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diff --git a/2126-h/2126-h.htm b/2126-h/2126-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..3ff066f --- /dev/null +++ b/2126-h/2126-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,9569 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" +"http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=utf-8" /> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> +<title>The Quest of the Sacred Slipper | Project Gutenberg</title> + +<style type="text/css"> + +body { margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + text-align: justify; } + +h1, h2, h3, h4, h5 {text-align: center; font-style: normal; font-weight: +normal; line-height: 1.5; margin-top: .5em; margin-bottom: .5em;} + +h1 {font-size: 300%; + margin-top: 0.6em; + margin-bottom: 0.6em; + letter-spacing: 0.12em; + word-spacing: 0.2em; + text-indent: 0em;} +h2 {font-size: 150%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;} +h3 {font-size: 130%; margin-top: 1em;} +h4 {font-size: 120%;} +h5 {font-size: 110%;} + +.no-break {page-break-before: avoid;} /* for epubs */ + +div.chapter {page-break-before: always; margin-top: 4em;} + +hr {width: 80%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em;} + +p {text-indent: 1em; + margin-top: 0.25em; + margin-bottom: 0.25em; } + +p.letter {text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; } + +.letter {text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em;} + +p.right {text-align: right; + margin-right: 10%; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; } + +a:link {color:blue; text-decoration:none} +a:visited {color:blue; text-decoration:none} +a:hover {color:red} + +</style> + +</head> + +<body> +<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 2126 ***</div> + +<h1>The Quest of the Sacred Slipper</h1> + +<h2 class="no-break">by Sax Rohmer</h2> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>CONTENTS</h2> + +<table summary="" style=""> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap01">CHAPTER I. THE PHANTOM SCIMITAR.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap02">CHAPTER II. THE GIRL WITH THE VIOLET EYES</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap03">CHAPTER III. "HASSAN OF ALEPPO"</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap04">CHAPTER IV. THE OBLONG BOX</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap05">CHAPTER V. THE OCCUPANT OF THE BOX</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap06">CHAPTER VI. THE RING OF THE PROPHET</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap07">CHAPTER VII. FIRST ATTEMPT ON THE SAFE</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap08">CHAPTER VIII. THE VIOLET EYES AGAIN</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap09">CHAPTER IX. SECOND ATTEMPT ON THE SAFE</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap10">CHAPTER X. AT THE BRITISH ANTIQUARIAN MUSEUM</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap11">CHAPTER XI. THE HOLE IN THE BLIND</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap12">CHAPTER XII. THE HASHISHIN WATCH</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap13">CHAPTER XIII. THE WHITE BEAM</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap14">CHAPTER XIV. A SCREAM IN THE NIGHT</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap15">CHAPTER XV. A SHRIVELLED HAND</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap16">CHAPTER XVI. THE DWARF</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap17">CHAPTER XVII. THE WOMAN WITH THE BASKET</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap18">CHAPTER XVIII. WHAT CAME THROUGH THE WINDOW</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap19">CHAPTER XIX. A RAPPING AT MIDNIGHT</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap20">CHAPTER XX. THE GOLDEN PAVILION</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap21">CHAPTER XXI. THE BLACK TUBE</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap22">CHAPTER XXII. THE LIGHT OF EL-MEDINEH</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap23">CHAPTER XXIII. THE THREE MESSAGES</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap24">CHAPTER XXIV. I KEEP THE APPOINTMENT</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap25">CHAPTER XXV. THE WATCHER IN BANK CHAMBERS</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap26">CHAPTER XXVI. THE STRONG-ROOM</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap27">CHAPTER XXVII. THE SLIPPER</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap28">CHAPTER XXVIII. CARNETA</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap29">CHAPTER XXIX. WE MEET MR. ISAACS</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap30">CHAPTER XXX. AT THE GATE HOUSE</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap31">CHAPTER XXXI. THE POOL OF DEATH</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap32">CHAPTER XXXII. SIX PATCHES</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap33">CHAPTER XXXIII. HOW WE WERE REENFORCED</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap34">CHAPTER XXXIV. MY LAST MEETING WITH HASSAN OF ALEPPO</a></td> +</tr> + +</table> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>THE QUEST OF THE SACRED SLIPPER</h2> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap01"></a> +CHAPTER I<br/> +THE PHANTOM SCIMITAR</h2> + +<p> +I was not the only passenger aboard the S.S. Mandalay who perceived the +disturbance and wondered what it might portend and from whence proceed. A +goodly number of passengers were joining the ship at Port Said. I was lounging +against the rail, pipe in mouth, lazily wondering, with a large vagueness. +</p> + +<p> +What a heterogeneous rabble it was!—a brightly coloured rabble, but the +colours all were dirty, like the town and the canal. Only the sky was clean; +the sky and the hard, merciless sunlight which spared nothing of the +uncleanness, and defied one even to think of the term dear to tourists, +“picturesque.” I was in that kind of mood. All the natives appeared to be +pockmarked; all the Europeans greasy with perspiration. +</p> + +<p> +But what was the stir about? +</p> + +<p> +I turned to the dark, bespectacled young man who leaned upon the rail beside +me. From the first I had taken to Mr. Ahmad Ahmadeen. +</p> + +<p> +“There is some kind of undercurrent of excitement among the natives,” I said, +“a sort of subdued Greek chorus is audible. What’s it all about?” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Ahmadeen smiled. After a gaunt fashion, he was a handsome man and had a +pleasant smile. +</p> + +<p> +“Probably,” he replied, “some local celebrity is joining the ship.” +</p> + +<p> +I stared at him curiously. +</p> + +<p> +“Any idea who he is?” (The soul of the copyhunter is a restless soul.) +</p> + +<p> +A group of men dressed in semi-European fashion—that is, in European +fashion save for their turbans, which were green—passed close to us along +the deck. +</p> + +<p> +Ahmadeen appeared not to have heard the question. +</p> + +<p> +The disturbance, which could only be defined as a subdued uproar, but could be +traced to no particular individual or group, grew momentarily louder—and +died away. It was only when it had completely ceased that one realized how +pronounced it had been—how altogether peculiar, secret; like that +incomprehensible murmuring in a bazaar when, unknown to the insular visitor, a +reputed saint is present. +</p> + +<p> +Then it happened; the inexplicable incident which, though I knew it not, +heralded the coming of strange things, and the dawn of a new power; which +should set up its secret standards in England, which should flood Europe and +the civilized world with wonder. +</p> + +<p> +A shrill scream marked the overture—a scream of fear and of pain, which +dropped to a groan, and moaned out into the silence of which it was the cause. +</p> + +<p> +“My God! what’s that?” +</p> + +<p> +I started forward. There was a general crowding rush, and a darkly tanned and +bearded man came on board, carrying a brown leather case. Behind him surged +those who bore the victim. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s one of the lascars!” +</p> + +<p> +“No—an Egyptian!” +</p> + +<p> +“It was a porter—?” +</p> + +<p> +“What is it—?” +</p> + +<p> +“Someone been stabbed!” +</p> + +<p> +“Where’s the doctor?” +</p> + +<p> +“Stand away there, if you please!” +</p> + +<p> +That was a ship’s officer; and the voice of authority served to quell the +disturbance. Through a lane walled with craning heads they bore the insensible +man. Ahmadeen was at my elbow. +</p> + +<p> +“A Copt,” he said softly. “Poor devil!” I turned to him. There was a queer +expression on his lean, clean-shaven, bronze face. +</p> + +<p> +“Good God!” I said. “His hand has been cut off!” +</p> + +<p> +That was the fact of the matter. And no one knew who was responsible for the +atrocity. And no one knew what had become of the severed hand! I wasted not a +moment in linking up the story. The pressman within me acted automatically. +</p> + +<p> +“The gentleman just come aboard, sir,” said a steward, “is Professor Deeping. +The poor beggar who was assaulted was carrying some of the Professor’s +baggage.” The whole incident struck me as most odd. There was an idea lurking +in my mind that something else—something more—lay behind all this. +With impatience I awaited the time when the injured man, having received +medical attention, was conveyed ashore, and Professor Deeping reappeared. To +the celebrated traveller and Oriental scholar I introduced myself. +</p> + +<p> +He was singularly reticent. +</p> + +<p> +“I was unable to see what took place, Mr. Cavanagh,” he said. “The poor fellow +was behind me, for I had stepped from the boat ahead of him. I had just taken a +bag from his hand, but he was carrying another, heavier one. It is a clean cut, +like that of a scimitar. I have seen very similar wounds in the cases of men +who have suffered the old Moslem penalty for theft.” +</p> + +<p> +Nothing further had come to light when the Mandalay left, but I found new +matter for curiosity in the behaviour of the Moslem party who had come on board +at Port Said. +</p> + +<p> +In conversation with Mr. Bell, the chief officer, I learned that the supposed +leader of the party was one, Mr. Azraeel. “Obviously,” said Bell, “not his real +name or not all it. I don’t suppose they’ll show themselves on deck; they’ve +got their own servants with them, and seem to be people of consequence.” +</p> + +<p> +This conversation was interrupted, but I found my unseen fellow voyagers +peculiarly interesting and pursued inquiries in other directions. I saw members +of the distinguished travellers’ retinue going about their duties, but never +obtained a glimpse of Mr. Azraeel nor of any of his green-turbaned companions. +</p> + +<p> +“Who is Mr. Azraeel?” I asked Ahmadeen. +</p> + +<p> +“I cannot say,” replied the Egyptian, and abruptly changed the subject. +</p> + +<p> +Some curious aroma of mystery floated about the ship. Ahmadeen conveyed to me +the idea that he was concealing something. Then, one night, Mr. Bell invited me +to step forward with him. +</p> + +<p> +“Listen,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +From somewhere in the fo’c’sle proceeded low chanting. +</p> + +<p> +“Hear it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. What the devil is it?” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s the lascars,” said Bell. “They have been behaving in a most unusual +manner ever since the mysterious Mr. Azraeel joined us. I may be wrong in +associating the two things, but I shan’t be sorry to see the last of our +mysterious passengers.” +</p> + +<p> +The next happening on board the Mandalay which I have to record was the attempt +to break open the door of Professor Deeping’s stateroom. Except when he was +actually within, the Professor left his room door religiously locked. +</p> + +<p> +He made light of the affair, but later took me aside and told me a curious +story of an apparition which had appeared to him. +</p> + +<p> +“It was a crescent of light,” he said, “and it glittered through the darkness +there to the left as I lay in my berth.” +</p> + +<p> +“A reflection from something on the deck?” +</p> + +<p> +Deeping smiled, uneasily. +</p> + +<p> +“Possibly,” he replied; “but it was very sharply defined. Like the blade of a +scimitar,” he added. +</p> + +<p> +I stared at him, my curiosity keenly aroused. “Does any explanation suggest +itself to you?” I said. +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” he confessed, “I have a theory, I will admit; but it is rather going +back to the Middle Ages. You see, I have lived in the East a lot; perhaps I +have assimilated some of their superstitions.” +</p> + +<p> +He was oddly reticent, as ever. I felt convinced that he was keeping something +back. I could not stifle the impression that the clue to these mysteries lay +somewhere around the invisible Mohammedan party. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you know,” said Bell to me, one morning, “this trip’s giving me the creeps. +I believe the damned ship’s haunted! Three bells in the middle watch last +night, I’ll swear I saw some black animal crawling along the deck, in the +direction of the forward companion-way.” +</p> + +<p> +“Cat?” I suggested. +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing like it,” said Mr. Bell. “Mr. Cavanagh, it was some uncanny thing! I’m +afraid I can’t explain quite what I mean, but it was something I wanted to +shoot!” +</p> + +<p> +“Where did it go?” +</p> + +<p> +The chief officer shrugged his shoulders. “Just vanished,” he said. “I hope I +don’t see it again.” +</p> + +<p> +At Tilbury the Mohammedan party went ashore in a body. Among them were veiled +women. They contrived so to surround a central figure that I entirely failed to +get a glimpse of the mysterious Mr. Azraeel. Ahmadeen was standing close by the +companion-way, and I had a momentary impression that one of the women slipped +something into his hand. Certainly, he started; and his dusky face seemed to +pale. +</p> + +<p> +Then a deck steward came out of Deeping’s stateroom, carrying the brown bag +which the Professor had brought aboard at Port Said. Deeping’s voice came: +</p> + +<p> +“Hi, my man! Let me take that bag!” +</p> + +<p> +The bag changed hands. Five minutes later, as I was preparing to go ashore, +arose a horrid scream above the berthing clamour. Those passengers yet aboard +made in the direction from which the scream had proceeded. +</p> + +<p> +A steward—the one to whom Professor Deeping had spoken—lay writhing +at the foot of the stairs leading to the saloon-deck. His right hand had been +severed above the wrist! +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap02"></a> +CHAPTER II<br/> +THE GIRL WITH THE VIOLET EYES</h2> + +<p> +During the next day or two my mind constantly reverted to the incidents of the +voyage home. I was perfectly convinced that the curtain had been partially +raised upon some fantasy in which Professor Deeping figured. +</p> + +<p> +But I had seen no more of Deeping nor had I heard from him, when abruptly I +found myself plunged again into the very vortex of his troubled affairs. I was +half way through a long article, I remember, upon the mystery of the outrage at +the docks. The poor steward whose hand had been severed lay in a precarious +condition, but the police had utterly failed to trace the culprit. +</p> + +<p> +I had laid down my pen to relight my pipe (the hour was about ten at night) +when a faint sound from the direction of the outside door attracted my +attention. Something had been thrust through the letter-box. +</p> + +<p> +“A circular,” I thought, when the bell rang loudly, imperatively. +</p> + +<p> +I went to the door. A square envelope lay upon the mat—a curious +envelope, pale amethyst in colour. Picking it up, I found it to bear my +name—written simply— +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Cavanagh.” +</p> + +<p> +Tearing it open I glanced at the contents. I threw open the door. No one was +visible upon the landing, but when I leaned over the banister a white-clad +figure was crossing the hall, below. +</p> + +<p> +Without hesitation, hatless, I raced down the stairs. As I crossed the dimly +lighted hall and came out into the peaceful twilight of the court, my elusive +visitor glided under the archway opposite. +</p> + +<p> +Just where the dark and narrow passage opened on to Fleet Street I overtook +her—a girl closely veiled and wrapped in a long coat of white ermine. +</p> + +<p> +“Madam,” I said. +</p> + +<p> +She turned affrightedly. +</p> + +<p> +“Please do not detain me!” Her accent was puzzling, but pleasing. She glanced +apprehensively about her. +</p> + +<p> +You have seen the moon through a mist?—and known it for what it was in +spite of its veiling? So, now, through the cloudy folds of the veil, I saw the +stranger’s eyes, and knew them for the most beautiful eyes I had ever seen, had +ever dreamt of. +</p> + +<p> +“But you must explain the meaning of your note!” +</p> + +<p> +“I cannot! I cannot! Please do not ask me!” +</p> + +<p> +She was breathless from her flight and seemed to be trembling. From behind the +cloud her eyes shone brilliantly, mysteriously. +</p> + +<p> +I was sorely puzzled. The whole incident was bizarre—indeed, it had in it +something of the uncanny. Yet I could not detain the girl against her will. +That she went in apprehension of something, of someone, was evident. +</p> + +<p> +Past the head of the passage surged the noisy realities of Fleet Street. There +were men there in quest of news; men who would have given much for such a story +as this in which I was becoming entangled. Yet a story more tantalizingly +incomplete could not well be imagined. +</p> + +<p> +I knew that I stood upon the margin of an arena wherein strange adversaries +warred to a strange end. But a mist was over all. Here, beside me, was one who +could disperse the mist—and would not. Her one anxiety seemed to be to +escape. +</p> + +<p> +Suddenly she raised her veil; and I looked fully into the only really violet +eyes I had ever beheld. Mentally, I started. For the face framed in the snowy +fur was the most bewitchingly lovely imaginable. One rebellious lock of +wonderful hair swept across the white brow. It was brown hair, with an +incomprehensible sheen in the high lights that suggested the heart of a +blood-red rose. