The dope fiends
by Arthur B. Reeve
"I have a terrible headache,"
remarked Constance Dunlap to her friend, Adele Gordon, the
petite cabaret singer and dancer of the Mayfair, who had
dropped in to see her one afternoon.
"You poor, dear creature," soothed
Adele. "Why don't you go to see Dr. Price! He has
cured me. He's splendid--splendid."
Constance hesitated. Dr. Moreland Price was
a well-known physician. All day and even at night, she
knew, automobiles and cabs rolled up to his door and their
occupants were, for the most part, stylishly gowned women.
"Oh, come on," urged Adele.
"He doesn't charge as highly as people seem to think.
Besides, I'll go with you and introduce you, and he'll
charge only as he does the rest of us in the
Constance's head throbbed frantically. She
felt that she must have some relief soon. "All
right," she agreed, "I'll go with you, and thank
Dr. Price's office was on the first floor of
the fashionable Recherché Apartments, and, as she
expected, Constance noted a line of motor cars before it.
They entered and were admitted to a richly
furnished room, in mahogany and expensive Persian rugs,
where a number of patients waited. One after another an
attendant summoned them noiselessly and politely to see the
doctor, until at last the turn of Constance and Adele came.
Dr. Price was a youngish middle-aged man,
tall, with a sallow countenance and a self-confident,
polished manner which went a long way in reassuring the
patients, most of whom were ladies.
As they entered the doctor's sanctum behind
the folding doors, Adele seemed to be on very good terms
indeed with him.
They seated themselves in the deep leather
chairs beside Dr. Price's desk, and he inclined his head to
listen to the story of their ailments.
"Doctor," began Constance's
introducer, "I've brought my friend, Mrs. Dunlap, who
is suffering from one of those awful headaches. I thought
perhaps you could give her some of that medicine that has
done me so much good."
The doctor bowed without saying anything and
shifted his eyes from Adele to Constance. "Just what
seems to be the difficulty?" he inquired.
Constance told him how she felt, of her
general lassitude and the big, throbbing veins in her
"Ah--a woman's headaches!" he
smiled, adding, "Nothing serious, however, in this
case, as far as I can see. We can fix this one all right, I
He wrote out a prescription quickly and
handed it to Constance.
"Of course," he added, as he
pocketed his fee, "it makes no difference to me
personally, but I would advise that you have it filled at
Muller's--Miss Gordon knows the place. I think Muller's
drugs are perhaps fresher than those of most druggists, and
that makes a great deal of difference."
He had risen and was politely and suavely
bowing them out of another door, at the same time, by
pressing a button, signifying to his attendant to admit the
Constance had preceded Adele, and, as she
passed through the other door, she overheard the doctor
whisper to her friend. "I'm going to stop for you
tonight to take a ride. I have something important I want
to say to you."
She did not catch Adele's answer, but as they
left the marble and onyx, brass-grilled entrance, Adele
remarked "That's his car--over there. Oh, but he is a
reckless driver--dashes along pell-mell--but always seems to
have his eye out for everything--never seems to be arrested,
never in an accident."
Constance turned in the direction, of the car
and was startled to see the familiar face of Drummond across
the street dodging behind it. What was it now, she
wondered--a divorce case, a scandal--what?
The medicine was made up into little powders, to be taken
until they gave relief, and Constance folded the paper of
one, poured it on the back of her tongue, and swallowed a
glass of water afterward.
Her head continued to throb, but she felt a
sense of well-being that she had not before. Adele urged
her to take another, and Constance did so.
The second powder increased the effect of the
first marvelously. But Constance noticed that she now began
to feel queer. She was not used to taking medicine. For a
moment she felt that she was above, beyond the reach of
ordinary rules and laws. She could have done any sort of
physical task, she felt, no matter how difficult. She was
amazed at herself, as compared to what she had been only
a few moments before.
"Another one?" asked Adele finally.
Constance was by this time genuinely alarmed
at the sudden unwonted effect on herself. "N-no"
she replied dubiously, "I don't think I want to take
any more, just yet."
"Not another?" asked Adele in
surprise. "I wish they would affect me that way.
Sometimes I have to take the whole dozen before they have
They chatted for a few minutes, and finally
"Well," she remarked with a nervous
twitching of her body, as if she were eager to be doing
something, "I really must be going. I can't say I feel
any too well myself."
"I think I'll take a walk with
you," answered Constance, who did not like the
continued effect of the two powders. "I feel the need
of exercise--and air."
