The War Terror

by Arthur B. Reeve

  CHAPTER XXVI

  THE BINET TEST

  We rode downtown again and again sauntered in, this time with thetheater crowd. Our first visit had been so quiet and unostentatiousthat the second attracted no attention or comment from the waiters, oranyone else.

  As we sat down we glanced over, and there in his corner still wasWhitecap. Apparently his supply of the dope was inexhaustible, for hewas still dispensing it. As we watched the tenderloin habitues come andgo, I came soon to recognize the signs by the mere look on theface--the pasty skin, the vacant eye, the nervous quiver of the musclesas though every organ and every nerve were crying out for more of thefavorite nepenthe. Time and again I noticed the victims as they sat atthe tables, growing more and more haggard and worn, until they couldstand it no longer. Then they would retire, sometimes after a visitacross the floor to Whitecap, more often directly, for they had stockedthemselves up with the drug evidently after the first visit to him. Butalways they would come back, changed in appearance, with what seemed tobe a new lease of life, but nevertheless still as recognizable as drugvictims.

  It was not long, as we waited, before another woman, older than MissSawtelle, but dressed in an extreme fashion, hurried into the cabaretand with scarcely a look to right or left went directly to Whitecap'scorner. I noticed that she, too, had the look.

  There was a surreptitious passing of a bottle in exchange for atreasury note, and she dropped into the seat beside him.

  Before he could interfere, she had opened the bottle, crushed a tabletor two in a napkin, and was holding it to her face as though breathingthe most exquisite perfume. With one quick inspiration of her breathafter another, she was snuffing the powder up her nose.

  Whitecap with an angry gesture pulled the napkin from her face, and onecould fancy his snarl under his breath, "Say--do you want to get me inwrong here?"

  But it was too late. Some at least of the happy dust had taken effect,at least enough to relieve the terrible pangs she must have beensuffering.

  As she rose and retired, with a hasty apology to Whitecap for herindiscretion, Kennedy turned to me and exclaimed, "Think of it. Thedeadliest of all habits is the simplest. No hypodermic; no pipe; noparaphernalia of any kind. It's terrible."

  She returned to sit down and enjoy herself, careful not to obtrudeherself on Whitecap lest he might become angry at the mere sight of herand treasure his anger up against the next time when she would need thedrug.

  Already there was the most marvelous change in her. She seemedcaptivated by the music, the dancing, the life which a few momentsbefore she had totally disregarded.

  She was seated alone, not far from us, and as she glanced about Kennedycaught her eye. She allowed her gaze to rest on us for a moment, thesignal for a mild flirtation which ended in our exchange of tables andwe found ourselves opposite the drug fiend, who was following up thetaking of the dope by a thin-stemmed glass of a liqueur.

  I do not recall the conversation, but it was one of thoseinconsequential talks that Bohemians consider so brilliant andeverybody else so vapid. As we skimmed from one subject to another,treating the big facts of life as if they were mere incidents and thelittle as if they overshadowed all else, I could see that Craig, whohad a faculty of probing into the very soul of anyone, when he chose,was gradually leading around to a subject which I knew he wanted, aboveall others, to discuss.

  It was not long before, as the most natural remark in the worldfollowing something he had made her say, just as a cleverprestidigitator forces a card, he asked, "What was it I saw yousnuffing over in the booth--happy dust?"

  She did not even take the trouble to deny it, but nodded a brazen"Yes." "How did you come to use it first?" he asked, careful not togive offense in either tone or manner.

  "The usual way, I suppose," she replied with a laugh that sounded harshand grating. "I was ill and I found out what it was the doctor wasgiving me."

  "And then?"

  "Oh, I thought I would use it only as long as it served my purpose and,when that was over, give it up."

  "But--?" prompted Craig hypnotically.

  "Instead, I was soon using six, eight, ten tablets of heroin a day. Ifound that I needed that amount in order to live. Then it went up byleaps to twenty, thirty, forty."

  "Suppose you couldn't get it, what then?"

