Diary of a Drug Fiend

126 The Diary of a Drug Fiend tracked down by some invisible foe. I was seized with a perfectly unreasonable irritation against Feccles, as if it were his fault, and not my own, that I was in this mess. Strangely enough, you may think, I never gave a thought to Lou. It mattered nothing to me whether she were suffering or not. My own personal physio- logical sensations occupied the whole of my mind. I was taken before the Commissario as soon as he arrived. They seemed to recognise that the case was important. Lou was already in the office. The Commissario spoke no English, and no interpreter was immediately available. She looked absolutely wretched. There had been no conveniences for toilet, and in the daylight the disguise was a ridiculous travesty. | Her hair was tousled and dirty; her complexion was sallow, mottled with touches of unwholesome red. Her eyes were bleared and bloodshot. Dark purple rims were round them. I was extremely angry with her for her unprepossessing appearance. It then occurred to me for the first time that perhaps I myself was not looking like the Prince of Wales on Derby Day. The commissary was a short, bull-necked individual, evidently sprung from the ranks of the people. He possessed a correspondingly exaggerated sense of his official importance. He spoke almost without courtesy, and appeared to resent our incapacity to understand his language. As for myself, the fighting spirit had gone out of me completely. All I could do was to give our names in the tone of voice of a schoolboy who has been summoned by the head master, and to appeal for the “ Consule Inglese.”’ The commissary’s clerk seemed excited when he heard who we were, and spoke to his superior in a rapid undertone. We were asked to write our names. I thought this was getting out of it rather nicely.