Adele hesitated, but Constance already had
her hat on. She had seen Drummond watching Dr. Price's
door, and it interested her to know whether he could
possibly have been following Adele or someone else.
As they walked along Adele quickened her
pace, until they came again to the drug store.
"I believe I'll go in and get
something," she remarked, pausing.
For the first time in several minutes
Constance looked at the face of her friend. She was amazed
to discover that Adele looked as if she had had a spell of
sickness. Her eyes were large and glassy, her skin cold and
sweaty, and she looked positively pallid and thin.
As they entered the store Muller the
druggist, bowed again and looked at Adele a moment as she
leaned over the counter and whispered something to him.
Without a word he went into the arcana behind the partition
that cuts off the mysteries of the prescription room in
every drug store from the front of the store.
When Muller returned he handed her a packet,
for which she paid and which she dropped quickly into her
pocketbook, hugging the pocketbook close to herself.
Adele turned and was about to hurry from the
store with Constance. "Oh, excuse me," she said
suddenly as if she had just recollected something, "I
promised a friend of mine I'd telephone this afternoon, and
I have forgotten to do it. I see a pay station here."
Adele returned much quicker than one would
have expected she could call up a number, but Constance
thought nothing of it at the time. She did notice, however,
that as her friend emerged from the booth a most marvelous
change had taken place in her. Her step was firm, her eye
clear, her hand steady. Whatever it was, reasoned
Constance, it could not have been serious to have
disappeared so quickly.
It was with some curiosity as to just what she might
expect that Constance went around to the famous cabaret that
night. The Mayfair occupied two floors of what had been a
wide brownstone house before business and pleasure had
crowded the residence district further and further uptown.
It was a very well-known bohemian rendezvous where under-,
demi-, and upper-world rubbed elbows without friction and
seemed to enjoy the novelty and be willing to pay for it.
Adele, who was one of the performers, had not
arrived yet, but Constance, who had come with her mind still
full of the two unexpected encounters with Drummond, was
startled to see him here again. Fortunately he did not see
her, and she slipped unobserved into an angle near the
window overlooking the street.
Drummond had been engrossed in watching
someone already there, and Constance made the best use of
her eyes to determine who it was. The outdoor walk and a
good dinner had checked her headache, and now the excitement
of the chase of something completed the cure.
It was not long before she discovered that
Drummond was watching intently, without seeming to do so, a
nervous-looking fellow whose general washed-out appearance
of face was especially unattractive for some reason or
other. He was very thin, very pale, and very stary about
the eyes. Then, too, it seemed as if the bone in his nose
was going, due perhaps to the shrinkage of the blood vessels
from some cause.
Constance noticed a couple of girls whom she
had seen Adele speak to on several other occasions
approaching the young man.
There came an opportune lull in the music,
and from around the corner of her protecting angle Constance
could just catch the greeting of one of the girls:
"Hello, Sleighbells! Got any snow?"
It was a remark that seemed particularly
malapropos to the sultry weather, and Constance half
expected a burst of laughter at the unexpected sally.
Instead, she was surprised to hear the young
reply in a very serious and matter-of-fact manner,
"Sure. Got any money, May?"
She craned her neck, carefully avoiding
coming into Drummond's line of vision, and as she did so she
saw two silver quarters gleam momentarily from hand to hand,
and the young man passed each girl stealthily a small white
Others came to him, both men and women. It
seemed to be an established thing, and Constance noted that
Drummond watched it all covertly.
"Who is that!" asked Constance of
the waiter who had served her sometimes when she had been
with Adele, and knew her.
"Why, they call him Sleighbells
Charley," he replied, "a coke fiend."
"Which means a cocaine fiend, I
suppose?" she queried.
"Yes. He's a
for the grapevine system they have now of selling the dope in
spite of this new law."
"Where does he get the stuff?" she
The waiter shrugged his shoulders.
"Nobody knows I guess. I don't. But he gets it in
spite of the law and peddles it. Oh, it's all
adulterated--with some white stuff, I don't know what, and
the price they charge is outrageous. They must make an
ounce retail at five or six times the cost. Oh, you can bet
that someone who is at the top is making a pile of money out
of that graft, all right."
He said it not with any air of righteous
indignation, but with a certain envy.
Constance was thinking the thing over in her
mind. Where did the "coke" come from? The
"grapevine system interested her.
