Diary of a Drug Fiend

CHAPTER V A HEROIN HEROINE I STOPPED the taxi in the Place du Tertre. We wanted to walk along the edge of the Butte and let our gaze wander over Paris. The night was delicious. Nowhere but in Paris does one experience that soft suave hush ; the heat is dry, the air is light, it is quite unlike anything one ever gets in England. A very gentle breeze, to which our fancy attributed the redolence of the South, streamed up from the Seine. Paris itself was a blur of misty blue; the Pantheon and the Eiffel Tower leapt from its folds. They seemed like symbols of the history of mankind; the noble, solid past and the mechanical efficient future. I leant upon the parapet entranced. Lou's arm was around my neck. We were so still that I could feel her pulses softly beating. “Great Scott, Pendragon ! ”’ For all its suggestion of surprise, the voice was low and winsome. I looked around. Had I been asked, I should have said, no doubt, that I should have resented any disturbance ; and here was a sudden, violent, unpleasant disturbance; and it did not disturb me. There was a somewhat tentative smile on the face of the man who had spoken. I recognised him instantly, though I had not seen him since we were at school together. The man’s name was Elgin Feccles. He had been in the mathematical sixth when I was in the lower school. In my third term he had become head prefect ; he had won a scholarship at Oxford—one of the best things going. Then, without a moment’s warning, he had 63