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh,” she cried, “promise me that you will never breathe a word to any one +about my visit!” +</p> + +<p> +“I promise willingly,” I said; “but can you give me no hint?” +</p> + +<p> +“Honestly, truly, I cannot, dare not, say more! Only promise that you will do +as I ask!” +</p> + +<p> +Since I could perceive no alternative— +</p> + +<p> +“I will do so,” I replied. +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you—oh, thank you!” she said; and dropping her veil again she +walked rapidly away from me, whispering, “I rely upon you. Do not fail me. +Good-bye!” +</p> + +<p> +Her conspicuous white figure joined the hurrying throngs upon the pavement +beyond. My curiosity brooked no restraint. I hurried to the end of the +courtway. She was crossing the road. From the shadows where he had lurked, a +man came forward to meet her. A vehicle obstructed the view ere I could confirm +my impression; and when it had passed, neither my lovely visitor nor her +companion were anywhere in sight. +</p> + +<p> +But, unless some accident of light and shade had deceived me, the man who had +waited was Ahmad Ahmadeen! +</p> + +<p> +It seemed that some astral sluice-gate was raised; a dreadful sense of +foreboding for the first time flooded my mind. Whilst the girl had stood before +me it had been different—the mysterious charm of her personality had +swamped all else. But now, the messenger gone, it was the purport of her +message which assumed supreme significance. +</p> + +<p> +Written in odd, square handwriting upon the pale amethyst paper, this was the +message— +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +Prevail upon Professor Deeping to place what he has in the brown case in the +porch of his house to-night. If he fails to do so, no power on earth can save +him from the Scimitar of Hassan.<br/> +<br/> +A FRIEND. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap03"></a> +CHAPTER III<br/> +“HASSAN OF ALEPPO”</h2> + +<p> +Professor Deeping’s number was in the telephone directory, therefore, on +returning to my room, where there still lingered the faint perfume of my late +visitor’s presence, I asked for his number. He proved to be at home. +</p> + +<p> +“Strange you should ring me up, Cavanagh,” he said; “for I was about to ring +you up.” +</p> + +<p> +“First,” I replied, “listen to the contents of an anonymous letter which I have +received.” +</p> + +<p> +(I remembered, and only just in time, my promise to the veiled messenger.) +</p> + +<p> +“To me,” I added, having read him the note, “it seems to mean nothing. I take +it that you understand better than I do.” +</p> + +<p> +“I understand very well, Cavanagh!” he replied. “You will recall my story of +the scimitar which flashed before me in the darkness of my stateroom on the +Mandalay? Well, I have seen it again! I am not an imaginative man: I had always +believed myself to possess the scientific mind; but I can no longer doubt that +I am the object of a pursuit which commenced in Mecca! The happenings on the +steamer prepared me for this, in a degree. When the man lost his hand at Port +Said I doubted. I had supposed the days of such things past. The attempt to +break into my stateroom even left me still uncertain. But the outrage upon the +steward at the docks removed all further doubt. I perceived that the contents +of a certain brown leather case were the objective of the crimes.” +</p> + +<p> +I listened in growing wonder. +</p> + +<p> +“It was not necessary in order to further the plan of stealing the bag that the +hands were severed,” resumed the Professor. “In fact, as was rendered evident +by the case of the steward, this was a penalty visited upon any one who touched +it! You are thinking of my own immunity?” +</p> + +<p> +“I am!” +</p> + +<p> +“This is attributable to two things. Those who sought to recover what I had in +the case feared that my death en route might result in its being lost to them +for ever. They awaited a suitable opportunity. They had designed to take it at +Port Said certainly, I think; but the bag was too large to be readily +concealed, and, after the outrage, might have led to the discovery of the +culprit. In the second place, they are uncertain of my faith. I have long +passed for a true Believer in the East! As a Moslem I visited Mecca—” +</p> + +<p> +“You visited Mecca!” +</p> + +<p> +“I had just returned from the hadj when I joined the Mandalay at Port Said! My +death, however, has been determined upon, whether I be Moslem or Christian!” +</p> + +<p> +“Why?” +</p> + +<p> +“Because,” came the Professor’s harsh voice over the telephone, “of the +contents of the brown leather case! I will not divulge to you now the nature of +these contents; to know might endanger you. But the case is locked in my safe +here, and the key, together with a full statement of the true facts of the +matter, is hidden behind the first edition copy of my book ‘Assyrian +Mythology,’ in the smaller bookcase—” +</p> + +<p> +“Why do you tell me all this?” I interrupted. +</p> + +<p> +He laughed harshly. +</p> + +<p> +“The identity of my pursuer has just dawned upon me,” he said. “I know that my +life is in real danger. I would give up what is demanded of me, but I believe +its possession to be my strongest safeguard.” +</p> + +<p> +Mystery upon mystery! I seemed to be getting no nearer to the heart of this +maze. What in heaven’s name did it all mean? Suddenly an idea struck me. +</p> + +<p> +“Is our late fellow passenger, Mr. Ahmadeen, connected with the matter?” I +asked. +</p> + +<p> +“In no way,” replied Deeping earnestly. “Mr. Ahmadeen is, I believe, a person +of some consequence in the Moslem world; but I have nothing to fear from him.” +</p> + +<p> +“What steps have you taken to protect yourself?” +</p> + +<p> +Again the short laugh reached my ears. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m afraid long residence in the East has rendered me something of a fatalist, +Cavanagh! Beyond keeping my door locked, I have taken no steps whatever. I fear +I am quite accessible!” +</p> + +<p> +A while longer we talked; and with every word the conviction was more strongly +borne in upon me that some uncanny menace threatened the peace, perhaps the +life, of Professor Deeping. +</p> + +<p> +I had hung up the receiver scarce a moment when, acting upon a sudden +determination, I called up New Scotland Yard, and asked for Detective-Inspector +Bristol, whom I knew well. A few words were sufficient keenly to arouse his +curiosity, and he announced his intention of calling upon me immediately. He +was in charge of the case of the severed hand. +</p> + +<p> +I made no attempt to resume work in the interval preceding his arrival. I had +not long to wait, however, ere Bristol was ringing my bell; and I hurried to +the door, only too glad to confide in one so well equipped to analyze my doubts +and fears. For Bristol is no ordinary policeman, but a trained observer, who, +when I first made his acquaintance, completely upset my ideas upon the mental +limitations of the official detective force. +</p> + +<p> +In appearance Bristol suggests an Anglo-Indian officer, and at the time of +which I write he had recently returned from Jamaica and his face was as bronzed +as a sailor’s. One would never take Bristol for a detective. As he seated +himself in the armchair, without preamble I plunged into my story. He listened +gravely. +</p> + +<p> +“What sort of house is Professor Deeping’s?” he asked suddenly. +</p> + +<p> +“I have no idea,” I replied, “beyond the fact that it is somewhere in Dulwich.” +</p> + +<p> +“May I use your telephone?” +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly.” +</p> + +<p> +Very quickly Bristol got into communication with the superintendent of P +Division. A brief delay, and the man came to the telephone whose beat included +the road wherein Professor Deeping’s house was situated. +</p> + +<p> +“Why!” said Bristol, hanging up the receiver after making a number of +inquiries, “it’s a sort of rambling cottage in extensive grounds. There’s only +one servant, a manservant, and he sleeps in a detached lodge. If the Professor +is really in danger of attack he could not well have chosen a more likely +residence for the purpose!” +</p> + +<p> +“What shall you do? What do you make of it all?” +</p> + +<p> +“As I see the case,” he said slowly, “it stands something like this: Professor +Deeping has...” +</p> + +<p> +The telephone bell began to ring. +</p> + +<p> +I took up the receiver. +</p> + +<p> +“Hullo! Hullo.” +</p> + +<p> +“Cavanagh!—is that Cavanagh?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes! yes! who is that?” +</p> + +<p> +“Deeping! I have rung up the police, and they are sending some one. But I +wish...” +</p> + +<p> +His voice trailed off. The sound of a confused and singular uproar came to me. +</p> + +<p> +“Hullo!” I cried. “Hullo!” +</p> + +<p> +A shriek—a deathful, horrifying cry—and a distant babbling alone +answered me. There was a crash. Clearly, Deeping had dropped the receiver. I +suppose my face blanched. +</p> + +<p> +“What is it?” asked Bristol anxiously. +</p> + +<p> +“God knows what it is!” I said. “Deeping has met with some mishap—” +</p> + +<p> +When, over the wires— +</p> + +<p> +“Hassan of Aleppo!” came a dying whisper. “Hassan ... of Aleppo...” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap04"></a> +CHAPTER IV<br/> +THE OBLONG BOX</h2> + +<p> +“You had better wait for us,” said Bristol to the taxi-man. +</p> + +<p> +“Very good, sir. But I shan’t be able to take you further back than the Brixton +Garage. You can get another cab there, though.” +</p> + +<p> +A clock chimed out—an old-world chime in keeping with the loneliness, the +curiously remote loneliness, of the locality. Less than five miles from St. +Paul’s are spots whereto, with the persistence of Damascus attar, clings the +aroma of former days. This iron gateway fronting the old chapel was such a +spot. +</p> + +<p> +Just within stood a plain-clothes man, who saluted my companion respectfully. +</p> + +<p> +“Professor Deeping,” I began. +</p> + +<p> +The man, with a simple gesture, conveyed the dreadful news. +</p> + +<p> +“Dead! dead!” I cried incredulously. +</p> + +<p> +He glanced at Bristol. +</p> + +<p> +“The most mysterious case I have ever had anything to do with, sir,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +The power of speech seemed to desert me. It was unthinkable that Deeping, with +whom I had been speaking less than an hour ago, should now be no more; that +some malign agency should thus murderously have thrust him into the great +borderland. +</p> + +<p> +In that kind of silence which seems to be peopled with whispering spirits we +strode forward along the elm avenue. It was very dark where the moon failed to +penetrate. The house, low and rambling, came into view, its facade bathed in +silver light. Two of the visible windows were illuminated. A sort of loggia ran +along one side. +</p> + +<p> +On our left, as we made for this, lay a black ocean of shrubbery. It intruded, +raggedly, upon the weed-grown path, for neglect was the keynote of the place. +</p> + +<p> +We entered the cottage, crossed the tiny lobby, and came to the study. A man, +evidently Deeping’s servant, was sitting in a chair by the door, his head +sunken in his hands. He looked up, haggard-faced. +</p> + +<p> +“My God! my God!” he groaned. “He was locked in, gentlemen! He was locked in; +and yet something murdered him!” +</p> + +<p> +“What do you mean?” said Bristol. “Where were you?” +</p> + +<p> +“I was away on an errand, sir. When I returned, the police were knocking the +door down. He was locked in!” +</p> + +<p> +We passed him, entering the study. +</p> + +<p> +It was a museum-like room, lighted by a lamp on the littered table. At first +glance it looked as though some wild thing had run amok there. The disorder was +indescribable. +</p> + +<p> +“Touched nothing, of course?” asked Bristol sharply of the officer on duty. +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing, sir. It’s just as we found it when we forced the door.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why did you force the door?” +</p> + +<p> +“He rung us up at the station and said that something or somebody had got into +the house. It was evident the poor gentleman’s nerve had broken down, sir. He +said he was locked in his study. When we arrived it was all in +darkness—but we thought we heard sounds in here.” +</p> + +<p> +“What sort of sounds?” +</p> + +<p> +“Something crawling about!” +</p> + +<p> +Bristol turned. +</p> + +<p> +“Key is in the lock on the inside of the door,” he said. “Is that where you +found it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir!” +</p> + +<p> +He looked across to where the brass knob of a safe gleamed dully. +</p> + +<p> +“Safe locked?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +Professor Deeping lay half under the table, a spectacle so ghastly that I shall +not attempt to describe it. +</p> + +<p> +“Merciful heavens!” whispered Bristol. “He’s nearly decapitated!” +</p> + +<p> +I clutched dizzily at the mantelpiece. It was all so utterly, incredibly +horrible. How had Deeping met his death? The windows both were latched and the +door had been locked from within! +</p> + +<p> +“You searched for the murderer, of course?” asked Bristol. +</p> + +<p> +“You can see, sir,” replied the officer, “that there isn’t a spot in the room +where a man could hide! And there was nobody in here when we forced the door!” +</p> + +<p> +“Why!” cried my companion suddenly. “The Professor has a chisel in his hand!” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. I think he must have been trying to prise open that box yonder when he +was attacked.” +</p> + +<p> +Bristol and I looked, together, at an oblong box which lay upon the floor near +the murdered man. It was a kind of small packing case, addressed to Professor +Deeping, and evidently had not been opened. +</p> + +<p> +“When did this arrive?” asked Bristol. Lester, the Professor’s man, who had +entered the room, replied shakily— +</p> + +<p> +“It came by carrier, sir, just before I went out.” +</p> + +<p> +“Was he expecting it?” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t think so.” +</p> + +<p> +Inspector Bristol and the officer dragged the box fully into the light. It was +some three feet long by one foot square, and solidly constructed. +</p> + +<p> +“It is perfectly evident,” remarked Bristol, “that the murderer stayed to +search for—” +</p> + +<p> +“The key of the safe!” +</p> + +<p> +“Exactly. If the men really heard sounds here, it would appear that the +assassin was still searching at that time.” +</p> + +<p> +“I assure you,” the officer interrupted, “that there was no living thing in the +room when we entered.” +</p> + +<p> +Bristol and I looked at one another in horrified wonder. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s incomprehensible!” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“See if the key is in the place mentioned by the Professor, Mr. Cavanagh, +whilst I break the box.” +</p> + +<p> +I went to a great, open bookcase, which the frantic searcher seemed to have +overlooked. Removing the bulky “Assyrian Mythology,” there, behind the volume, +lay an envelope, containing a key, and a short letter. Not caring to approach +more closely to the table and to that which lay beneath it, I was peering at +the small writing, in the semi-gloom by the bookcase, when Bristol cried— +</p> + +<p> +“This box is unopenable by ordinary means! I shall have to smash it!” +</p> + +<p> +At his words, I joined him where he knelt on the floor. Mysteriously, the chest +had defied all his efforts. +</p> + +<p> +“There’s a pick-axe in the garden,” volunteered Lester. “Shall I bring it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +The man ran off. +</p> + +<p> +“I see the key is safe,” said Bristol. “Possibly the letter may throw some +light upon all this.” +</p> + +<p> +“Let us hope so,” I replied. “You might read it.” +</p> + +<p> +He took the letter from my hand, stepped up to the table, and by the light of +the lamp read as follows— +</p> + +<div class="letter"> + +<p> +My Dear Cavanagh,— +</p> + +<p> +It has now become apparent to me that my life is in imminent danger. You know +of the inexplicable outrages which marked my homeward journey, and if this +letter come to your hand it will be because these have culminated in my death. +</p> + +<p> +The idea of a pursuing scimitar is not new to me. This phenomenon, which I have +now witnessed three times, is fairly easy of explanation, but its significance +is singular. It is said to be one of the devices whereby the Hashishin warn +those whom they have marked down for destruction, and is called, in the East, +“The Scimitar of Hassan.” +</p> + +<p> +The Hashishin were the members of a Moslem secret society, founded in 1090 by +one Hassan of Khorassan. There is a persistent tradition in parts of the Orient +that this sect still flourishes in Assyria, under the rule of a certain Hassan +of Aleppo, the Sheikh-al-jebal, or supreme lord of the Hashishin. My careful +inquiries, however, at the time that I was preparing matter for my “Assyrian +Mythology,” failed to discover any trace of such a person or such a group. +</p> + +<p> +I accordingly assumed Hassan to be a myth—a first cousin to the ginn. I +was wrong. He exists. And by my supremely rash act I have incurred his +vengeance, for Hassan of Aleppo is the self-appointed guardian of the +traditions and relics of Mohammed. And I have Stolen one of the holy slippers +of the Prophet! +</p> + +<p> +He, with some of his servants, has followed me from Mecca to England. My +precautions have enabled me to retain the relic, but you have seen what fate +befell all those others who even touched the receptacle containing it. +</p> + +<p> +If I fall a victim to the Hashishin, I am uncertain how you, as my confidant, +will fare. Therefore I have locked the slipper in my safe and to you entrust +the key. I append particulars of the lock combination; but I warn you—do +not open the safe. If their wrath be visited upon you, your possession of the +key may prove a safeguard. +</p> + +<p> +Take the copy of “Assyrian Mythology.” You will find in it all that I learned +respecting the Hashishin. If I am doomed to be assassinated, it may aid you; if +not in avenging me, in saving others from my fate. I fear I shall never see you +again. A cloud of horror settles upon me like a pall. Do not touch the slipper, +nor the case containing it. +</p> + +</div> + +<p class="right"> +EDWARD DEEPING. +</p> + +<p> +“It is almost incredible!” I said hoarsely. +</p> + +<p> +Bristol returned the letter to me without a word, and turning to Lester, who +had reentered carrying a heavy pick-axe, he attacked the oblong box with savage +energy. +</p> + +<p> +Through the house of death the sound of the blows echoed and rang with a sort +of sacrilegious mockery. The box fell to pieces. +</p> + +<p> +“My God! look, sir!” +</p> + +<p> +Lester was the trembling speaker. +</p> + +<p> +The box, I have said, was but three feet long by one foot square, and had +clearly defied poor Deeping’s efforts to open it. But a crescent-shaped knife, +wet with blood, lay within! +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap05"></a> +CHAPTER V<br/> +THE OCCUPANT OF THE BOX</h2> + +<p> +Dimly to my ears came the ceaseless murmur of London. The night now was far +advanced, and not a sound disturbed the silence of the court below my windows. +</p> + +<p> +Professor Deeping’s “Assyrian Mythology” lay open before me, beside it my +notebook. A coal dropped from the fire, and I half started up out of my chair. +My nerves were all awry, and I had more than my horrible memories of the +murdered man to thank for it. Let me explain what I mean. +</p> + +<p> +When, after assisting, or endeavouring to assist, Bristol at his elaborate +inquiries, I had at last returned to my chambers, I had become the victim of a +singular delusion—though one common enough in the case of persons whose +nerves are overwrought. I had thought myself followed. +</p> + +<p> +During the latter part of my journey I found myself constantly looking from the +little window at the rear of the cab. I had an impression that some vehicle was +tracking us. Then, when I discharged the man and walked up the narrow passage +to the court, it was fear of a skulking form that dodged from shadow to shadow +which obsessed me. +</p> + +<p> +Finally, as I entered the hall and mounted the darkened stair, from the first +landing I glanced down into the black well beneath. Blazing yellow eyes, I +thought, looked up at me! +</p> + +<p> +I will confess that I leapt up the remaining flight of stairs to my door, and, +safely within, found myself trembling as if with a palsy. +</p> + +<p> +When I sat down to write (for sleep was an impossible proposition) I placed my +revolver upon the table beside me. I cannot say why. It afforded me some sense +of protection, I suppose. My conclusions, thus far, amounted to the +following— +</p> + +<p> +The apparition of the phantom scimitar was due to the presence of someone who, +by means of the moonlight, or of artificial light, cast a reflection of such a +weapon as that found in the oblong chest upon the wall of a darkened +apartment—as, Deeping’s stateroom on the Mandalay, his study, etc. +</p> + +<p> +A group of highly efficient assassins, evidently Moslem fanatics, who might or +might not be of the ancient order of the Hashishin, had pursued the stolen +slipper to England. They had severed any hand, other than that of a Believer, +which had touched the case containing it. (The Coptic porter was a Christian.) +</p> + +<p> +Uncertain, possibly, of Deeping’s faith, or fearful of endangering the success +of their efforts by an outrage upon him en route, they had refrained from this +until his arrival at his house. He had been warned of his impending end by +Ahmad Ahmadeen. +</p> + +<p> +Who was Ahmadeen? And who was his beautiful associate? I found myself unable, +at present, to answer either of those questions. In order to gain access to +Professor Deeping, who so carefully secluded himself, a box had been sent to +him by ordinary carrier. (As I sat at my table, Scotland Yard was busy +endeavouring to trace the sender.) Respecting this box we had made an +extraordinary discovery. +</p> + +<p> +It was of the kind used by Eastern conjurors for what is generally known as +“the Box Trick.” That is to say, it could only be opened (short of smashing it) +from the inside! You will remember what we found within it? Consider this with +the new fact, above, and to what conclusion do you come? +</p> + +<p> +Something (it is not possible to speak of someone in connection with so small a +box) had been concealed inside, and had killed Professor Deeping whilst he was +actually engaged in endeavouring to force it open. This inconceivable creature +had then searched the study for the slipper—or for the key of the safe. +Interrupted and trapped by the arrival of the police, the creature had returned +to the box, re-closed it, and had actually been there when the study was +searched! +</p> + +<p> +For a creature so small as the murderous thing in the box to slip out during +the confusion, and at some time prior to Bristol’s arrival, was no difficult +matter. The inspector and I were certain that these were the facts. +</p> + +<p> +But what was this creature? +</p> + +<p> +I turned to the chapter in “Assyrian Mythology”—“The Tradition of the +Hashishin.” +</p> + +<p> +The legends which the late Professor Deeping had collected relative to this +sect of religious murderers were truly extraordinary. Of the cult’s extinction +at the time of writing he was clearly certain, but he referred to the popular +belief, or Moslem legend, that, since Hassan of Khorassan, there had always +been a Sheikh-al-jebal, and that a dreadful being known as Hassan of Aleppo was +the present holder of the title. +</p> + +<p> +He referred to the fact that De Sacy has shown the word Assassin to be derived +from Hashishin, and quoted El-Idrisi to the same end. The Hashishin performed +their murderous feats under the influence of hashish, or Indian hemp; and +during the state of ecstasy so induced, according to Deeping, they acquired +powers almost superhuman. I read how they could scale sheer precipices, pass +fearlessly along narrow ledges which would scarce afford foothold for a rat, +cast themselves from great heights unscathed, and track one marked for death in +such a manner as to remain unseen not only by the victim but by others about +him. At this point of my studies I started, in a sudden nervous panic, and laid +my hand upon my revolver. +</p> + +<p> +I thought of the eyes which had seemed to look up from the black well of the +staircase—I thought of the horrible end of this man whose book lay upon +the table ... and I thought I heard a faint sound outside my study door! +</p> + +<p> +The key of Deeping’s safe, and his letter to me, lay close by my hand. I +slipped them into a drawer and locked it. With every nerve, it seemed, strung +up almost to snapping point, I mechanically pursued my reading. +</p> + +<p> +“At the time of the Crusades,” wrote Deeping, “there was a story current of +this awful Order which I propose to recount. It is one of the most persistent +dealing with the Hashishin, and is related to-day of the apparently mythical +Hassan of Aleppo. I am disposed to believe that at one time it had a solid +foundation, for a similar practice was common in Ancient Egypt and is mentioned +by Georg Ebers.” +</p> + +<p> +My door began very slowly to open! +</p> + +<p> +Merciful God! What was coming into the room! +</p> + +<p> +So very slowly, so gently, nay, all but imperceptibly, did it move, that had my +nerves been less keenly attuned I doubt not I should have remained unaware of +the happening. Frozen with horror, I sat and watched. Yet my mental condition +was a singular one. +</p> + +<p> +My direct gaze never quitted the door, but in some strange fashion I saw the +words of the next paragraph upon the page before me! +</p> + +<p> +“As making peculiarly efficient assassins, when under the influence of the +drug, and as being capable of concealing themselves where a normal man could +not fail to be detected—” +</p> + +<p> +(At this moment I remembered that my bathroom window was open, and that the +waste-pipe passed down the exterior wall.) +</p> + +<p> +“—the Sheikh-al-jebal took young boys of a certain desert tribe, and for +eight hours of every day, until their puberty, confined them in a wooden +frame—” +</p> + +<p> +What looked like a reed was slowly inserted through the opening between door +and doorpost! It was brought gradually around ... until it pointed directly +toward me! +</p> + +<p> +I seemed to put forth a mighty mental effort, shaking off the icy hand of fear +which held me inactive in my chair. A saving instinct warned me—and I +ducked my head. +</p> + +<p> +Something whirred past me and struck the wall behind. +</p> + +<p> +Revolver in hand, I leapt across the room, dashed the door open, and fired +blindly—again—and again—and again—down the passage. +</p> + +<p> +And in the brief gleams I saw it! +</p> + +<p> +I cannot call it man, but I saw the thing which, I doubt not, had killed poor +Deeping with the crescent-knife and had propelled a poison-dart at me. +</p> + +<p> +It was a tiny dwarf! Neither within nor without a freak exhibition had I seen +so small a human being! A kind of supernatural dread gripped me by the throat +at sight of it. As it turned with animal activity and bounded into my bathroom, +I caught a three-quarter view of the creature’s swollen, incredible +head—which was nearly as large as that of a normal man! +</p> + +<p> +Never while my mind serves me can I forget that yellow, grinning face and those +canine fangs—the tigerish, blazing eyes—set in the great, misshapen +head upon the tiny, agile body. +</p> + +<p> +Wildly, I fired again. I hurled myself forward and dashed into the room. +</p> + +<p> +Like nothing so much as a cat, the gleaming body (the dwarf was but scantily +clothed) streaked through the open window! +</p> + +<p> +Certain death, I thought, must be his lot upon the stones of the court far +below. I ran and looked down, shaking in every limb, my mind filled with a +loathing terror unlike anything I had ever known. +</p> + +<p> +Brilliant moonlight flooded the pavement beneath; for twenty yards to left and +right every stone was visible. +</p> + +<p> +The court was empty! +</p> + +<p> +Human, homely London moved and wrought intimately about me; but there, at sight +of the empty court below, a great loneliness swept down like a mantle—a +clammy mantle of the fabric of dread. I stood remote from my fellows, in an +evil world peopled with the creatures of Hassan of Aleppo. +</p> + +<p> +Moved by some instinct, as that of a frightened child, I dropped to my knees +and buried my face in trembling hands. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap06"></a> +CHAPTER VI<br/> +THE RING OF THE PROPHET</h2> + +<p> +“There is no doubt,” said Mr. Rawson, “that great personal danger attaches to +any contact with this relic. It is the first time I have been concerned with +anything of the kind.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Bristol, of Scotland Yard, standing stiffly military by the window, looked +across at the gray-haired solicitor. We were all silent for a few moments. +</p> + +<p> +“My late client’s wishes,” continued Mr. Rawson, “are explicit. His last +instructions, evidently written but a short time prior to his death, advise me +that the holy slipper of the Prophet is contained in the locked safe at his +house in Dulwich. He was clearly of opinion that you, Mr. Cavanagh, would incur +risk—great risk—from your possession of the key. Since attempts +have been made upon you, murderous attempts, the late Professor Deeping, my +unfortunate client, evidently was not in error.” +</p> + +<p> +“Mysterious outrages,” said Bristol, “have marked the progress of the stolen +slipper from Mecca almost to London.” +</p> + +<p> +“I understand,” interrupted the solicitor, “that a fanatic known as Hassan of +Aleppo seeks to restore the relic to its former resting-place.” +</p> + +<p> +“That is so.” +</p> + +<p> +“Exactly; and it accounts for the Professor’s wish that the safe should not be +touched by any one but a Believer—and for his instructions that its +removal to the Antiquarian Museum and the placing of the slipper within that +institution be undertaken by a Moslem or Moslems.” +</p> + +<p> +Bristol frowned. +</p> + +<p> +“Any one who has touched the receptacle containing the thing,” he said, “has +either been mutilated or murdered. I want to apprehend the authors of those +outrages, but I fail to see why the slipper should be put on exhibition. Other +crimes are sure to follow.” +</p> + +<p> +“I can only pursue my instructions,” said Mr. Rawson dryly. “They are, that the +work be done in such a manner as to expose all concerned to a minimum of risk +from these mysterious people; that if possible a Moslem be employed for the +purpose; and that Mr. Cavanagh, here, shall always hold the key or keys to the +case in the museum containing the slipper. Will you undertake to look for +some—Eastern workmen, Mr. Bristol? In the course of your inquiries you +may possibly come across such a person.” +</p> + +<p> +“I can try,” replied Bristol. “Meanwhile, I take it, the safe must remain at +Dulwich?” +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly. It should be guarded.” +</p> + +<p> +“We are guarding it and shall guard it,” Bristol assured him. “I only hope we +catch someone trying to get at it!” +</p> + +<p> +Shortly afterward Bristol and I left the office, and, his duties taking him to +Scotland Yard, I returned to my chambers to survey the position in which I now +found myself. Indeed, it was a strange one enough, showing how great things +have small beginnings; for, as a result of a steamer acquaintance I found +myself involved in a dark business worthy of the Middle Ages. That Professor +Deeping should have stolen one of the holy slippers of Mohammed was no affair +of mine, and that an awful being known as Hassan of Aleppo should have pursued +it did not properly enter into my concerns; yet now, with a group of Eastern +fanatics at large in England, I was become, in a sense, the custodian of the +relic. Moreover, I perceived that I had been chosen that I might safeguard +myself. What I knew of the matter might imperil me, but whilst I held the key +to the reliquary, and held it fast, I might hope to remain immune though I must +expect to be subjected to attempts. It would be my affair to come to terms. +</p> + +<p> +Contemplating these things I sat, in a world of dark dreams, unconscious of the +comings and goings in the court below, unconscious of the hum which told of +busy Fleet Street so near to me. The weather, as is its uncomfortable habit in +England, had suddenly grown tropically hot, plunging London into the vapours of +an African spring, and the sun was streaming through my open window fully upon +the table. +</p> + +<p> +I mopped my clammy forehead, glancing with distaste at the pile of work which +lay before me. Then my eyes turned to an open quarto book. It was the late +Professor Deeping’s “Assyrian Mythology,” and embodied the result of his +researches into the history of the Hashishin, the religious murderers of whose +existence he had been so skeptical. To the Chief of the Order, the terrible +Sheikh Hassan of Aleppo, he referred as a “fabled being”; yet it was at the +hands of this “fabled being” that he had met his end! How incredible it all +seemed. But I knew full well how worthy of credence it was. +</p> + +<p> +Then upon my gloomy musings a sound intruded—the ringing of my door bell. +I rose from my chair with a weary sigh, went to the door, and opened it. An +aged Oriental stood without. He was tall and straight, had a snow-white beard +and clear-cut, handsome features. He wore well-cut European garments and a +green turban. As I stood staring he saluted me gravely. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Cavanagh?” he asked, speaking in faultless English. +</p> + +<p> +“I am he.” +</p> + +<p> +“I learn that the services of a Moslem workman are required.” +</p> + +<p> +“Quite correct, sir; but you should apply at the offices of Messrs. Rawson +& Rawson, Chancery Lane.” +</p> + +<p> +The old man bowed, smiling. +</p> + +<p> +“Many thanks; I understood so much. But, my position being a peculiar one, I +wished to speak with you—as a friend of the late Professor.” +</p> + +<p> +I hesitated. The old man looked harmless enough, but there was an air of +mystery about the matter which put me on my guard. +</p> + +<p> +“You will pardon me,” I said, “but the work is scarcely of a kind—” +</p> + +<p> +He raised his thin hand. +</p> + +<p> +“I am not undertaking it myself. I wished to explain to you the conditions +under which I could arrange to furnish suitable porters.” +</p> + +<p> +His patient explanation disposed me to believe that he was merely some kind of +small contractor, and in any event I had nothing to fear from this frail old +man. +</p> + +<p> +“Step in, sir,” I said, repenting of my brusquerie—and stood aside for +him. +</p> + +<p> +He entered, with that Oriental meekness in which there is something majestic. I +placed a chair for him in the study, and reseated myself at the table. The old +man, who from the first had kept his eyes lowered deferentially, turned to me +with a gentle gesture, as if to apologize for opening the conversation. +</p> + +<p> +“From the papers, Mr. Cavanagh,” he began, “I have learned of the circumstances +attending the death of Professor Deeping. Your papers”—he smiled, and I +thought I had never seen a smile of such sweetness—“your papers know all! +Now I understand why a Moslem is required, and I understand what is required of +him. But remembering that the object of his labours would be to place a holy +relic on exhibition for the amusement of unbelievers, can you reasonably expect +to obtain the services of one?” +</p> + +<p> +His point of view was fair enough. +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps not,” I replied. “For my own part I should wish to see the slipper +back in Mecca, or wherever it came from. But Professor Deeping—” +</p> + +<p> +“Professor Deeping was a thorn in the flesh of the Faithful!” +</p> + +<p> +My visitor’s voice was gravely reproachful. +</p> + +<p> +“Nevertheless his wishes must be considered,” I said, “and the methods adopted +by those who seek to recover the relic are such as to alienate all sympathy.” +</p> + +<p> +“You speak of the Hashishin?” asked the old man. “Mr. Cavanagh, in your own +faith you have had those who spilled the blood of infidels as freely!” +</p> + +<p> +“My good sir, the existence of such an organization cannot be tolerated today! +This survival of the dark ages must be stamped out. However just a cause may +be, secret murder is not permissible, as you, a man of culture, a Believer, +and”—I glanced at his unusual turban—“a descendant of the Prophet, +must admit.” +</p> + +<p> +“I can admit nothing against the Guardian of the Tradition, Mr. Cavanagh! The +Prophet taught that we should smite the Infidel. I ask you—have you the +courage of your convictions?” +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps; I trust so.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then assist me to rid England of what you have called a survival of the dark +ages. I will furnish porters to remove and carry the safe, if you will deliver +to me the key!” +</p> + +<p> +I sprang to my feet. +</p> + +<p> +“That is madness!” I cried. “In the first place I should be compromising with +my conscience, and in the second place I should be defenceless against those +who might—” +</p> + +<p> +“I have with me a written promise from one highly placed—one to whose +will Hassan of Aleppo bows!” +</p> + +<p> +My mind greatly disturbed, I watched the venerable speaker. I had determined +now that he was some religious leader of Islam in England, who had been deputed +to approach me; and, let me add, I was sorely tempted to accede to his +proposal, for nothing would be gained by any one if the slipper remained for +ever at the museum, whereas by conniving at its recovery by those who, after +all, were its rightful owners I should be ridding England of a weird and +undesirable visitant. +</p> + +<p> +I think I should have agreed, when I remembered that the Hashishin had murdered +Professor Deeping and had mutilated others wholly innocent of offence. I looked +across at the old man. He had drawn himself up to his great height, and for the +first time fully raising the lids, had fixed upon me the piercing gaze of a +pair of eagle eyes. I started, for the aspect of this majestic figure was +entirely different from that of the old stranger who had stood suppliant before +me a moment ago. +</p> + +<p> +“It is impossible,” I said. “I can come to no terms with those who shield +murderers.” +</p> + +<p> +He regarded me fixedly, but did not move. +</p> + +<p> +“Es-selam ’aleykum!” I added (“Peace be on you!”) closing the interview in the +Eastern manner. +</p> + +<p> +The old man lowered his eyes, and saluted me with graceful gravity. +</p> + +<p> +“Wa-’aleykum!” he said (“And on you!”). I conducted him to the door and closed +it upon his exit. In his last salute I had noticed the flashing of a ring which +he wore upon his left hand, and he was gone scarce ten seconds ere my heart +began to beat furiously. I snatched up “Assyrian Mythology” and with trembling +fingers turned to a certain page. +</p> + +<p> +There I read— +</p> + +<p> +Each Sheikh of the Assassins is said to be invested with the “Ring of the +Prophet.” It bears a green stone, shaped in the form of a scimitar or crescent. +</p> + +<p> +My dreadful suspicion was confirmed. I knew who my visitor had been. +</p> + +<p> +“God in heaven!” I whispered. “It was Hassan of Aleppo!” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap07"></a> +CHAPTER VII<br/> +FIRST ATTEMPT ON THE SAFE</h2> + +<p> +On the following morning I was awakened by the arrival of Bristol. I hastened +to admit him. +</p> + +<p> +“Your visitor of yesterday,” he began, “has wasted no time!” +</p> + +<p> +“What has happened?” +</p> + +<p> +He tugged irritably at his moustache. “I don’t know!” he replied. “Of course it +was no surprise to find that there isn’t a Mohammedan who’ll lay his little +finger on Professor Deeping’s safe! There’s no doubt in my mind that every +lascar at the docks knows Hassan of Aleppo to be in England. Some other +arrangement will have to be arrived at, if the thing is ever to be taken to the +Antiquarian Museum. Meanwhile we stand to lose it. Last night—” +</p> + +<p> +He accepted a cigarette, and lighted it carefully. +</p> + +<p> +“Last night,” he resumed, “a member of P Division was on point duty outside the +late Professor’s house, and two C.I.D. men were actually in the room where the +safe is. Result—someone has put in at least an hour’s work on the lock, +but it proved too tough a job!” +</p> + +<p> +I stared at him amazedly. +</p> + +<p> +“Someone has been at the lock!” I cried. “But that is impossible, with two men +in the room—unless—” +</p> + +<p> +“They were both knocked on the head!” +</p> + +<p> +“Both! But by whom! My God! They are not—” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, no! It was done artistically. They both came round about four o’clock this +morning.” +</p> + +<p> +“And who attacked them?” +</p> + +<p> +“They had no idea. Neither of them saw a thing!” +</p> + +<p> +My amazement grew by leaps and bounds. “But, Bristol, one of them must have +seen the other succumb!” +</p> + +<p> +“Both did! Their statements tally exactly!” +</p> + +<p> +“I quite fail to follow you.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s not surprising. Listen: When I got on the scene about five o’clock, +Marden and West, the two C.I.D. men, had quite recovered their senses, though +they were badly shaken, and one had a cracked skull. The constable was +conscious again, too.” +</p> + +<p> +“What! Was he attacked?” +</p> + +<p> +“In exactly the same way! I’ll give you Marden’s story, as he gave it to me a +few minutes after the surgeon had done with him. He said that they were sitting +in the study, smoking, and with both windows wide open. It was a fearfully hot +night.” +</p> + +<p> +“Did they have lights?” +</p> + +<p> +“No. West sat in an armchair near the writing-table; Marden sat by the window +next to the door. I had arranged that every hour one of them should go out to +the gate and take the constable’s report. It was just after Marden had been out +at one o’clock that it happened. +</p> + +<p> +“They were sitting as I tell you when Marden thought he heard a curious sort of +noise from the gate. West appeared to have heard nothing; but I have no doubt +that it was the sound of the constable’s fall. West’s pipe had gone out, and he +struck a match to relight it. As he did so, Marden saw him drop the match, +clench both fists, and with eyes glaring in the moonlight and his teeth coming +together with a snap, drop from his chair. +</p> + +<p> +“Marden says that he was half up from his seat when something struck him on the +back of the head with fearful force. He remembered nothing more until he awoke, +with the dawn creeping into the room, and heard West groaning somewhere beside +him. They both had badly damaged skulls with great bruises behind the ear. It +is instructive to note that their wounds corresponded almost to a fraction of +an inch. They had been stunned by someone who thoroughly understood his +business, and with some heavy, blunt weapon. A few minutes later came the man +to relieve the constable; and the constable was found to have been treated in +exactly the same way!” +</p> + +<p> +“But if Marden’s account is true—” +</p> + +<p> +“West, as he lost consciousness, saw Marden go in exactly the same way.” +</p> + +<p> +“Marden was seated by the open window, but I cannot conjecture how any one can +have got at West, who sat by the table!” +</p> + +<p> +“The case of Marden is little less than remarkable; he was some distance from +the window. No one could possibly have reached him from outside.” +</p> + +<p> +“And the constable?” +</p> + +<p> +“The constable can give us no clue. He was suddenly struck down, as the others +were. I examined the safe, of course, but didn’t touch it, according to +instructions. Someone had been at work on the lock, but it had defied their +efforts. I’m fully expecting though that they’ll be back to-night, with +different tools!” +</p> + +<p> +“The place is watched during the day, of course?” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course. But it’s unlikely that anything will be attempted in daylight. +Tonight I am going down myself.” +</p> + +<p> +“Could you arrange that I join you?” +</p> + +<p> +“I could, but you can see the danger for yourself?” +</p> + +<p> +“It is extraordinarily mysterious.” +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Cavanagh, it’s uncanny!” said Bristol. “I can understand that one of these +Hashishin could easily have got up behind the man on duty out in the open. I +know, and so do you, that they’re past masters of that kind of thing; but +unless they possess the power to render themselves invisible, it’s not evident +how they can have got behind West whilst he sat at the table, with Marden +actually watching him!” +</p> + +<p> +“We must lay a trap for them to-night.” +</p> + +<p> +“Rely upon me to do so. My only fear is that they may anticipate it and change +their tactics. Hassan of Aleppo apparently knows as much of our plans as we do +ourselves.” +</p> + +<p> +Inspector Bristol, though a man of considerable culture, clearly was infected +with a species of supernatural dread. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap08"></a> +CHAPTER VIII<br/> +THE VIOLET EYES AGAIN</h2> + +<p> +At four o’clock in the afternoon I had heard nothing further from Bristol, but +I did not doubt that he would advise me of his arrangements in good time. I +sought by hard work to forget for a time the extraordinary business of the +stolen slipper; but it persistently intruded upon my mind. Particularly, my +thoughts turned to the night of Professor Deeping’s murder, and to the +bewitchingly pretty woman who had warned me of the impending tragedy. She had +bound me to secrecy—a secrecy which had proved irksome, for it had since +appeared to me that she must have been an accomplice of Hassan of Aleppo. At +the time I had been at a loss to define her peculiar accent, now it seemed +evidently enough to have been Oriental. +</p> + +<p> +I threw down my pen in despair, for work was impossible, went downstairs, and +walked out under the arch into Fleet Street. Quite mechanically I turned to the +left, and, still engaged with idle conjectures, strolled along westward. +</p> + +<p> +Passing the entrance to one of the big hotels, I was abruptly recalled to the +realities—by a woman’s voice. +</p> + +<p> +“Wait for me here,” came musically to my ears. +</p> + +<p> +I stopped, and turned. A woman who had just quitted a taxi-cab was entering the +hotel. The day was hot and thunderously oppressive, and this woman with the +musical voice wore a delicate costume of flimsiest white. A few steps upward +she paused and glanced back. I had a view of a Greek profile, and for one +magnetic instant looked into eyes of the deepest and most wonderful violet. +</p> + +<p> +Then, shaking off inaction, I ran up the steps and overtook the lady in white +as a porter swung open the door to admit her. We entered together. +</p> + +<p> +“Madame,” I said in a low tone, “I must detain you for a moment. There is +something I have to ask.” +</p> + +<p> +She turned, exhibiting the most perfect composure, lowered her lashes and +raised them again, the gaze of the violet eyes sweeping me from head to foot +with a sort of frigid scorn. +</p> + +<p> +“I fear you have made a mistake, sir. We have never met before!” +</p> + +<p> +Her voice betrayed no trace of any foreign accent! +</p> + +<p> +“But,” I began—and paused. +</p> + +<p> +I felt myself flush; for this encounter in the foyer of an hotel, with many +curious onlookers, was like to prove embarrassing if my beautiful acquaintance +persisted in her attitude. I fully realized what construction would be put upon +my presence there, and foresaw that forcible and ignominious ejection must be +my lot if I failed to establish my right to address her. +</p> + +<p> +She turned away, and crossed in the direction of the staircase. A sunbeam +sought out a lock of hair that strayed across her brow, and kissed it to a +sudden glow like that which lurks in the heart of a blush rose. +</p> + +<p> +That wonderful sheen, which I had never met with elsewhere in nature, but which +no artifice could lend, served to remove my last frail doubt which had survived +the evidence of the violet eyes. I had been deceived by no strange resemblance; +this was indeed the woman who had been the harbinger of Professor Deeping’s +death. In three strides I was beside her again. Curious glances were set upon +me, and I saw a servant evidently contemplating approach; but I ignored all +save my own fixed purpose. +</p> + +<p> +“You must listen to what I have to say!” I whispered. “If you decline, I shall +have no alternative but to call in the detective who holds a warrant for your +arrest!” +</p> + +<p> +She stood quite still, watching me coolly. “I suppose you would wish to avoid a +scene?” I added. +</p> + +<p> +“You have already made me the object of much undesirable attention,” she +replied scornfully. “I do not need your assurance that you would disgrace me +utterly! You are talking nonsense, as you must be aware—unless you are +insane. But if your object be to force your acquaintance upon me, your methods +are novel, and, under the circumstances, effective. Come, sir, you may talk to +me—for three minutes!” +</p> + +<p> +The musical voice had lost nothing of its imperiousness, but for one instant +the lips parted, affording a fleeting glimpse of pearl beyond the coral. +</p> + +<p> +Her sudden change of front was bewildering. Now, she entered the lift and I +followed her. As we ascended side by side I found it impossible to believe that +this dainty white figure was that of an associate of the Hashishin, that of a +creature of the terrible Hassan of Aleppo. Yet that she was the same girl who, +a few days after my return from the East, had shown herself conversant with the +plans of the murderous fanatics was beyond doubt. Her accent on that occasion +clearly had been assumed, with what object I could not imagine. Then, as we +quitted the lift and entered a cosy lounge, my companion seated herself upon a +Chesterfield, signing to me to sit beside her. +</p> + +<p> +As I did so she lay back smiling, and regarding me from beneath her black +lashes. Thus, half veiled, her great violet eyes were most wonderful. +</p> + +<p> +“Now, sir,” she said softly, “explain yourself.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then you persist in pretending that we have not met before?” +</p> + +<p> +“There is no occasion for pretence,” she replied lightly; and I found myself +comparing her voice with her figure, her figure with her face, and vainly +endeavouring to compute her age. Frankly, she was bewildering—this lovely +girl who seemed so wholly a woman of the world. +</p> + +<p> +“This fencing is useless.