  "Couldn't get it?" she repeated with an unspeakable horror. "Once Ithought I'd try to stop. But my heart skipped beats; then it seemed topound away, as if trying to break through my ribs. I don't think heroinis like other drugs. When one has her 'coke'--that's cocaine--takenaway, she feels like a rag. Fill her up and she can do anything again.But, heroin--I think one might murder to get it!"

  The expression on the woman's face was almost tragic. I verily believethat she meant it.

  "Why," she cried, "if anyone had told me a year ago that the time wouldever come when I would value some tiny white tablets above anythingelse in the world, yes, and even above my immortal soul, I would havethought him a lunatic."

  It was getting late, and as the woman showed no disposition to leave,Kennedy and I excused ourselves.

  Outside Craig looked at me keenly. "Can you guess who that was?"

  "Although she didn't tell us her name," I replied, "I am morallycertain that it was Mrs. Garrett."

  "Precisely," he answered, "and what a shame, too, for she mustevidently once have been a woman of great education and refinement."

  He shook his head sadly. "Walter, there isn't likely to be anythingthat we can do for some hours now. I have a little experiment I'd liketo make. Suppose you publish for me a story in the Star about thecampaign against drugs. Tell about what we have seen to-night, mentionthe cabaret by indirection and Whitecap directly. Then we can sit backand see what happens. We've got to throw a scare into them somehow, ifwe are going to smoke out anyone higher up than Whitecap. But you'llhave to be careful, for if they suspect us our usefulness in the casewill be over."

  Together, Kennedy and I worked over our story far into the night downat the Star office, and the following day waited to see whetheranything came of it.

  It was with a great deal of interest tempered by fear that we droppedinto the cabaret the following evening. Fortunately no one suspectedus. In fact, having been there the night before, we had establishedourselves, as it were, and were welcomed as old patrons and goodspenders.

  I noticed, however, that Whitecap was not there. The story had beenread by such of the dope fiends as had not fallen too far to keepabreast of the times and these and the waiters were busy quietlywarning off a line of haggard-eyed, disappointed patrons who camearound, as usual.

  Some of them were so obviously dependent on Whitecap that I almostregretted having written the story, for they must have been sufferingthe tortures of the damned.

  It was in the midst of a reverie of this sort that a low exclamationfrom Kennedy recalled my attention. There was Snowbird with a manconsiderably older than herself. They had just come in and were lookingabout frantically for Whitecap. But Whitecap had been too frightened bythe story in the Star to sell any more of the magic happy dust openlyin the cabaret, at least.

  The pair, nerve-racked and exhausted, sat down mournfully in a seatnear us, and as they talked earnestly in low tones we had an excellentopportunity for studying Armstrong for the first time.

  He was not a bad-looking man, or even a weak one. In back of thedissipation of the drugs one fancied he could read the story of abrilliant life wrecked. But there was little left to admire or respect.As the couple talked earnestly, the one so old, the other so young invice, I had to keep a tight rein on myself to prevent my sympathy forthe wretched girl getting the better of common sense and kicking theolder man out of doors.

  Finally Armstrong rose to go, with a final imploring glance from thegirl. Obviously she had persuaded him to forage about to secure theheroin, by hook or crook, now that the accustomed source of supply wascut off so suddenly.

  It was also really our first chance to study the girl car
efully underthe light, for her entrance and exit the night before had been sohurried that we had seen comparatively little of her. Craig waswatching her narrowly. Not only were the effects of the drug plainlyevident on her face, but it was apparent that the snuffing the powderedtablets was destroying the bones in her nose, through shrinkage of theblood vessels, as well as undermining the nervous system and causingthe brain to totter.

  I was wondering whether Armstrong knew of any depot for the secretdistribution of the drug. I could not believe that Whitecap was eitherthe chief distributer or the financial head of the illegal traffic. Iwondered who indeed was the man higher up. Was he an importer of thedrug, or was he the representative of some chemical company not averseto making an illegal dollar now and then by dragging down his fellowman?

  Kennedy and I were trying to act as if we were enjoying the cabaretshow and not too much interested in the little drama that was beingacted before us. I think little Miss Sawtelle noticed, however, that wewere looking often her way. I was amazed, too, on studying her moreclosely to find that there was something indefinably queer about her,aside from the marked effect of the drugs she had been taking. What itwas I was at a loss to determine, but I felt sure from the expressionon Kennedy's face that he had noticed it also.