"Sleighbells" seemed to have
disposed of all the "coke" he had brought with
him. As the last packet went, he rose slowly and shuffled
out. Constance, who knew that Adele would not come for some
time, determined to follow him. She rose quietly and, under
cover of a party going out, managed to disappear without, as
far as she knew, letting Drummond catch a glimpse of her.
This would not only employ her time, but it was better to
avoid Drummond as far as possible at present, too, she felt.
At a distance of about half a block she
followed the curiously shuffling figure. He crossed the
avenue, turned and went uptown, turned again, and, before
she knew it, disappeared in a drug store. She had been so
engrossed in following the lobbygow that it was with a start
that she realized that he had entered Muller's.
What did it all mean? Was the druggist,
Muller, the man higher up? She recalled her own experience
of the afternoon. Had Muller tried to palm off something on
her? The more she thought of it the more sure she was that
the powders she had taken had been doped.
Slowly, turning the matter over in her mind,
she returned to the Mayfair. As she peered in cautiously
before entering she saw that Drummond had gone. Adele had
not come in yet, and she went in and sat down again in her
Perhaps half an hour later, outside, she
heard a car drive up with a furious rattle of gears. She
looked out of the window and, as far as she could determine
in the shadows, it was Dr. Price. A woman got out--Adele.
For a moment she stopped to talk, then Dr. Price waved a gay
goodbye and was off. All she could catch was a hasty,
"No; I don't think I'd better come in tonight,"
As Adele entered the Mayfair she glanced
about, caught sight of Constance, and came and sat down by
It would have been impossible for her to
enter unobserved, so popular was she. It was not long
before the two girls whom Constance had seen dealing with
"Sleighbells" sauntered over.
"Your friend was here tonight,"
remarked one to Adele.
"Which one?" laughed Adele.
"The one who admired your dancing the
other night and wanted to take lessons."
"You mean the young fellow who was
selling something?" asked Constance pointedly.
"Oh, no," returned the girl quite
casually. "That was Sleighbells," and they all
Constance thought immediately of Drummond.
"The other one, then," she said, "the
thickset man who was all alone?"
"Yes; he went away afterward. Do you
"I've seen him somewhere," evaded
Constance; "but I just can't quite place him."
She had not noticed Adele particularly until
now. Under the light she had a peculiar worn look, the same
as she had had before.
The waiter came up to them. "Your turn
is next," he hinted to Adele.
"Excuse me a minute," she
apologized to the rest of the party. "I must fix up a
bit. No," she added to Constance, "don't come
She returned from the dressing room a
different person, and plunged into the wild dance for which
the limited orchestra was already tuning up. It was a
veritable riot of whirl and rhythm. Never before had
Constance seen Adele dance with such abandon. As she
executed the wild mazes of a newly imported dance, she held
even the jaded Mayfair spellbound. And when she concluded
with one daring figure and sat down, flushed and excited,
the diners applauded and even shouted approval. It was an
event for even the dance-mad Mayfair.
Constance did not share in the applause. At
last she understood. Adele was a dope fiend, too. She felt
it with a sense of pain. Always, she knew, the fiends tried
to get away alone somewhere for a few minutes to snuff some
of their favorite nepenthe. She had heard before of the
cocaine "snuffers" who took a little of the deadly
powder placed it on the back of the hand, and inhaled it up
the nose with a quick intake of breath. Adele was one. It
was not Adele who danced. It was the dope.
Constance was determined to speak.
"You remember that man the girls spoke
of?" she began.
"Yes. What of him!" asked Adele
with almost a note of defiance.
"Well, I really do know
him," confessed Constance. "He is a
Constance watched her companion curiously,
for at the mere word she had stopped short and faced her.
"He is!" she asked quickly. "Then that was
why Dr. Price--"
She managed to suppress the remark and
continued her walk home without another word.
In Adele's little apartment Constance was
quick to note that the same haggard look had returned to her
Adele had reached for her pocketbook with a
sort of clutching eagerness and was about to leave the room.
Constance rose. "Why don't you give up
the stuff?" she asked earnestly. "Don't you want
For a moment Adele faced her angrily. Then
her real nature seemed slowly to come to the surface.
"Yes," she murmured frankly.
"Then why don't you?" pleaded
"I haven't the power. There is an
indescribable excitement to do something great, to make a
mark. It's soon gone, but while it lasts, I can sing,
dance, do anything--and then--every part of my body begins
crying for more of the stuff again.
There was no longer any necessity of
concealment from Constance. She took a pinch of the stuff,
placed it on the back of her wrist, and quickly sniffed it.
