On the night he entered the house, Flash George, whose acquaintance he had made in London, kept watch for him while he let himself in with his latch-key, which he had carefully preserved. Mr Hannaford’s leaving the house was one of those pieces of good fortune which occasionally favour the wicked.
With his dying breath Charles Drayson declared that he had no intention of killing his wife. He feared that, having heard a noise, she had come to see what it was, and might alarm the house in her terror, and as she turned to go out of the drawing-room he struck her, intending only to render her senseless until he had secured the booty.
* * * * * *
Mr Hannaford, completely recovered and in his right mind, was in due time released from Broadmoor. The letter from his mother to Dorcas Dene, thanking her for clearing her son’s character and proving his innocence of the terrible crime for which he had been practically condemned, brought tears to my eyes as Dorcas read it aloud to Paul and myself. It was touching and beautiful to a degree.
As she folded it up and put it away, I saw that Dorcas herself was deeply moved.
‘These are the rewards of my profession,’ she said. ‘They compensate for everything.’
CONSTANCE DUNLAP
Created by Arthur B Reeve (1880-1936)
Arthur B Reeve’s varied career as an author included writing film serials which starred the escapologist Harry Houdini, novelettes for the legendary pulp magazine Weird Tales and some of the most popular American crime fiction of the early twentieth century. His best known character was Craig Kennedy, the ‘scientific detective’, who appeared in dozens of short stories and novels. A professor of chemistry, Kennedy applied his knowledge of science and his mastery of scientific gadgets to the solution of apparently baffling crimes. His adventures were narrated by his own Watson-like companion, the journalist Walter Jameson, and attracted a wide readership for many decades. Film versions of Reeve’s works were made throughout the 1910s and 1920s and a TV series based on Craig Kennedy’s cases was produced as late as 1952. Constance Dunlap, Woman Detective is a collection of interlinked stories published in 1913. The publishers advertised it as part of the ‘Craig Kennedy Series’, although it does not feature Reeve’s most famous creation. The title character is a young woman thrown on her own resources by the crimes and eventual suicide of her weak-willed husband. In a series of adventures she demonstrates her ability to deal with a range of criminals from gunrunners and embezzlers to blackmailers and shoplifters. ‘The Dope Fiends’, in which Constance comes face to face with cokeheads and drug-dealers, is a fascinating story in its revelations of attitudes at the time to cocaine and those who used it. And Constance emerges, as she does from all the stories, as a woman of strong character and great intelligence.
THE DOPE FIENDS
‘I have a terrible headache,’ remarked Constance Dunlap to her friend, Adele Gordon, the petite cabaret singer and dancer of the Mayfair, who had dropped in to see her one afternoon.
‘You poor, dear creature,’ soothed Adele. ‘Why don’t you go to see Dr Price? He has cured me. He’s splendid – splendid.’
Constance hesitated. Dr Moreland Price was a well-known physician. All day and even at night, she knew, automobiles and cabs rolled up to his door and their occupants were, for the most part, stylishly gowned women.
‘Oh, come on,’ urged Adele. ‘He doesn’t charge as highly as people seem to think. Besides, I’ll go with you and introduce you, and he’ll charge only as he does the rest of us in the profession.’
Constance’s head throbbed frantically. She felt that she must have some relief soon. ‘All right,’ she agreed, ‘I’ll go with you, and thank you, Adele.’
Dr Price’s office was on the first floor of the fashionable Recherche Apartments, and, as she expected, Constance noted a line of motor cars before it.
They entered and were admitted to a richly furnished room, in mahogany and expensive Persian rugs, where a number of patients waited. One after another an attendant summoned them noiselessly and politely to see the doctor, until at last the turn of Constance and Adele came.
Dr Price was a youngish, middle-aged man, tall, with a sallow countenance and a self-confident, polished manner which went a long way in reassuring the patients, most of whom were ladies.
As they entered the doctor’s sanctum behind the folding doors, Adele seemed to be on very good terms indeed with him.
They seated themselves in the deep leather chairs beside Dr Price’s desk, and he inclined his head to listen to the story of their ailments.
‘Doctor,’ began Constance’s introducer, ‘I’ve brought my friend, Mrs Dunlap, who is suffering from one of those awful headaches. I thought perhaps you could give her some of that medicine that has done me so much good.’
The doctor bowed without saying anything and shifted his eyes from Adele to Constance.
‘Just what seems to be the difficulty?’ he inquired.
Constance told him how she felt, of her general lassitude and the big, throbbing veins in her temples.
‘Ah – a woman’s headaches!’ he smiled, adding, ‘Nothing serious, however, in this case, as far as I can see. We can fix this one all right, I think.’
He wrote out a prescription quickly and handed it to Constance.
‘Of course,’ he added, as he pocketed his fee, ‘it makes no difference to me personally, but I would advise that you have it filled at Muller’s – Miss Gordon knows the place. I think Muller’s drugs are perhaps fresher than those of most druggists, and that makes a great deal of difference.’
He had risen