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is quite useless! Come, I know New York, London, and I know Paris, Vienna, +Budapest. Therefore I know mankind! You thought I was pretty, I suppose? I may +be; others have thought so. And you thought you would like to make my +acquaintance without troubling about the usual formalities? You adopted a +singularly brutal method of achieving your object, but I love such insolence in +a man. Therefore I forgave you. What have you to say to me?” +</p> + +<p> +I perceive that I had to deal with a bold adventuress, with a consummate +actress, who, finding herself in a dangerous situation, had adopted this daring +line of defence, and now by her personal charm sought to lure me from my +purpose. +</p> + +<p> +But with the scimitar of Hassan of Aleppo stretched over me, with the dangers +of the night before me, I was in no mood for a veiled duel of words, for an +interchange of glances in thrust and parry, however delightful such warfare +might have been with so pretty an adversary. +</p> + +<p> +For a long time I looked sternly into her eyes; but their violet mystery +defied, whilst her red-lipped smile taunted me. +</p> + +<p> +“Unfortunately,” I said, with slow emphasis, “you are protected by my promise, +made on the occasion of our previous meeting. But murder has been done, so that +honour scarcely demands that I respect my promise further—” +</p> + +<p> +She raised her eyebrows slightly. +</p> + +<p> +“Surely that depends upon the quality of the honour!” she said. +</p> + +<p> +“I believe you to be a member of a murderous organization, and unless you can +convince me that I am wrong, I shall act accordingly.” +</p> + +<p> +At that she leaned toward me, laying her hand on my arm. +</p> + +<p> +“Please do not be so cruel,” she whispered, “as to drag me into a matter with +which truly I have no concern. Believe me, you are utterly mistaken. Wait one +moment, and I will prove it.” +</p> + +<p> +She rose, and before I could make move to detain her, quitted the room; but the +door scarcely had closed ere I was afoot. The corridor beyond was empty. I ran +on. The lift had just descended. A dark man whom I recognized stood near the +closed gate. +</p> + +<p> +“Quick!” I said, “I am Cavanagh of the Report! Did you see a lady enter the +lift?” +</p> + +<p> +“I did, Mr. Cavanagh,” answered the hotel detective; for this was he. +</p> + +<p> +In such a giant inn as this I knew full well that one could come and go almost +with impunity, though one had no right to the hospitality of the establishment; +and it was with a premonition respecting what his answer would be, that I asked +the man— +</p> + +<p> +“Is she staying here?” +</p> + +<p> +“She is not. I have never seen her before!” +</p> + +<p> +The girl with the violet eyes had escaped, taking all her secrets with her! +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap09"></a> +CHAPTER IX<br/> +SECOND ATTEMPT ON THE SAFE</h2> + +<p> +“You see,” said Bristol, “the Hashishin must know that the safe won’t remain +here unopened much longer. They will therefore probably make another attempt +to-night.” +</p> + +<p> +“It seems likely,” I replied; and was silent. Outside the open windows +whispered the shrubbery, as a soft breeze stole through the bushes. Beyond, the +moon made play in the dim avenue. From the old chapel hard by the sweet-toned +bell proclaimed midnight. Our vigil was begun. In this room it was that +Professor Deeping had met death at the hands of the murderous Easterns; here it +was that Marden and West had mysteriously been struck down the night before. +</p> + +<p> +To-night was every whit as hot, and Bristol and I had the windows widely +opened. My companion was seated where the detective, Marden, had sat, in a +chair near the westerly window, and I lay back in the armchair that had been +occupied by West. +</p> + +<p> +I may repeat here that the house of the late Professor Deeping was more +properly a cottage, surrounded by a fairly large piece of ground, for the most +part run wild. The room used as a study was on the ground floor, and had +windows on the west and on the south. Those on the west (French windows) opened +on a loggia; those on the south opened right into the dense tangle of a +neglected shrubbery. The place possessed an oppressive atmosphere of +loneliness, for which in some measure its history may have been responsible. +</p> + +<p> +The silence, seemingly intensified by each whisper that sped through the elms +and crept about the shrubbery, grew to such a stillness that I told myself I +had experienced nothing like it since crossing with a caravan I had slept in +the desert. Yet noisy, whirling London was within gunshot of us; and this, +though hard enough to believe, was a reflection oddly comforting. Only one +train of thought was possible, and this I pursued at random. +</p> + +<p> +By what means were Marden and West struck down? In thus exposing ourselves, in +order that we might trap the author or authors of the outrage, did we act +wisely? +</p> + +<p> +“Bristol,” I said suddenly, “it was someone who came through the open window.” +</p> + +<p> +“No one,” he replied, “came through the windows. West saw absolutely nothing. +But if any one comes that way to-night, we have him!” +</p> + +<p> +“West may have seen nothing; but how else could any one enter?” +</p> + +<p> +Bristol offered no reply; and I plunged again into a maze of speculation. +</p> + +<p> +Powerful mantraps were set in such a way that any one or anything, ignorant of +their positions, coming up to the windows must unavoidably be snared. These had +been placed in position with much secrecy after dusk, and the man on duty at +the gate stood with his back to the wall. No one could approach him except from +the front. My thoughts took a new turn. +</p> + +<p> +Was the girl with the violet eyes an ally of the Hashishin? Thus far, although +she so palpably had tricked me, I had found myself unable to speak of her to +Bristol; for the idea had entered my mind that she might have learned of the +plan to murder Deeping without directly being implicated. Now came yet another +explanation. The publicity given to that sensational case might have interested +some third party in the fate of the stolen slipper! Could it be that others, in +no way connected with the dreadful Hassan of Aleppo, were in quest of the +slipper? +</p> + +<p> +Scotland Yard had taken care to ensure that the general public be kept in +ignorance of the existence of such an organization as the Hashishin, but I must +assume that this hypothetical third party were well aware that they had Hassan, +as well as the authorities, to count with. Granting the existence of such a +party, my beautiful acquaintance might be classified as one of its members. I +spoke again. +</p> + +<p> +“Bristol,” I said, “has it occurred to you that there may be others, as well as +Hassan of Aleppo, seeking to gain possession of the sacred slipper?” +</p> + +<p> +“It has not,” he replied. “In the strictest sense of the expression, they would +be out for trouble! What gave you the idea?” +</p> + +<p> +“I hardly know,” I returned evasively, for even now I was loath to betray the +mysterious girl with the wonderful eyes. +</p> + +<p> +The chapel bell sounding the half-hour, Bristol rose with a sigh that might +have been one of relief, and went out to take the report of the man on duty at +the gate. As his footsteps died away along the elm avenue, it came to me how, +in the darkness about, menace lurked; and I felt myself succumbing to the +greatest dread experienced by man—the dread of the unknown. +</p> + +<p> +All that I knew of the weird group of fanatics—survivals of a dim and +evil past—who must now be watching this cottage as bloodlustful devotees +watch a shrine violated, burst upon my mind. I peopled the still blackness with +lurking assassins, armed with the murderous knowledge of by-gone centuries, +armed with invisible weapons which struck down from afar, supernaturally. +</p> + +<p> +I glanced toward the corner of the room where the safe stood, reliquary of a +worthless thing for which much blood had been spilled. +</p> + +<p> +Then sounded footsteps along the avenue, and my fear whispered that they were +not those of Bristol but of one who had murdered him, and who came guilefully, +to murder me! +</p> + +<p> +I snatched the revolver from my pocket and crossed the darkened room. Just to +the right of one of the French windows I stood looking out across the loggia to +the end of the avenue. The night was a bright one, and the room was flooded +with a reflected mystic light, but outside the moon paved the avenue with +pearl, and through the trees I saw a figure approaching. +</p> + +<p> +Was it Bristol? It had his build, it had his gait; but my fears remained. Then +the figure crossed the patch of shrubbery and stepped on to the loggia. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Cavanagh!” +</p> + +<p> +I laughed dryly at my own cowardice, but my heart was still beating abnormally. +</p> + +<p> +“Here I am, Bristol, in a ghastly funk!” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t wonder! They may be on us any time now. All’s well at the gate, but +Morris says he heard, or thought he heard something at the side of the chapel +opposite, a while ago.” +</p> + +<p> +“Wind in the bushes?” +</p> + +<p> +“It may have been; but he says there was no breeze at the time.” +</p> + +<p> +We resumed our seats. +</p> + +<p> +“Bristol,” I said, “now that the danger grows imminent, doesn’t it seem to you +foolhardy for us thus to expose ourselves?” +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps it is,” he agreed; “but how otherwise are we likely to learn what +happened to Marden and West?” +</p> + +<p> +“The enemy may adopt different measures to-night.” +</p> + +<p> +“I think not. Our dispositions are the same, and I credit them with cunning +enough to know it. At the same time I credit ourselves with having kept the +existence of the steel traps completely secret. They will assume (so I’ve +reasoned) that we intend to rely entirely upon our superior vigilance, +therefore they will try the same game as last night.” +</p> + +<p> +Silence fell. +</p> + +<p> +The moon rays, creeping around from the right of the avenue, crossing the +shrubbery and encroaching upon the low wall of the loggia, now flooded its +floor. Against the silvern light, Bristol appeared to me in black silhouette. +The breeze, too, seemed now to blow from a slightly different direction. It +came through the windows on my right, beyond which lay the unkempt bushes which +extended on that side to the wall of the grounds. +</p> + +<p> +So we sat, until the moonlight poured fully in upon Bristol’s back. So we sat +when the clock chimed the hour of one. +</p> + +<p> +Bristol arose and once more went out to the gate. He had arranged to visit +Morris’s post every half-hour. Again I experienced the nervous dread that he +would be attacked in the avenue; but again he returned unscathed. +</p> + +<p> +“All’s well,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +But from his tones I knew that he had not forgotten that it was at this hour +Marden and West had suffered mysterious attack. +</p> + +<p> +Neither of us, I think, was disposed to talk. We both were unwilling to break +the silence, wherein, with all our ears, we listened for the slightest +disturbance. +</p> + +<p> +And now my attention turned anew to the course of the slowly creeping moon +rays. In my mind an idea was struggling for definition. There was something +significant in the lunar lighting of the room. Why, I asked myself, had the +attack been made at one o’clock? Did the time signify anything? If so, what? I +looked toward Bristol. +</p> + +<p> +His figure, the chair upon which he sat, were sharply outlined by the cold +light. The wall behind me, and to my left, was illuminated brilliantly; but no +light fell directly upon me. +</p> + +<p> +The idea was taking shape. From the loggia and the avenue Bristol, I reasoned, +must be clearly visible. From the shrubbery on the south, through the other +windows could I be seen? Yes, silhouetted against the moonlight! +</p> + +<p> +A faint sound, quite indescribable, came to my ears from somewhere +outside-beyond. +</p> + +<p> +“My God!” whispered Bristol. “Did you hear it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes! What?” +</p> + +<p> +“It must have been Morris!—” +</p> + +<p> +Bristol was half standing, one hand upon the arm of the chair, the other +concealed, but grasping his revolver as I well knew. I, too, had my revolver in +my hand, and as I twisted in my seat, preparatory to rising, in sheer +nervousness I dropped the weapon upon the carpet. +</p> + +<p> +With an exclamation of dismay, I stooped quickly to recover it. +</p> + +<p> +As I did so something whistled past my ear, so closely as almost to touch +it—and struck with a dull thud upon the wall beyond! +</p> + +<p> +“Bristol!” I whispered. +</p> + +<p> +But as I raised my eyes to him he seemed to crumple up, and fell loosely +forward into the patch of moonlight spread upon the floor! “God in heaven!” I +said aloud. +</p> + +<p> +In a cold sweat of fear I crouched there, for it had become evident to me that, +as I bent, I was entirely in shadow. +</p> + +<p> +There was a rustling in the bushes on the left; but before I could turn in that +direction, my attention was claimed elsewhere. Over into the loggia leapt an +almost naked brown figure! +</p> + +<p> +It was that of a small but strongly built man, who carried a short, exceedingly +thick bamboo rod in his hand. My fear was too great to admit of my accurately +observing anything at that time, but I noticed that some kind of leather thong +or loop was attached to the end of the squat cane. +</p> + +<p> +The panic fear of the supernatural was strongly upon me, and I was unable to +realize that this Eastern apparition was a creature of flesh and blood. With my +nerves strung up to snapping point, I crouched watching him. He entered the +room, bending over the body of Bristol. +</p> + +<p> +A hot breath fanned my cheek! +</p> + +<p> +At that my overwrought nerves betrayed me. I uttered a stifled cry, looking +upward ... and into a pair of gleaming eyes which looked down into mine! +</p> + +<p> +A second brown man (who must have entered by one of the windows overlooking the +shrubbery) was bending over me! +</p> + +<p> +Scarce knowing what I did, I raised my revolver and blazed straight into the +dimly-seen face. Down upon me silently dropped a naked body, and something warm +came flowing over my hand. But, knowing my foes to be of flesh and blood, +feeling myself at handgrips now with a palpable enemy, I threw off the body, +leapt up and fired, though blindly, at the flying shape that flashed across the +loggia—and was lost in the shadow pools under the elms. +</p> + +<p> +Upon the din of my shooting fell silence like a cloak. A moment I listened, +tense, still; then I turned to the table and lighted the lamp. +</p> + +<p> +In its light I saw Bristol lying like a dead man. Close beside him was a big +and heavy lump of clay. It had been shaped as a ball, but now it was flattened +out curiously. Bending over my unfortunate companion and learning that, though +unconscious, he lived, I learnt, too, how the Hashishin contrived to strike men +insensible without approaching them; I learnt that the one whom I had shot, who +lay in his blood almost on the spot where Professor Deeping once had lain, was +an expert slinger. +</p> + +<p> +The contrivance which he carried, as did the other who had escaped, was a +sling, of the ancient Persian type. In place of stones, heavy lumps of clay +were used, which operated much the same as a sand-bag, whilst enabling the +operator to work from a considerable distance. +</p> + +<p> +Hidden, over by the ancient chapel it might be, one of this evil twain had +struck down Morris, the constable; from the shelter of the trees, from many +yards away, they had shot their singular missiles through the open windows at +Bristol and myself. Bristol had succumbed, and now, with a redness showing +through his close-cut hair immediately behind the right ear, lay wholly +unconscious at my feet. +</p> + +<p> +It had been a divine accident which had caused me to drop my revolver, and, +stooping to recover it, unknowingly to frustrate the design of the second +slinger upon myself. The light of the lamp fell upon the face of the dead +Hashishin. He lay forward upon his hands, crouching almost, but with his face, +his dreadful, featureless face, twisted up at me from under his left shoulder. +</p> + +<p> +God knows he deserved his end; but that mutilated face is often grinning, +bloodily, in my dreams. +</p> + +<p> +And then as I stood, between that horrid exultation which is born of killing +and the panic which threatened me out of the darkness, I saw something +advancing ... slowly ... slowly ... from the elmen shades toward the loggia. +</p> + +<p> +It was a shape—it was a shadow. Silent it came—on—and on. +Where the dusk lay deepest it paused, undefined; for I could give it no name of +man or spirit. But a horror seemed to proceed from it as light from a lamp. +</p> + +<p> +I groped about the table near to me, never taking my eyes from that sinister +form outside. As my fingers closed upon the telephone, distant voices and the +sound of running footsteps (of those who had heard the shots) came welcome to +my ears. +</p> + +<p> +The form stirred, seeming to raise phantom arms in execration, and a stray +moonbeam pierced the darkness shrouding it. For a fleeting instant something +flashed venomously. +</p> + +<p> +The sounds grew nearer. I could tell that the newcomers had found Morris lying +at the gate. Yet still I stood, frozen with uncanny fear, and +watching—watching the spot to which that stray beam had pierced; the spot +where I had seen the moon gleam upon the ring of the Prophet! +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap10"></a> +CHAPTER X<br/> +AT THE BRITISH ANTIQUARIAN MUSEUM</h2> + +<p> +A little group of interested spectators stood at the head of the square glass +case in the centre of the lofty apartment in the British Antiquarian Museum +known as the Burton Room (by reason of the fact that a fine painting of Sir +Richard Burton faces you as you enter). A few other people looked on curiously +from the lower end of the case. It contained but one exhibit—a dirty and +dilapidated markoob—or slipper of morocco leather that had once been red. +</p> + +<p> +“Our latest acquisition, gentlemen,” said Mr. Mostyn, the curator, speaking in +a low tone to the distinguished Oriental scholars around him. “It has been left +to the Institution by the late Professor Deeping. He describes it in a document +furnished by his solicitor as one of the slippers worn by the Prophet Mohammed, +but gives us no further particulars. I myself cannot quite place the relic.