The change in her was magical. From a quivering, wretched
girl she became a self-confident neurasthenic.
"I don't care," she laughed
hollowly now. "Yes, I know what you are going to tell
me. Soon I'll be 'hunting the cocaine bug,' as they call
it, imagining that in my skin, under the flesh, are worms
crawling, perhaps see them, see the little animals running
around and biting me."
She said it with a half-reckless cynicism.
"Oh you don't know. There are two souls in the
cocainist--one tortured by the pain of not having enough of
the stuff, the other laughing and mocking at the dangers of
it. It stimulates. It makes your mind work--without
effort, by itself. And it gives such visions of success,
makes you feel able to do so much, and to forget. All the
girls use it."
"Where do they get it?" asked
Constance. "I thought the new law prohibited it."
"Get it!" repeated Adele.
"Why, they get it from that fellow they call
'Sleighbells.' They call it 'snow,' you know and the girls
who use it 'snowbirds.' The law does prohibit its sale,
She paused significantly.
"Yes," agreed Constance; "but
Sleighbells is only a part of the system after all. Who is
the man at the top?"
Adele shrugged her shoulders and was silent.
Still Constance did not fail to note a sudden look of
suspicion which Adele shot at her. Was Adele shielding
Constance knew that someone must be getting rich from the
traffic, probably selling hundreds of ounces a week and
making thousands of dollars. Somehow she felt a sort of
indignation at the whole thing. Who was it? Who was the
man higher up?
In the morning as she was working about her
little kitchenette an idea came to her. Why not hire the
vacant apartment cross the hall from Adele? An optician,
who was a friend of hers, in the course of a recent
conversation had mentioned an invention, a model of which he
had made for the inventor. She would try it.
Since, with Constance, the outlining of a
plan was tantamount to the execution, it was not many hours
later before she had both the apartment and the model of the
Her wall separated her from the drug store,
and by careful calculation she determined about where came.
the little prescription department. Carefully, so as to
arouse no suspicion, she began to bore away at the wall with
various tools, until finally she had a small, almost
imperceptible opening. It was tedious work, and toward the
end needed great care so as not to excite suspicion. But
finally she was rewarded. Through it she could see just a
trace of daylight, and by squinting could see a row of
bottles on a shelf opposite.
Then, through the hole, she pushed a long,
narrow tube, like a putty blower. When at last she placed
her eye at it, she gave a low exclamation of satisfaction.
She could now see the whole of the little room.
It was a detectascope, invented by Gaillard
Smith, adapter of the detectaphone, an instrument built upon
the principle of the cytoscope which physicians use to
explore internally down the throat. Only, in the end of the
tube, instead of an ordinary lens, was placed what is known
as a "fish-eye" lens, which had a range something
like nature has given the eyes of fishes, hence the name.
Ordinarily cameras, because of the flatness of their lenses,
have a range of only a few degrees, the greatest being
scarcely more than ninety. But this lens was globular, and,
like a drop of water, refracted light from all directions.
When placed so that half of it caught the light
"saw" through an angle of 180 degrees,
"saw" everything in the room instead of just that
little row of bottles on the shelf opposite.
Constance set herself to watch, and it was
not long before her suspicions were confirmed, and she was
sure that this was nothing more than a "coke"
joint. Still she wondered whether Muller was the real
source of the traffic of which Sleighbells was the
messenger. She was determined to find out.
All day she watched through her detectascope. Once she
saw Adele come in and buy more dope. It was with difficulty
that she kept from interfering. But, she reflected, the
time was not ripe. She had though t the thing out. There
was no use in trying to get at it through Adele. The only
way was to stop the whole curse at its source, to dam the
stream. People came and went. She soon found that he was
selling them packets from a box hidden in the woodwork.
That much she had learned, anyhow.
Constance watched faithfully all day with
only time enough taken out for dinner. It was after her
return from this brief interval that she felt her heart give
a leap of apprehension, as she looked again through the
detectascope. There was Drummond in the back of the store
talking to Muller and a woman who looked as if s he might be
Mrs. Muller, for both seemed nervous and anxious.
As nearly as she could make out, Drummond was
alternately threatening and arguing with Muller. Finally
the three seemed to agree, for Drummond walked over to a
typewriter on a table, took a fresh sheet of carbon paper
from a drawer, placed it between two sheets of paper, and
hastily wrote something.
Drummond read over what he had written. It
seemed to be short, and the three apparently agreed on it.
