Diary of a Drug Fiend

86 The Diary of a Drug Fiend I saw in a flash the magnificent possibilities of the plan. “Of course, I needn’t tell you to keep it as dark as a wolf’s mouth,” continued Feccles. “If this got out, every financier in Paris would buy the thing over our heads. I wouldn’t have mentioned it to you at all except for two things. I know you're on the square —that goes without saying; but the real point is this, that I told you I rather believe in the Occult.” “Oh, yes,” cried Lou, “then, of course, you know King Lamus.”’ } Feccles started as if he had received a blow in the face. For a moment he was completely out of counten- ance. It seemed as if he were going to say several things, and decided not to. But his face was black as thunder. It was impossible to mistake the meaning of the situation. I turned to Lou with what I suppose was rather a nasty little Jaugh. “Our friend’s reputation,” I said, “ appears to have reached Mr. Feccles.”’ “Well,” said Feccles, recovering himself with a marked effort, ‘‘ I rather make a point of not saying anything against people, but as a matter of fact, it is a bit on the thick side. You seem to know all about it, so there’s no harm in my saying the man’s an un- speakable scoundrel.” All my hatred and jealousy surged up from the subconscious. I felt that if Lamus had been there I would have shot him like a dog on sight. My old school-fellow skated away from the obnoxious topic. “You didn’t let me finish,” he complained. “I was going to say I have no particular talent for finance and that sort of thing in the ordinary way, but I have an intuition that never lets me down—like the demon of Socrates, you remember, eh? ” I nodded. I had some faint recollection of Plato. ““Well,”’ said Feccles, tapping his cigar, with the