There were several varieties of perfume, and each corresponded to a particular drug.  The sweetmeats corresponded to morphine.  Rashid, the attendant, knew all Kazmah’s clients, and with the box or flask he gave them a quantity of the required drug.  This scheme was precautionary.  For if a visitor should chance to be challenged on leaving the place, there was the legitimate purchase to show in evidence of the purpose of the visit.

No conversation was necessary, merely the selection of a scent and the exchange of a sum of money.  Rashid retired to wrap up the purchase, and with it a second and smaller package was slipped into the customer’s hand.  That the prices charged were excessive—­nay, ridiculous—­did not concern Rita, for, in common with the rest of her kind, she was careless of expenditure.

Opium, alone, Kazmah did not sell.  He sold morphine, tincture of opium, and other preparations; but those who sought the solace of the pipe were compelled to deal with Mrs. Sin.  She would arrange parties, or would prepare the “Hundred Raptures” in Limehouse for visitors; but, except in the form of opiated cigarettes, she could rarely be induced to part with any of the precious gum.  Thus she cleverly kept a firm hold upon the devotees of the poppy.

Drug-takers form a kind of brotherhood, and outside the charmed circle they are secretive as members of the Mafia, the Camorra, or the Catouse-Menegant.

In this secrecy, which, indeed, is a recognized symptom of drug mania, lay Kazmah’s security.  Rita experienced no desire to peer behind the veil which, literally and metaphorically, he had placed between himself and the world.  At first she had been vaguely curious, and had questioned Sir Lucien and others, but nobody seemed to know the real identity of Kazmah, and nobody seemed to care provided that he continued to supply drugs.  They all led secret, veiled lives, these slaves of the laboratory, and that Kazmah should do likewise did not surprise them.  He had excellent reasons.

During this early stage of faint curiosity she had suggested to Sir Lucien that for Kazmah to conduct a dream-reading business seemed to be to add to the likelihood of police interference.

The baronet had smiled sardonically.

“It is an additional safeguard,” he had assured her.  “It corresponds to the method of a notorious Paris assassin who was very generally regarded by the police as a cunning pickpocket.  Kazmah’s business of ‘dreamreading’ does not actually come within the Act.  He is clever enough for that.  Remember, he does not profess to tell fortunes.  It also enables him to balk idle curiosity.”