“Well—­what?”

FitzGerald leant over, took a long breath, and whispered the word “Cocaine.”

“Oh, nonsense!” And Shafto burst out laughing.  “Why, man, you’re mad!”

“Mad—­not a bit of it!  I happen to know where she gets the stuff and I’ve known for a good while, Krauss has no idea that his wife drugs; it’s all so artfully managed.  That Madras ayah is a rare treasure and as cunning as the devil; she ought to be in our Secret Service.  I needn’t tell you that she is extravagantly paid.”

“Well—­but, Fitz, I don’t believe it; no, and I won’t believe it.”

“All right, then.  Look here, have you never noticed how brilliant and lively Mrs. Krauss is at times, with shining eyes and a colour in her cheeks?  Then on other days, if she does appear, she is limp as a wet rag, depressed and old; there is a complete lack of all vital force.  Now tell me how you account for that?”

“Her illness,” stammered Shafto; “the climate.”

“Neither the one nor the other.  But bar the cocaine habit, Mrs. Krauss is all right and straight; she has no suspicion of her husband’s ill practices, nor he of hers.”

“And you suspect both?”

“Why not?  Suspicion is part of my trade.  I think you and I had better be seeking our beds; I have seen the chokidar peering round the corner of the staircase; I don’t know what he is up to; he may imagine that we are hatching mischief.  I caught his eye when I was whispering just now, and it is more than likely that he has suspicions of us both!”

CHAPTER XXVII

A ROPE TRICK

This conversation with FitzGerald gave his housemate ample food for serious reflection.  If Krauss was a deep-dyed scoundrel, and his wife a victim of the cocaine habit, what a home for Sophy!  If he could only take her away from it!  But what grounds had he for hoping that she would marry him?  In spite of their pleasant meetings, their rides and dances, he had never ventured to hint at his real feelings, knowing that he was far from being what is called “an eligible match,” and having a surprisingly humble opinion of his own merits.  He was now receiving five hundred rupees a month, which, after all, did not go far in expensive Rangoon.  Could a man marry on such an income, or on the supposition that what was barely enough for one would be sufficient for two?

As far as he was in a position to judge, Sophy’s ideas were not extravagant, and she would be better almost anywhere than in her present abode; but he had not the slightest right to suppose that she cared two pins for him; on the other hand, he had a hateful and well-founded conviction that not a few of the young men among her acquaintances would be glad to claim Miss Leigh as a wife.  There were Fotheringay the A.D.C., Gubbins of the Oil Company, and one or two others, fluttering about her and scorching their wings.