaker. Chief Inspector Kerry met his glance with that fearless, unflinching stare which lent him so formidable an appearance.
“You might care to favor me with some explanation which I can lay before the Chief Commissioner?”
Kerry snapped his white teeth together viciously.
“May I take it, sir, that you accept my resignation?”
“Certainly not. I will place it before the responsible authority. I can do no more.”
“Without disrespect, sir, I want to speak to you as man to man. As a private citizen I could do it. As your subordinate I can't.”
The Assistant Commissioner sighed, stroking his neatly brushed hair with one large hand.
“Equally without disrespect, Chief Inspector,” he murmured, “it is news for me to learn that you have ever refrained from speaking your mind either in my presence or in the presence of any man.”
Kerry smiled, unable wholly to conceal a sense of gratified vanity.
“Well, sir,” he said, “you have my resignation before you, and I'm prepared to abide by the consequences. What I want to say is this: I'm a man that has worked hard all his life to earn the respect and the trust of his employers. I am supposed to be Chief Inspector of this department, and as Chief Inspector I'll kow-tow to nothing on two legs once I've been put in charge of a case. I work right in the sunshine. There's no grafting about me. I draw my salary every week, and any man that says I earn sixpence in the dark is at liberty to walk right in here and deposit his funeral expenses. If I'm supposed to be under a cloud—there's my reply. But I demand a public inquiry.”
At ever increasing speed, succinctly, viciously he rapped out the words. His red face grew more red, and his steel-blue eyes more fierce. The Assistant Commissioner exhibited bewilderment. As the high tones ceased:
“Really, Chief Inspector,” he said, “you pain and surprise me. I do not profess to be ignorant
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