  I was on the point of asking him if he, too, observed anything queer inthe girl, when Armstrong hurried in and handed her a small package,then almost without a word stalked out again, evidently as much toSnowbird's surprise as to our own.

  She had literally seized the package, as though she were drowning andgrasping at a life buoy. Even the surprise at his hasty departure couldnot prevent her, however, from literally tearing the wrapper off, andin the sheltering shadow of the table cloth pouring forth the littlewhite pellets in her lap, counting them as a miser counts his gold,

  "The old thief!" she exclaimed aloud. "He's held out twenty-five!"

  I don't know which it was that amazed me most, the almost childishpetulance and ungovernable temper of the girl which made her cry out inspite of her surroundings and the circumstances, or the petty rapacityof the man who could stoop to such a low level as to rob her in thisseeming underhand manner.

  There was no time for useless repining now. The call of outraged naturefor its daily and hourly quota of poison was too imperative. She dumpedthe pellets back into the bottle hastily, and disappeared.

  When she came back, it was with that expression I had come to know sowell. At least for a few hours there was a respite for her from theterrific pangs she had been suffering. She was almost happy, smiling.Even that false happiness, I felt, was superior to Armstrong's moralsense blunted by drugs. I had begun to realize how lying, stealing,crimes of all sorts might be laid at the door of this great evil.

  In her haste to get where she could snuff the heroin she had forgottena light wrap lying on her chair. As she returned for it, it fell to thefloor. Instantly Kennedy was on his feet, bending over to pick it up.

  She thanked him, and the smile lingered a moment on her face. It wasenough. It gave Kennedy the chance to pursue a conversation, and in thefree and easy atmosphere of the cabaret to invite her to sit over atour table.

  At least all her nervousness was gone and she chatted vivaciously.Kennedy said little. He was too busy watching her. It was quite theopposite of the case of Mrs. Garrett. Yet I was at a loss to definewhat it was that I sensed.

  Still the minutes sped past and we seemed to be getting on famously.Unlike his action in the case of the older woman where he had beensounding the depths of her heart and mind, in this case his idea seemedto be to allow the childish prattle to come out and perhaps explainitself.

  However, at the end of half an hour when we seemed to be getting nofurther along, Kennedy did not protest at her desire to leave us, "tokeep a date," as she expressed it.

  "Waiter, the check, please," ordered Kennedy leisurely.

  When he received it, he seemed to be in no great hurry to pay it, butwent over one item after another, then added up the footing again.

  "Strange how some of these waiters grow rich?" Craig remarked finallywith a gay smile.

  The idea of waiters and money quickly brought some petty reminiscencesto her mind. While she was still talking, Craig casually pulled apencil out of his pocket and scribbled some figures on the back of thewaiter's check.

  From where I was sitting beside him, I could see that he had writtensome figures similar to the following:

  5183 47395 654726 2964375 47293815 924738651 2146073859

  "Here's a stunt," he remarked, breaking into the conversation at aconvenient point. "Can you repeat these numbers after me?"

  Without waiting for her to make excuse, he said quickly "5183." "5183,"she repeated mechanically.

  "47395," came in rapid succession, to which she replied, perhaps alittle slower than before,

  "47395."

  "Now, 654726," he said.

  "654726," she repeated, I thought with some hesitation.

  "Again, 2964375," he shot out.

  "269," she hesitated, "73--" she stopped.

  It was evident that she had reached the limit.

  Kennedy smiled, paid the check and we parted at the door.

  "What was all that rigmarole?" I inquired as the white figuredisappeared down the street.

  "Part of the Binet test, seeing how many digits one can remember. Anadult ought to remember from eight to ten, in any order. But she hasthe mentality of a child. That is the queer thing about her.Chronologically she may be eighteen years or so old. Mentally she isscarcely more than eight. Mrs. Sutphen was right. They have made afiend out of a mere child--a defective who never had a chance againstthem."