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.