Sir Lucien sat down, and from the pocket of his dinner jacket took out a plain brown packet of cigarettes and selected one.

“Here,” said Gray, “have a cigar!”

“No, thanks,” replied Pyne.  “I rarely smoke anything but these.”

“Never seen that kind of packet before,” declared Gray.  “What brand are they?”

“No particular brand.  They are imported from Buenos Ayres, I believe.”

Willis having brought in a tray of refreshments and departed again, Sir Lucien came at once to the point.

“I really called, Gray,” he said, “to clear up any misunderstanding there may be in regard to Rita Irvin.”

Quentin Gray looked up suddenly when he heard Rita’s name, and: 

“What misunderstanding?” he asked.

“Regarding the nature of my friendship with her,” answered Sir Lucien coolly.  “Now, I am going to speak quite bluntly, Gray, because I like Rita and I respect her.  I also like and respect Monte Irvin; and I don’t want you, or anybody else, to think that Rita and I are, or ever have been, anything more than pals.  I have known her long enough to have learned that she sails straight, and has always sailed straight.  Now—­listen, Gray, please.  You embarrassed me tonight, old chap, and you embarrassed Rita.  It was unnecessary.”  He paused, and then added slowly:  “She is as sacred to me, Gray, as she is to you—­and we are both friends of Monte Irvin.”

For a moment Quentin Gray’s fiery temper flickered up, as his heightened color showed, but the coolness of the older and cleverer man prevailed.  Gray laughed, stood up, and held out his hand.

“You’re right, Pyne!” he said.  “But she’s damn pretty!” He uttered a loud sigh.  “If only she were not married!”

Sir Lucien gripped the outstretched hand, but his answering smile had much pathos in it.

“If only she were not, Gray,” he echoed.

He took his departure shortly afterwards, absently leaving a brown packet of cigarettes upon the table.  It was an accident.  Yet there were few, when the truth respecting Sir Lucien Pyne became known, who did not believe it to have been a deliberate act, designed to lure Quentin Gray into the path of the poppy.

CHAPTER XXII

THE STRANGLE-HOLD

Less than a month later Rita was in a state of desperation again.  Kazmah’s prices had soared above anything that he had hitherto extorted.  Her bank account, as usual, was greatly overdrawn, and creditors of all kinds were beginning to press for payment.  Then, crowning catastrophe, Monte Irvin, for the first time during their married life, began to take an interest in Rita’s reckless expenditure.  By a combination of adverse circumstances, she, the wife of one of the wealthiest aldermen of the City of London, awakened to the fact that literally she had no money.

She pawned as much of her jewellery as she could safely dispose of, and temporarily silenced the more threatening tradespeople; but Kazmah declined to give credit, and cheques had never been acceptable at the establishment in old Bond Street.