Then, in a trembling hand, Muller signed the two copies
which Drummond had made, one of which Drummond himself kept
and the other he sealed in an envelope and sent away by a
boy. Drummond reached into his pocket and pulled out a huge
roll of bills of large denomination. He counted out what
seemed to be approximately half, handed it to the woman, and
replaced the rest in his pocket. What it was all about
Constance could only vaguely guess. She longed to know what
was in the letter and why the money had been paid to the
Perhaps a quarter of an hour after Drummond
left Adele appeared again, pleading for more dope. Muller
went back of the partition and made up a fresh paper of it
from a bottle also concealed.
Constance was torn by conflicting impulses.
She did not want to miss anything in the perplexing drama
that was being enacted before her, yet she wished to
interfere with the deadly course of Adele. Still, perhaps
the girl would resent interference if she found out that
Constance was spying on her. She determined to wait a
little while before seeing Adele. It was only after a
decided effort that she tore herself away from the
detectascope and knocked on Adele's door as if she had just
come in for a visit. Again she knocked, but still there was
no answer. Every minute something might be happening next
door. She hurried back to her post of observation.
One of the worst aspects of the use of
cocaine, she knew, was the desire of the user to share his
experience with someone else. The passing on of the habit,
which seemed to be one of the strongest desires of the drug
fiend, made him even more dangerous to society than he would
otherwise have been. That thought gave Constance an idea.
She recalled also now having heard somewhere
that it was a common characteristic of these poor creatures
to have a passion for fast automobiling, to go on long
rides, perhaps even without having the money to pay for
them. That, too, confirmed the idea which she had.
As the night advanced she determined to stick
to her post. What could it have been that Drummond was
doing? It was no good, she felt positive.
Suddenly before her eye, glued to its
eavesdropping aperture, she saw a strange sight. There was
a violent commotion in the store. Blue-coated policemen
seemed to swarm in from nowhere. And in the rear, directing
them, appeared Drummond, holding by the arm the unfortunate
Sleighbells, quaking with fear, evidently having been
picked up already elsewhere by the wily detective.
Muller put up a stout resistance, but the
officers easily seized him and, after a hasty but thorough
search, unearthed his cache of the contraband drug.
As the scene unfolded, Constance was more and
more bewildered after having witnessed that which preceded
it, the signing of the letter and the passing of the money.
Muller evidently had nothing to say about that. What did
The police were still holding Muller, and
Constance had not noted that Drummond had disappeared.
"It's on the first floor--left,
men," sounded a familiar voice outside her own door.
"I know she's there. My shadow saw her buy the dope
and take it home."
Her heart was thumping wildly. It was
Drummond leading his squad of raiders, and they were about
to enter the apartment of Adele. They knocked, but there
was no answer.
A few moments before Constance would have
felt perfectly safe in saying that Adele was out. But if
Drummond's man had seen her enter, might she not have been
there all the time, be there still, in a stupor? She
dreaded to think of what might happen if the poor girl once
fell into their hands. It would be the final impulse that
would complete her ruin.
Constance did not stop to reason it out. Her
woman's intuition told her that now was the time to
act--that there was no retreat.
She opened her own door just as the raiders
had forced in the flimsy affair that guarded the apartment
"So!" sneered Drummond, catching
sight of her in the dim light of the hallway. "You are
mixed up in these violations of the new drug law, too!"
Constance said nothing. She had determined
first to make Drummond display his hand.
"Well," he ground out, "I'm
going to get these people this time. I represent the
Medical Society and the Board of Health. These men have
been assigned to me by the Commissioner as a dope squad. We
want this girl. We have others who will give evidence; but
we want this one, too."
He said it with a bluster that even
exaggerated the theatrical character of the raid itself.
Constance did not stop to weigh the value of his words, but
through the door she brushed quickly. Adele might need her
if she was indeed there.
As she entered the little living room she saw
a sight which almost transfixed her. Adele was there lying
across a divan, motionless.
Constance bent over. Adele was cold. As far
as she could determine there was not a breath or a
What did it mean? She did not stop to think.
Instantly there flashed over her the recollection of an
instrument she had read about at one of the city hospitals.
It might save Adele. Before any one knew what she was doing
she had darted to the telephone in the lower hall of the
apartment and had called up the hospital frantically,
imploring them to hurry. Adele must be saved.
Constance had no very clear idea of what happened next
in the hurly-burly of events, until the ambulance pulled up
at the door and the white-coated surgeon burst in carrying
a heavy suitcase.
With one look at the unfortunate girl he
muttered, "Paralysis of the respiratory organs--too
large a dose of the drug. You did perfectly right,"
and began unpacking the case.
Constance, calm now in the crisis, stood by
him and helped as deftly as could any nurse.
It was a curious arrangement of tubes and
valves, with a large rubber bag, and a little pump that the
doctor had brought. Quickly he placed a cap, attached to
it, over the nose and mouth of the poor girl, and started
"Wh-what is it?" gasped Drummond as
he saw Adele's hitherto motionless breast now rise and fall.
"A pulmotor," replied the doctor,
working quickly and carefully, "an artificial lung.
Sometimes it can revive even the medically dead. It is our
last chance with this girl."
Constance had picked up the packet which had
fallen beside Adele and was looking at the white powder.
"Almost pure cocaine," remarked the
young surgeon, testing it. "The hydrochloride, large
crystals, highest quality. Usually it is adulterated. Was
she in the habit of taking it this way?"
Constance said nothing. She had seen Muller
make up the packet--specially now, she recalled. Instead of
the adulterated dope he had given Adele the purest kind.
Why? Was there some secret he wished to lock in her
Mechanically the pulmotor pumped. Would it
Constance was living over what she had
already seen through the detectascope. Suddenly she thought
of the strange letter and of the money.
She hurried into the drug store. Muller had
already been taken away, but before the officer left in
charge could interfere she picked up the carbon sheet on
which the letter had been copied, turned it over, and held
it eagerly to the light.
She read in amazement. It was a confession.
In it Muller admitted to Dr. Moreland Price that he was the
head of a sort of dope trust, that he had messengers out,
like Sleighbells, that he had often put dope in the
prescriptions sent him by the doctor, and had repeatedly
violated the law and refilled such prescriptions. On its
face it was complete and convincing.
Yet it did not satisfy Constance. She could
not believe that Adele had committed suicide. Adele must
possess some secret. What was it?
"Is--is there any change?" she
asked anxiously of the young surgeon now engrossed in his
For answer he merely nodded to the apparently
motionless form on the bed, and for a moment stopped the
The mechanical movement of the body ceased.
But in its place was a slight tremor about the lips and
Adele moved--was faintly gasping for breath!
"Adele!" cried Constance softly in
her ear. "Adele!"
Something, perhaps a faraway answer of
recognition, seemed to flicker over her face. The doctor
redoubled his efforts.
"Adele--do you know me?" whispered
"Yes," came back faintly at last.
"There--there's something--wrong with
"How? What do you mean?" urged
Constance. "Tell me, Adele."
The girl moved uneasily. The doctor
administered a stimulant and she vaguely opened her eyes,
began to talk hazily, dreamily. Constance bent over to
catch the faint words which would have been lost to the
"They--are going to--double-cross the
Health Department," she murmured as if to herself, then
gathering strength she went on, "Muller and Sleighbells
will be arrested and take the penalty. They have been
caught with the goods, anyhow. It has all been arranged so
that the detective will get his case. Money--will be paid
to both of them, to Muller and the detective, to swing the
case and protect him. He made me do it. I saw the
detective, even danced with him, and he agreed to do it.
Oh, I would do anything--I am his willing tool when I have
the stuff. But--this time it was--" She rambled off
"Who made you do it? Who told
you?" prompted Constance. "For whom would you do
Adele moaned and clutched Constance's hand
convulsively. Constance did not pause to consider the ethics
of questioning a half-unconscious girl. Her only idea was
to get at the truth.
"Who was it?" she reiterated.
Adele turned weakly.
"Dr. Price," she murmured as
Constance bent her ear to catch even the faintest sound.
"He told me--all about it--last night--in the
Instantly Constance understood. Adele was
the only one outside who held the secret, who could upset
the carefully planned frame-up that was to protect the real
head of the dope trust who had paid liberally to save his
own wretched skin.
She rose quickly and wheeled about suddenly
"You will convict Dr. Price also,"
she said in a low tone. "This girl must not be dragged
down, too. You will leave her alone, and both you and Mr.
Muller will hand over that money to her for her cure of the
Drummond started forward angrily, but fell
back as Constance added in a lower but firmer tone, "Or
I'll have you all up on a charge of attempting murder."
Drummond turned surlily to those of his
"dope squad," who remained.
"You can go, boys," he said
brusquely. "There's been some mistake here."
In underworld slang, lobbygow
means a hanger-on, go-between, or message runner,
particularly one involved in the drug traffic--the
speculation being that such persons usually hang
about in lobbies.