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nor I,” interrupted one of the group. “It is not mentioned by any of the +Arabian historians to my knowledge—that is, if it comes from Mecca, as I +understand it does.” +</p> + +<p> +“I cannot possibly assert that it comes from Mecca, Dr. Nicholson,” Mostyn +replied. “The Professor may have taken it from Al-Madinah—perhaps from +the mysterious inner passage of the baldaquin where the treasures of the place +lie. But I can assure you that what little we do know of its history is +sufficiently unsavoury.” +</p> + +<p> +I fancied that the curator’s tired cultured voice faltered as he spoke; and +now, without apparent reason, he moved a step to the right and glanced oddly +along the room. I followed the direction of his glance, and saw a tall man in +conventional morning dress, irreproachable in every detail, whose head was +instantly bent upon his catalogue. But before his eyes fell I knew that their +long almond shape, as well as the peculiar burnt pallor of his countenance, +were undoubtedly those of an Oriental. +</p> + +<p> +“There have been mysterious outrages committed, I believe, upon many of those +who have come in contact with the slipper?” asked one of the savants. +</p> + +<p> +“Exactly. Professor Deeping was undoubtedly among the victims. His instructions +were explicit that the relic should be brought here by a Moslem, but for a long +time we failed to discover any Moslem who would undertake the task; and, as you +are aware, while the slipper remained at the Professor’s house attempts were +made to steal it.” +</p> + +<p> +He ceased uneasily, and glanced at the tall Eastern figure. It had edged a +little nearer; the head was still bowed and the fine yellow waxen fingers of +the hand from which he had removed his glove fumbled with the catalogue’s +leaves. It may well have been that in those days I read menace in every eye, +yet I felt assured that the yellow visitor was eavesdropping—was +malignantly attentive to the conversation. +</p> + +<p> +The curator spoke lower than ever now; no one beyond the circle could possibly +hear him as he proceeded— +</p> + +<p> +“We discovered an Alexandrian Greek who, for personal reasons, not unconnected +with matrimony, had turned Moslem! He carried the slipper here, strongly +escorted, and placed it where you now see it. No other hand has touched it.” +(The speaker’s voice was raised ever so slightly.) “You will note that there is +a rail around the case, to prevent visitors from touching even the glass.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah,” said Dr. Nicholson quizzically, “And has anything untoward happened to +our Graeco-Moslem friend?” +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps Inspector Bristol can tell,” replied the curator. +</p> + +<p> +The straight, military figure of the well-known Scotland Yard man was +conspicuous among the group of distinguished—and mostly +round-shouldered—scholars. +</p> + +<p> +“Sorry, gentlemen,” he said, smiling, “but Mr. Acepulos has vanished from his +tobacco shop in Soho. I am not apprehensive that he had been kidnapped or +anything of that kind. I think rather that the date of his disappearance +tallies with that on which he cashed his cheque for service rendered! His +present wife is getting most unbeautifully fat, too.” +</p> + +<p> +“What precautions,” someone asked, “are being taken to guard the slipper?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” Mostyn answered, “though we have only the bare word of the late +Professor Deeping that the slipper was actually worn by Mohammed, it has +certainly an enormous value according to Moslem ideas. There can be no doubt +that a group of fanatics known as Hashishin are in London engaged in an +extraordinary endeavour to recover it.” +</p> + +<p> +Mostyn’s voice sank to an impressive whisper. My gaze sought again the tall +Eastern visitor and was held fascinated by the baffled straining in those +velvet eyes. But the lids fell as I looked; and the effect was that of a fire +suddenly extinguished. I determined to draw Bristol’s attention to the man. +</p> + +<p> +“Accordingly,” Mostyn continued, “we have placed it in this room, from which I +fancy it would puzzle the most accomplished thief to remove it.” +</p> + +<p> +The party, myself included, stared about the place, as he went on to +explain— +</p> + +<p> +“We have four large windows here; as you see. The Burton Room occupies the end +of a wing; there is only one door; it communicates with the next room, which in +turn opens into the main building by another door on the landing. We are on the +first floor; these two east windows afford a view of the lawn before the main +entrance; those two west ones face Orpington Square; all are heavily barred as +you see. During the day there is a man always on duty in these two rooms. At +night that communicating door is locked. Short of erecting a ladder in full +view either of the Square or of Great Orchard Street, filing through four iron +bars and breaking the window and the case, I fail to see how anybody can get at +the slipper here.” +</p> + +<p> +“If a duplicate key to the safe—” another voice struck in; I knew it +afterward for that of Professor Rhys-Jenkyns. +</p> + +<p> +“Impossible to procure one, Professor,” cried Mostyn, his eyes sparkling with +an almost boyish interest. “Mr. Cavanagh here holds the keys of the case, under +the will of the late Professor Deeping. They are of foreign workmanship and +more than a little complicated.” +</p> + +<p> +The eyes of the savants were turned now in my direction. +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose you have them in a place of safety?” said Dr. Nicholson. +</p> + +<p> +“They are at my bankers,” I replied. +</p> + +<p> +“Then I venture to predict,” said the celebrated Orientalist, “that the slipper +of the Prophet will rest here undisturbed.” +</p> + +<p> +He linked his arm into that of a brother scholar and the little group straggled +away, Mostyn accompanying them to the main entrance. +</p> + +<p> +But I saw Inspector Bristol scratching his chin; he looked very much as if he +doubted the accuracy of the doctor’s prediction. He had already had some +experience of the implacable devotion of the Moslem group to this treasure of +the Faithful. +</p> + +<p> +“The real danger begins,” I suggested to him, “when the general public is +admitted—after to-day, is it not?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. All to-day’s people are specially invited, or are using special +invitation cards,” he replied. “The people who received them often give their +tickets away to those who will be likely really to appreciate the opportunity.” +</p> + +<p> +I looked around for the tall Oriental. He seemed to have vanished, and for some +reason I hesitated to speak of him to Bristol; for my gaze fell upon an +excessively thin, keen-faced man whose curiously wide-open eyes met mine +smilingly, whose gray suit spoke Stein-Bloch, whose felt was a Boss raw-edge +unmistakably of a kind that only Philadelphia can produce. At the height of the +season such visitors are not rare, but this one had an odd personality, and +moreover his keen gaze was raking the place from ceiling to floor. +</p> + +<p> +Where had I met him before? To the best of my recollection I had never set eyes +upon the man prior to that moment; and since he was so palpably an American I +had no reason for assuming him to be associated with the Hashishin. But I +remembered—indeed, I could never forget—how, in the recent past, I +had met with an apparent associate of the Moslems as evidently European as this +curiously alert visitor was American. Moreover ... there was something +tauntingly familiar, yet elusive, about that gaunt face. +</p> + +<p> +Was it not upon the eve of the death of Professor Deeping that the girl with +the violet eyes had first intruded her fascinating personality into my tangled +affairs? Patently, she had then been seeking the holy slipper, and by craft had +endeavoured to bend me to her will. Then had I not encountered her again, +meeting the glance of her unforgettable violet eyes outside a Strand hotel? The +encounter had presaged a further attempt upon the slipper! Certainly she acted +on behalf of someone interested in it; and since neither Bristol nor I could +conceive of any one seeking to possess the bloodstained thing except the +mysterious leader of the Hashishin—Hassan of Aleppo—as a creature +of that awful fanatic being I had written her down. +</p> + +<p> +Why, then, if the mysterious Eastern employed a European girl, should he not +also employ an American man? It might well be that the relic, in entering the +doors of the impregnable Antiquarian Museum, had passed where the diabolical +arts of the Hashishin had no power to reach it—where the beauty of +Western women and the craft of Eastern man were equally useless weapons. +Perhaps Hassan’s campaign was entering upon a new phase. +</p> + +<p> +Was it a shirking of plain duty on my part that wish—that ever-present +hope—that the murderous company of fanatics who had pursued the stolen +slipper from its ancient resting-place to London, should succeed in recovering +it? I leave you to judge. +</p> + +<p> +The crescent of Islam fades to-day and grows pale, but there are yet fierce +Believers, a lust for the blood of the infidel. In such as these a faith dies +the death of an adder, and is more venomous in its death-throes than in the +full pulse of life. The ghastly indiscretion of Professor Deeping, in rifling a +Moslem Sacristy, had led to the mutilation of many who, unwittingly, had +touched the looted relic, had brought about his own end, had established a +league of fantastic assassins in the heart of the metropolis. +</p> + +<p> +Only once had I seen the venerable Hassan of Aleppo—a stately, gentle old +man; but I knew that the velvet eyes could blaze into a passionate fury that +seemed to scorch whom it fell upon. I knew that the saintly Hassan was Sheikh +of the Hashishin. And familiarity with that dreadful organization had by no +means bred contempt. I was the holder of the key, and my fear of the fanatics +grew like a magic mango, darkened the sunlight of each day, and filled the +night with indefinable dread. +</p> + +<p> +You, who have not read poor Deeping’s “Assyrian Mythology”, cannot picture a +creature with a huge, distorted head, and a tiny, dwarfed body—a thing +inhuman, yet human—a man stunted and malformed by the cruel arts of +brother men—a thing obnoxious to life, with but one passion, the passion +to kill. You cannot conceive of the years of agony spent by that creature +strapped to a wooden frame—in order to prevent his growth! You cannot +conceive of his fierce hatred of all humanity, inflamed to madness by the +Eastern drug, hashish, and directed against the enemies of Islam—the +holders of the slipper—by the wonderful power of Hassan of Aleppo. +</p> + +<p> +But I had not only read of such beings, I had encountered one! +</p> + +<p> +And he was but one of the many instruments of the Hashishin. Perhaps the girl +with the violet eyes was another. What else to be dreaded Hassan might hold in +store for us I could not conjecture. +</p> + +<p> +Do you wonder that I feared? Do you wonder that I hoped (I confess it), hoped +that the slipper might be recovered without further bloodshed? +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap11"></a> +CHAPTER XI<br/> +THE HOLE IN THE BLIND</h2> + +<p> +I stepped over to the door, where a constable stood on duty. +</p> + +<p> +“You observed a tall Eastern gentleman in the room a while ago, officer?” +</p> + +<p> +“I did, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“How long is he gone?” +</p> + +<p> +The man started and began to peer about anxiously. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s a funny thing, sir,” he said. “I was keeping my eyes specially upon +him. I noticed him hovering around while Mr. Mostyn was speaking; but although +I could have sworn he hadn’t passed out, he’s gone!” +</p> + +<p> +“You didn’t notice his departure, then?” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m sorry to say I didn’t, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +The man clearly was perplexed, but I found small matter for wonder in the +episode. I had more than suspected the stranger to be a spy of Hassan’s, and +members of that strange company were elusive as will-o’-the-wisps. +</p> + +<p> +Bristol, at the far end of the room, was signalling to me. I walked back and +joined him. +</p> + +<p> +“Come over here,” he said, in a low voice, “and pretend to examine these +things.” +</p> + +<p> +He glanced significantly to his left. Following the glance, my eyes fell upon +the lean American; he was peering into the receptacle which held the holy +slipper. +</p> + +<p> +Bristol led me across the room, and we both faced the wall and bent over a +glass case. Some yellow newspaper cuttings describing its contents hung above +it, and these we pretended to read. +</p> + +<p> +“Did you notice that man I glanced at?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, that’s Earl Dexter, the first crook in America! Ssh! Only goes in on +very big things. We had word at the Yard he was in town; but we can’t touch +him—we can only keep our eyes on him. He usually travels openly and in +his own name, but this time he seems to have slipped over quietly. He always +dresses the same and has just given me ‘good day!’ They call him The Stetson +Man. We heard this morning that he had booked two first-class sailings in the +Oceanic, leaving for New York three weeks hence. Now, Mr. Cavanagh, what is his +game?” +</p> + +<p> +“It has occurred to me before, Bristol,” I replied, “and you may remember that +I mentioned the idea to you, that there might be a third party interested in +the slipper. Why shouldn’t Earl Dexter be that third party?” +</p> + +<p> +“Because he isn’t a fool,” rapped Bristol shortly. “Earl Dexter isn’t a man to +gather up trouble for himself. More likely if his visit has anything really to +do with the slipper he’s retained by Hassan and Company. Museum-breaking may be +a bit out of the line of Hashishin!” +</p> + +<p> +This latter suggestion dovetailed with my own ideas, and oddly enough there was +something positively wholesome in the notion of the straightforward crookedness +of a mere swell cracksman. +</p> + +<p> +Then happened a singular thing, and one that effectually concluded our +whispered colloquy. From the top end of the room, beyond the case containing +the slipper, one of the yellow blinds came down with a run. +</p> + +<p> +Bristol turned in a flash. It was not a remarkable accident, and might portend +no more than a loose cord; but when, having walked rapidly up the room, we +stood before the lowered blind, it appeared that this was no accident at all. +</p> + +<p> +Some four feet from the bottom of the blind (or five feet from the floor) a +piece of linen a foot square had been neatly slashed out! +</p> + +<p> +I glanced around the room. Several fashionably dressed visitors were looking +idly in our direction, but I could fasten upon no one of them as a likely +perpetrator. +</p> + +<p> +Bristol stared at me in perplexity. +</p> + +<p> +“Who on earth did it,” he muttered, “and what the blazes for?” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap12"></a> +CHAPTER XII<br/> +THE HASHISHIN WATCH</h2> + +<p> +“The American gentleman has just gone out, sir,” said the sergeant at the door. +</p> + +<p> +I nodded grimly and raced down the steps. Despite my half-formed desire that +the slipper should be recovered by those to whom properly it belonged, I +experienced at times a curious interest in its welfare. I cannot explain this. +Across the hall in front of me I saw Earl Dexter passing out of the Museum. I +followed him through into Kingsway and thence to Fleet Street. He sauntered +easily along, a nonchalant gray figure. I had begun to think that he was bound +for his hotel and that I was wasting my time when he turned sharply into quiet +Salisbury Square; it was almost deserted. +</p> + +<p> +My heart leapt into my mouth with a presentiment of what was coming as I saw an +elegant and beautifully dressed woman sauntering along in front of us on the +far side. +</p> + +<p> +Was it that I detected something familiar in her carriage, in the poise of her +head—something that reminded me of former unforgettable encounters; +encounters which without exception had presaged attempts upon the slipper of +the Prophet? Or was it that I recollected how Dexter had booked two passages to +America? I cannot say, but I felt my heart leap; I knew beyond any possibility +of doubt that this meeting in Salisbury Square marked the opening of a new +chapter in the history of the slipper. +</p> + +<p> +Dexter slipped his arm within that of the girl in front of him and they paced +slowly forward in earnest conversation. I suppose my action was very amateurish +and very poor detective work; but regardless of discovery I crossed the road +and passed close by the pair. +</p> + +<p> +I am certain that Dexter was speaking as I came up, but, well out of earshot, +his voice was suddenly arrested. His companion turned and looked at me. +</p> + +<p> +I was prepared for it, yet was thrilled electrically by the flashing glance of +the violet eyes—for it was she—the beautiful harbinger of +calamities! +</p> + +<p> +My brain was in a whirl; complication piled itself upon complication; yet in +the heart of all this bewilderment I thought I could detect the key of the +labyrinth, but at the time my ideas were in disorder, for the violet eyes were +not lowered but fixed upon me in cold scorn. +</p> + +<p> +I knew myself helpless, and bending my head with conscious embarrassment I +passed on hurriedly. +</p> + +<p> +I had work to do in plenty, but I could not apply my mind to it; and now, +although the obvious and sensible thing was to go about my business, I wandered +on aimlessly, my brain employed with a hundred idle conjectures and the query, +“Where have I seen The Stetson Man?” seeming to beat, like a tattoo, in my +brain. There was something magnetic about the accursed slipper, for without +knowing by what route I had arrived there, I found myself in Great Orchard +Street and close under the walls of the British Antiquarian Museum. Then I was +effectually aroused from my reverie. +</p> + +<p> +Two men, both tall, stood in the shadow of a doorway on the Opposite side of +the street, staring intently up at the Museum windows. It was a tropically hot +afternoon and they stood in deepest shadow. No one else was in Orchard +Street—that odd little backwater—at the time, and they stood gazing +upward intently and gave me not even a passing glance. +</p> + +<p> +But I knew one for the Oriental visitor of the morning, and despite broad +noonday and the hum of busy London about me, my blood seemed to turn to water. +I stood rooted to the spot, held there by a most surprising horror. +</p> + +<p> +For the gray-bearded figure of the other watcher was one I could never forget; +its benignity was associated with the most horrible hours of my life, with +deeds so dreadful that recollection to this day sometimes breaks my sleep, +arousing me in the still watches, bathed in a cold sweat of fear. +</p> + +<p> +It was Hassan of Aleppo! +</p> + +<p> +If he saw me, if either of them saw me, I cannot say. What I should have done, +what I might have done it is useless to speak of here—for I did nothing. +Inert, thralled by the presence of that eerie, dreadful being, I watched them +leave the shadow of the doorway and pace slowly on with their dignified Eastern +gait. +</p> + +<p> +Then, knowing how I had failed in my plain duty to my fellow-men—how, +finding a serpent in my path, I had hesitated to crush it, had weakly succumbed +to its uncanny fascination—I made my way round to the door of the Museum. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap13"></a> +CHAPTER XIII<br/> +THE WHITE BEAM</h2> + +<p> +That night the deviltry began. Mr. Mostyn found himself wholly unable to sleep. +Many relics have curious histories, and the experienced archaeologist becomes +callous to that uncanniness which seems to attach to some gruesome curios. But +the slipper of the Prophet was different. No mere ghostly menace threatened its +holders; an avenging scimitar followed those who came in contact with it; +gruesome tragedies, mutilations, murders, had marked its progress throughout. +</p> + +<p> +The night was still—as still as a London night can be; for there is +always a vague murmuring in the metropolis as though the sleeping city breathed +gently and sometimes stirred in its sleep. +</p> + +<p> +Then, distinct amid these usual nocturnal noises, rose another, unaccountable +sound, a muffled crash followed by a musical tinkling. +</p> + +<p> +Mostyn sprang up in bed, drew on a dressing-gown, and took from the small safe +at his bed-head the Museum keys and a loaded revolver. A somewhat dishevelled +figure, pale and wild-eyed, he made his way through the private door and into +the ghostly precincts of the Museum. He did not hesitate, but ascended the +stairs and unlocked the door of the Assyrian gallery. +</p> + +<p> +Along its ghostly aisles he passed, and before the door which gave admittance +to the Burton Room paused, fumbling a moment for the key. +</p> + +<p> +Inside the room something was moving! +</p> + +<p> +Mostyn was keenly alarmed; he knew that he must enter at once or never. He +inserted the key in the lock, swung open the heavy door, stepped through and +closed it behind him. He was a man of tremendous moral courage, for +now,—alone in the apartment which harboured the uncanny relic, alone in +the discharge of his duty, he stood with his back to the door trembling +slightly, but with the idea of retreat finding no place in his mind. +</p> + +<p> +One side of the room lay in blackest darkness; through the furthermost window +of the other a faint yellowed luminance (the moonlight through the blind) +spread upon the polished parquet flooring. But that which held the curator +spell-bound—that which momentarily quickened into life the latent +superstition, common to all mankind, was a beam of cold light which poured its +effulgence fully upon the case containing the Prophet’s slipper! Where the +other exhibits lay either in utter darkness or semi-darkness this one it seemed +was supernaturally picked out by this lunar searchlight! +</p> + +<p> +It was ghostly-unnerving; but, the first dread of it passed, Mostyn recalled +how during the day a hole inexplicably had been cut in that blind; he recalled +that it had not been mended, but that the damaged blind had merely been rolled +up again. +</p> + +<p> +And as a dawning perception of the truth came to him, as falteringly he +advanced a step toward the mystic beam, he saw that one side of the case had +been shattered—he saw the broken glass upon the floor; and in the dense +shadow behind and under the beam of light, vaguely he saw a dull red object. +</p> + +<p> +It moved—it seemed to live! It moved away from the case and in the +direction of the eastern windows. +</p> + +<p> +“My God!” whispered Mostyn; “it’s the Prophet’s slipper!” +</p> + +<p> +And wildly, blindly, he fired down the room. Later he knew that he had fired in +panic, for nothing human was or could be in the place; yet his shot was not +without effect. In the instant of its flash, something struck sharply against +the dimly seen blind of one of the east windows; he heard the crash of broken +glass. +</p> + +<p> +He leapt to the switch and flooded the room with light. A fear of what it might +hold possessed him, and he turned instantly. +</p> + +<p> +Hard by the fragments of broken glass upon the floor and midway between the +case and the first easterly window lay the slipper. A bell was ringing +somewhere. His shot probably had aroused the attention of the policeman. +Someone was clamouring upon the door of the Museum, too. Mostyn raced forward +and raised the blind—that toward which the slipper had seemed to move. +</p> + +<p> +The lower pane of the window was smashed. Blood was trickling down upon the +floor from the jagged edges of the glass. +</p> + +<p> +“Hullo there! Open the door! Open the door!” +</p> + +<p> +Bells were going all over the place now; sounds of running footsteps came from +below; but Mostyn stood staring at the broken window and at the solid iron bars +which protected it without, which were intact, substantial—which showed +him that nothing human could possibly have entered. +</p> + +<p> +Yet the case was shattered, the holy slipper lay close beside him upon the +floor, and from the broken window-pane blood was +falling—drip-drip-drip... +</p> + +<p> +That was the story as I heard it half an hour later. For Inspector Bristol, +apprised of the happening, was promptly on the scene; and knowing how keen was +my interest in the matter, he rang me up immediately. I arrived soon after +Bristol and found a perplexed group surrounding the uncanny slipper of the +Prophet. No one had dared to touch it; the dread vengeance of Hassan of Aleppo +would visit any unbeliever who ventured to lay hand upon the holy, bloody +thing. Well we knew it, and as though it had been a venomous scorpion we, a +company of up-to-date, prosaic men of affairs, stood around that dilapidated +markoob, and kept a respectful distance. +</p> + +<p> +Mostyn, an odd figure in pyjamas and dressing-gown, turned his pale, +intellectual face to me as I entered. +</p> + +<p> +“It will have to be put back ... secretly,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +His voice was very unsteady. Bristol nodded grimly and glanced at the two +constables, who, with a plain-clothes man unknown to me, made up that midnight +company. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll do it, sir,” said one of the constables suddenly. +</p> + +<p> +“One moment”—Mostyn raised his hand! +</p> + +<p> +In the ensuing silence I could hear the heavy breathing of those around me. We +were all looking at the slipper, I think. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you understand, fully,” the curator continued, “the risk you run?” +</p> + +<p> +“I think so, sir,” answered the constable; “but I’m prepared to chance it.” +</p> + +<p> +“The hands,” resumed Mostyn slowly, “of those who hitherto have ventured to +touch it have been”—he hesitated—“cut off.” +</p> + +<p> +“Your career in the Force would be finished if it happened to you, my lad,” +said Bristol shortly. +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose they’d look after me,” said the man, with grim humour. +</p> + +<p> +“They would if you met with—an accident, in the discharge of your duty,” +replied the inspector; “but I haven’t ordered you to do it, and I’m not going +to.” +</p> + +<p> +“All right, sir,” said the man, with a sort of studied truculence, “I’ll take +my chance.” +</p> + +<p> +I tried to stop him; Mostyn, too, stepped forward, and Bristol swore frankly. +But it was all of no avail. +</p> + +<p> +A sort of chill seemed to claim my very soul when I saw the constable stoop, +unconcernedly pick up the slipper, and replace it in the broken case. +</p> + +<p> +It was out of a silence cathedral-like, awesome, that he spoke. +</p> + +<p> +“All you want is a new pane of glass, sir,” he said—“and the thing’s +done.” +</p> + +<p> +I anticipate in mentioning it here; but since Constable Hughes has no further +place in these records I may perhaps be excused for dismissing him at this +point. +</p> + +<p> +He was picked up outside the section house on the following evening with his +right hand severed just above the wrist. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap14"></a> +CHAPTER XIV<br/> +A SCREAM IN THE NIGHT</h2> + +<p> +The day that followed was one of the hottest which we experienced during the +heat wave. It was a day crowded with happenings. The Burton Room was closed to +the public, whilst a glazier worked upon the broken east window and a new blind +was fitted to the west. Behind the workmen, guarded by a watchful +commissionaire, yawned the shattered case containing the slipper. +</p> + +<p> +I wondered if the visitors to the other rooms of the Museum realized, as I +realized, that despite the blazing sunlight of tropical London, the shadow of +Hassan of Aleppo lay starkly on that haunted building? +</p> + +<p> +At about eleven o’clock, as I hurried along the Strand, I almost collided with +the girl of the violet eyes! She turned and ran like the wind down Arundel +Street, whilst I stood at the corner staring after her in blank amazement, as +did other passers-by; for a man cannot with dignity race headlong after a +pretty woman down a public thoroughfare! +</p> + +<p> +My mystification grew hourly deeper; and Bristol wallowed in perplexities. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s the most horrible and confusing case,” he said to me when I joined him at +the Museum, “that the Yard has ever had to handle. It bristles with outrages +and murders. God knows where it will all end. I’ve had London scoured for a +clue to the whereabouts of Hassan and Company and drawn absolutely blank! Then +there’s Earl Dexter. Where does he come in? For once in a way he’s living in +hiding. I can’t find his headquarters. I’ve been thinking—” +</p> + +<p> +He drew me aside into the small gallery which runs parallel with the Assyrian +Room. +</p> + +<p> +“Dexter has booked two passages in the Oceanic. Who is his companion?” +</p> + +<p> +I wondered, I had wondered more than once, if his companion were my beautiful +violet-eyed acquaintance. A scruple—perhaps an absurd +scruple—hitherto had kept me silent respecting her, but now I determined +to take Bristol fully into my confidence. A conviction was growing upon me that +she and Earl Dexter together represented that third party whose existence we +had long suspected. Whether they operated separately or on behalf of the +Moslems (of which arrangement I could not conceive) remained to be seen. I was +about to voice my doubts and suspicions when Bristol went on hurriedly— +</p> + +<p> +“I have thoroughly examined the Burton Room, and considering that the windows +are thirty feet from the ground, that there is no sign of a ladder having stood +upon the lawn, and that the iron bars are quite intact, it doesn’t look humanly +possible for any one to have been in the room last night prior to Mostyn’s +arrival!” +</p> + +<p> +“One of the dwarfs—” +</p> + +<p> +“Not even one of the dwarfs,” said Bristol, “could have passed between those +iron bars!” +</p> + +<p> +“But there was blood on the window!” +</p> + +<p> +“I know there was, and human blood. It’s been examined!” +</p> + +<p> +He stared at me fixedly. The thing was unspeakably uncanny. +</p> + +<p> +“To-night,” he went on, “I am remaining in here”—nodding toward the +Assyrian Room—“and I have so arranged it that no mortal being can +possibly know I am here. Mostyn is staying, and you can stay, too, if you care +to. Owing to Professor Deeping’s will you are badly involved in the beastly +business, and I have no doubt you are keen to see it through.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am,” I admitted, “and the end I look for and hope for is the recovery of the +slipper by its murderous owners!” +</p> + +<p> +“I am with you,” said Bristol. “It’s just a point of honour; but I should be +glad to make them a present of it. We’re ostentatiously placing a constable on +duty in the hallway to-night—largely as a blind. It will appear that +we’re taking no other additional precautions.” +</p> + +<p> +He hurried off to make arrangements for my joining him in his watch, and thus +again I lost my opportunity of confiding in him regarding the mysterious girl. +</p> + +<p> +I half anticipated, though I cannot imagine why, that Earl Dexter would put in +an appearance, during the day. He did not do so, however, for Bristol had put a +constable on the door who was well acquainted with the appearance of The +Stetson Man. The inspector, in the course of his investigations, had come upon +what might have been a clue, but what was at best a confusing one. Close by the +wall of the curator’s house and lying on the gravel path he had found a part of +a gold cuff link. It was of American manufacture. +</p> + +<p> +Upon such slender evidence we could not justly assume that it pointed to the +presence of Dexter on the night of the attempted robbery, but it served to +complicate a matter already sufficiently involved. +</p> + +<p> +In pursuance of Bristol’s plan, I concealed myself that evening just before the +closing of the Museum doors, in a recess behind a heavy piece of Babylonian +sculpture. Bristol was similarly concealed in another part of the room, and +Mostyn joined us later. +</p> + +<p> +The Museum was closed; and so far as evidence went the authorities had relied +again upon the bolts and bars hitherto considered impregnable, and upon the +constable in the hall. The broken window was mended, the cut blind replaced, +and within, in its shattered case, reposed the slipper of the Prophet. +</p> + +<p> +All the blinds being lowered, the Assyrian Room was a place of gloom, yellowed +on the western side by the moonlight through the blind. The door communicating +with the Burton Room was closed but not fastened. +</p> + +<p> +“They operated last night,” Bristol whispered to me, “at the exact time when +the moonlight shone through the hole in the westerly blind on to the case. If +they come to-night, and I am quite expecting them, they will have to dispense +with that assistance; but they know by experience where to reach the case.” +</p> + +<p> +“Despite our precautions,” I said, “they will almost certainly know that a +watch is being kept.” +</p> + +<p> +“They may or they may not,” replied Bristol. “Either way I’m disposed to think +there will be another attempt. Their mysterious method is so rapid that they +can afford to take chances.” +</p> + +<p> +This was not my first night vigil since I had become in a sense the custodian +of the relic, but it was quite the most dreary. Amid the tomb-like objects +about us we seemed two puny mortals toying with stupendous things. We could not +smoke and must converse only in whispers; and so the night wore on until I +began to think that our watch would be dully uneventful. +</p> + +<p> +“Our big chance,” whispered Mostyn, “is in the fact that any day may change the +conditions. They can’t afford to wait.” +</p> + +<p> +He ceased abruptly, grasping my arm. From somewhere, somewhere outside the +building, we all three had heard a soft whistle. A moment of tense listening +followed. +</p> + +<p> +“If only we could have had the place surrounded,” whispered Bristol—“but +it was impossible, of course.” +</p> + +<p> +A faint grating noise echoed through the lofty Burton Room. Bristol slipped +past me in the semi-gloom, and gently opened the communicating door a few +inches. +</p> + +<p> +A-tiptoe, I joined him, and craning across his shoulder saw a strange and +wonderful thing. +</p> + +<p> +The newly glazed east window again was shattered with a booming crash! The +yellow blind was thrust aside. A long something reached out toward the broken +case. There was a sort of fumbling sound, and paralyzed with the wonder of +it—for the window, remember, was thirty feet from the ground—I +stood frozen to my post. +</p> + +<p> +Not so Bristol. As the weird tentacle (or more exactly it reminded me of a +gigantic crab’s claw) touched the case, the Inspector leapt forward. A white +beam from his electric torch cut through to the broken cabinet. +</p> + +<p> +The thing was withdrawn ... and with it went the slipper of the Prophet. +</p> + +<p> +“Raise the blinds!” cried Bristol. “Mr. Cavanagh! Mr. Mostyn! We must not let +them give us the slip!” +</p> + +<p> +I got up the blind of the nearer window as Bristol raised the other. Not a +living thing was in sight from either! +</p> + +<p> +Mostyn was beside me, his hand resting on my shoulder. I noted how he trembled. +Bristol turned and looked back at us. The light from his pocket torch flashed +upon the curator’s face; and I have never seen such an expression of horrified +amazement as that which it wore. Faintly, I could hear the constable racing up +the steps from the hall. +</p> + +<p> +Ideas of the supernatural came to us all, I know; when, with a scuffling sound +not unlike that of a rat in a ceiling, something moved above us! +</p> + +<p> +“Damn my thick head!” roared Bristol, furiously. “He’s on the roof! It’s flat +as a floor and there’s enough ivy alongside the water-spout on your house +adjoining, Mr. Mostyn, to afford foothold to an invading army!” +</p> + +<p> +He plunged off toward the open door, and I heard him racing down the Assyrian +Room. +</p> + +<p> +“He had a short rope ladder fixed from the gutter!” he cried back at us. +“Graham! Graham!” (the constable on duty in the hall)—“Get the front door +open! Get...” His voice died away as he leapt down the stairs. +</p> + +<p> +From the direction of Orpington Square came a horrid, choking scream. It rose +hideously; it fell, rose again—and died. +</p> + +<p> +The thief escaped. We saw the traces upon the ivy where he had hastened down. +Bristol ascended by the same route, and found where the ladder-hooks had twice +been attached to the gutterway. Constable Graham, who was first actually to +leave the building, declared that he heard the whirr of a re-started motor +lower down Great Orchard Street. +</p> + +<p> +Bristol’s theory, later to be dreadfully substantiated, was that the thief had +broken the glass and reached into the case with an arrangement similar to that +employed for pruning trees, having a clutch at the end, worked with a cord. +</p> + +<p> +“Hassan has been too clever for us!” said the inspector. “But—what in +God’s name did that awful screaming mean?” +</p> + +<p> +I had a theory, but I did not advance it then. +</p> + +<p> +It was not until nearly dawn that my theory, and Bristol’s, regarding the +clutch arrangement, both were confirmed. For close under the railings which +abut on Orpington Square, in a pool of blood we found just such an instrument +as Bristol had described. +</p> + +<p> +And still clutching it was a pallid and ghastly shrunken hand that had been +severed from above the wrist! +</p> + +<p> +“Merciful God!” whispered the inspector—“look at the opal ring on the +finger! Look at the bandage where he cut himself on the broken window-glass +that first night, when Mr. Mostyn disturbed him. It wasn’t the Hashishin who +stole the thing.... It’s Earl Dexter’s hand!” +</p> + +<p> +No one spoke for a moment. Then— +</p> + +<p> +“Which of them has—” began Mostyn huskily. +</p> + +<p> +“The slipper of the Prophet?” interrupted Bristol. “I wonder if we shall ever +know?” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap15"></a> +CHAPTER XV<br/> +A SHRIVELLED HAND</h2> + +<p> +Around a large square table in a room at New Scotland Yard stood a group of +men, all of whom looked more or less continuously at something that lay upon +the polished deal. One of the party, none other than the Commissioner himself, +had just finished speaking, and in silence now we stood about the gruesome +object which had furnished him with the text of his very terse address. +</p> + +<p> +I knew myself privileged in being admitted to such a conference at the C.I.D. +headquarters and owed my admission partly to Inspector Bristol, and partly to +the fact that under the will of the late Professor Deeping I was concerned in +the uncanny business we were met to discuss. +</p> + +<p> +Novelty has a charm for every one; and to find oneself immersed in a maelstrom +of Eastern devilry, with a group of scientific murderers in pursuit of a holy +Moslem relic, and unexpectedly to be made a trustee of that dangerous +curiosity, makes a certain appeal to the adventurous. But to read of such +things and to participate in them are widely different matters. The slipper of +the Prophet and the dreadful crimes connected with it, the mutilations, +murders, the uncanny mysteries which made up its history, were filling my world +with horror. +</p> + +<p> +Now, in silence we stood around that table at New Scotland Yard and watched, as +though we expected it to move, the ghastly “clue” which lay there. It was a +shrivelled human hand, and about the thumb and forefinger there still dryly +hung a fragment of lint which had bandaged a jagged wound. On one of the +shrunken fingers was a ring set with a large opal. +</p> + +<p> +Inspector Bristol broke the oppressive silence. +</p> + +<p> +“You see, sir,” he said, addressing the Commissioner, “this marks a new +complication in the case. Up to this week although, unfortunately, we had made +next to no progress, the thing was straightforward enough. A band of Eastern +murderers, working along lines quite novel to Europe, were concealed somewhere +in London. We knew that much. They murdered Professor Deeping, but failed to +recover the slipper. They mutilated everyone who touched it mysteriously. The +best men in the department, working night and day, failed to effect a single +arrest. In spite of the mysterious activity of Hassan of Aleppo the slipper was +safely lodged in the British Antiquarian Museum.” +</p> + +<p> +The Commissioner nodded thoughtfully. +</p> + +<p> +“There is no doubt,” continued Bristol, “that the Hashishin were watching the +Museum. Mr. Cavanagh, here”—he nodded in my direction—“saw Hassan +himself lurking in the neighbourhood. We took every precaution, observed the +greatest secrecy; but in spite of it all a constable who touched the accursed +thing lost his right hand. Then the slipper was taken.” +</p> + +<p> +He stopped, and all eyes again were turned to the table. +</p> + +<p> +“The Yard,” resumed Bristol slowly, “had information that Earl Dexter, the +cleverest crook in America, was in England. He was seen in the Museum, and the +night following the slipper was stolen. Then outside the place I +found—that!” +</p> + +<p> +He pointed to the severed hand. No one spoke for a moment. Then— +</p> + +<p> +“The new problem,” said the Commissioner, “is this: who took the slipper, +Dexter or Hassan of Aleppo?” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s it, sir,” agreed Bristol. “Dexter had two passages booked in the +Oceanic: but he didn’t sail with her, and—that’s his hand!” +</p> + +<p> +“You say he has not been traced?” asked the Commissioner. +</p> + +<p> +“No doctor known to the Medical Association,” replied Bristol, “is attending +him! He’s not in any of the hospitals. He has completely vanished. The +conclusion is obvious!” +</p> + +<p> +“The evident deduction,” I said, “is that Dexter stole the slipper from the +Museum—God knows with what purpose—and that Hassan of Aleppo +recovered it from him.” +</p> + +<p> +“You think we shall next hear of Earl Dexter from the river police?” suggested +Bristol. +</p> + +<p> +“Personally,” replied the Commissioner, “I agree with Mr. Cavanagh. I think +Dexter is dead, and it is very probable that Hassan and Company are already +homeward bound with the slipper of the Prophet.” +</p> + +<p> +With all my heart I hoped that he might be right, but an intuition was with me +crying that he was wrong, that many bloody deeds would be, ere the sacred +slipper should return to the East. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap16"></a> +CHAPTER XVI<br/> +THE DWARF</h2> + +<p> +The manner in which we next heard of the whereabouts of the Prophet’s slipper +was utterly unforeseen, wildly dramatic. That the Hashishin were aware that I, +though its legal trustee, no longer had charge of the relic nor knowledge of +its resting-place, was sufficiently evident from the immunity which I enjoyed +at this time from that ceaseless haunting by members of the uncanny +organization ruled by Hassan. I had begun to feel more secure in my chambers, +and no longer worked with a loaded revolver upon the table beside me. But the +slightest unusual noise in the night still sufficed to arouse me and set me +listening intently, to chill me with dread of what it might portend. In short, +my nerves were by no means recovered from the ceaseless strain of the events +connected with and arising out of the death of my poor friend, Professor +Deeping. +</p> + +<p> +One evening as I sat at work in my chambers, with the throb of busy Fleet +Street and its thousand familiar sounds floating in to me through the open +windows, my phone bell rang. +</p> + +<p> +Even as I turned to take up the receiver a foreboding possessed me that my +trusteeship was no longer to be a sinecure. It was Bristol who had rung me up, +and upon very strange business. +</p> + +<p> +“A development at last!” he said; “but at present I don’t know what to make of +it. Can you come down now?” +</p> + +<p> +“Where are you speaking from?” +</p> + +<p> +“From the Waterloo Road—a delightful neighbourhood. I shall be glad if +you can meet me at the entrance to Wyatt’s Buildings in half an hour.” +</p> + +<p> +“What is it? Have you found Dexter?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, unfortunately. But it’s murder!” +</p> + +<p> +I knew as I hung up the receiver that my brief period of peace was ended; that +the lists of assassination were reopened. I hurried out through the court into +Fleet Street, thinking of the key of the now empty case at the Museum which +reposed at my bankers, thinking of the devils who pursued the slipper, thinking +of the hundred and one things, strange and terrible, which went to make up the +history of that gruesome relic. +</p> + +<p> +Wyatt’s Buildings, Waterloo Road, are a gloomy and forbidding block of +dwellings which seem to frown sullenly upon the high road, from which they are +divided by a dark and dirty courtyard. Passing an iron gateway, you enter, by +way of an arch, into this sinister place of uncleanness. Male residents in +their shirt sleeves lounge against the several entrances. Bedraggled women +nurse dirty infants and sit in groups upon the stone steps, rendering them +almost impassable. But to-night a thing had happened in Wyatt’s Buildings which +had awakened in the inhabitants, hardened to sordid crime, a sort of torpid +interest. +</p> + +<p> +Faces peered from most of the windows which commanded a view of the courtyard, +looking like pallid blotches against the darkness; but a number of police +confined the loungers within their several doorways, so that the yard itself +was comparatively clear. +</p> + +<p> +I had had some difficulty in forcing a way through the crowd which thronged the +entrance, but finally I found myself standing beside Inspector Bristol and +looking down upon that which had brought us both to Wyatt’s Buildings. +</p> + +<p> +There was no moon that night, and only the light of the lamp in the archway, +with some faint glimmers from the stairways surrounding the court, reached the +dirty paving. Bristol directed the light of a pocket-lamp upon the hunched-up +figure which lay in the dust, and I saw it to be that of a dwarfish creature, +yellow skinned and wearing only a dark loin cloth. He had a malformed and +disproportionate head, a head that had been too large even for a big man. I +knew after first glance that this was one of the horrible dwarfs employed by +the Hashishin in their murderous business. It might even be the one who had +killed Deeping; but this was impossible to determine by reason of the fact that +the hideous, swollen head, together with the features, was completely crushed. +I shall not describe the creature’s appearance in further detail. +</p> + +<p> +Having given me an opportunity to examine the dead dwarf, Bristol returned the +electric lamp to his pocket and stood looking at me in the semi-gloom. A +constable stood on duty quite near to us, and others guarded the archway and +the doors to the dwellings. The murmur of subdued voices echoed hollowly in the +wells of the staircases, and a constant excited murmur proceeded from the crowd +at the entrance. No pressmen had yet been admitted, though numbers of them were +at the gates. +</p> + +<p> +“It happened less than an hour ago,” said Bristol. “The place was much as you +see it now, and from what I can gather there came the sound of a shot and +several people saw the dwarf fall through the air and drop where he lies!” +</p> + +<p> +The light was insufficient to show the expression upon the speaker’s face, but +his voice told of a great wonder. +</p> + +<p> +“It is a bit like an Indian conjuring trick,” I said, looking up to the sky +above us; “who fired the shot?” +</p> + +<p> +“So far,” replied Bristol, “I have failed to find out; but there’s a bullet in +the thing’s head. He was dead before he reached the pavement.” +</p> + +<p> +“Did no one see the flash of the pistol?” +</p> + +<p> +“No one that I have got hold of yet. Of course this kind of evidence is very +unreliable; these people regularly go out of their way to mislead the police.” +</p> + +<p> +“You think the body may have been carried here from somewhere else?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, no; this is where it fell, right enough. You can see where his head struck +the stones.” +</p> + +<p> +“He has not been moved at all?” +</p> + +<p> +“No; I shall not move him until I’ve worked out where in heaven’s name he can +have fallen from! You and I have seen some mysterious things happen, Mr. +Cavanagh, since the slipper of the Prophet came to England and brought these +people”—he nodded toward the thing at our feet—“in its train; but +this is the most inexplicable incident to date. I don’t know what to make of it +at all. Quite apart from the question of where the dwarf fell from, who shot at +him and why?” +</p> + +<p> +“Have you no theory?” I asked. “The incident to my mind points directly to one +thing. We know that this uncanny creature belonged to the organization of +Hassan of Aleppo. We know that Hassan implacably pursues one object—the +slipper. In pursuit of the slipper, then, the dwarf came here. +Bristol!”—I laid my hand upon his arm, glancing about me with a very real +apprehension—“the slipper must be somewhere near!” +</p> + +<p> +Bristol turned to the constable standing hard by. +</p> + +<p> +“Remain here,” he ordered. Then to me: “I should like you to come up on to the +roof. From there we can survey the ground and perhaps arrive at some +explanation of how the dwarf came to fall upon that spot.” +</p> + +<p> +Passing the constable on duty at one of the doorways and making our way through +the group of loiterers there, we ascended amid conflicting odours to the +topmost floor. A ladder was fixed against the wall communicating with a trap in +the ceiling. Several individuals in their shirt sleeves and all smoking clay +pipes had followed us up. Bristol turned upon them. +</p> + +<p> +“Get downstairs,” he said—“all the lot of you, and stop there!” +</p> + +<p> +With muttered imprecations our audience dispersed, slowly returning by the way +they had come. Bristol mounted the ladder and opened the trap. Through the +square opening showed a velvet patch spangled with starry points. As he passed +up on to the roof and I followed him, the comparative cleanness of the air was +most refreshing after the varied fumes of the staircase. +</p> + +<p> +Side by side we leaned upon the parapet looking down into the dirty courtyard +which was the theatre of this weird mystery; looking down upon the stage, +sordidly Western, where a mystic Eastern tragedy had been enacted. +</p> + +<p> +I could see the constable standing beside the crushed thing upon the stones. +</p> + +<p> +“Now,” said Bristol, with a sort of awe in his voice, “where did he fall from?” +</p> + +<p> +And at his words, looking down at the spot where the dwarf lay, and noting that +he could not possibly have fallen there from any of the buildings surrounding +the courtyard, an eerie sensation crept over me; for I was convinced that the +happening was susceptible of no natural explanation. +</p> + +<p> +I had heard—who has not heard?—of the Indian rope trick, where a +fakir throws a rope into the air which remains magically suspended whilst a boy +climbs upward and upward until he disappears into space. I had never credited +accounts of the performance; but now I began seriously to wonder if the arts of +Hassan of Aleppo were not as great or greater than the arts of fakir. But the +crowning mystery to my mind was that of the Hashishin’s death. It would seem +that as he had hung suspended in space he had been shot! +</p> + +<p> +“You say that someone heard the sound of the shot?” I asked suddenly. +</p> + +<p> +“Several people,” replied Bristol; “but no one knows, or no one will say, from +what direction it came. I shall go on with the inquiry, of course, and +cross-examine every soul in Wyatt’s Buildings. Meanwhile, I’m open to confess +that I am beaten.” +</p> + +<p> +In the velvet sky countless points blazed tropically. The hum of the traffic in +Waterloo Road reached us only in a muffled way. Sordidness lay beneath us, but +up there under the heavens we seemed removed from it as any Babylonian +astronomer communing with the stars. +</p> + +<p> +When, some ten minutes later, I passed out into the noise of Waterloo Road, I +left behind me an unsolved mystery and took with me a great dread; for I knew +that the quest of the sacred slipper was not ended, I knew that another tragedy +was added to its history—and I feared to surmise what the future might +hold for all of us. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap17"></a> +CHAPTER XVII<br/> +THE WOMAN WITH THE BASKET</h2> + +<p> +Deep in thought respecting the inexplicable nature of this latest mystery, I +turned in the direction of the bridge, and leaving behind me an ever-swelling +throng at the gate of Wyatt’s Buildings, proceeded westward. +</p> + +<p> +The death of the dwarf had lifted the case into the realms of the marvellous, +and I noted nothing of the bustle about me, for mentally I was still surveying +that hunched-up body which had fallen out of empty space. +</p> + +<p> +Then in upon my preoccupation burst a woman’s scream! +</p> + +<p> +I aroused myself from reverie, looking about to right and left. Evidently I had +been walking slowly, for I was less than a hundred yards from Wyatt’s +Buildings, and hard by the entrance to an uninviting alley from which I thought +the scream had proceeded. +</p> + +<p> +And as I hesitated, for I had no desire to become involved in a drunken brawl, +again came the shrill scream: “Help! help!” +</p> + +<p> +I cannot say if I was the only passer-by who heard the cry; certainly I was the +only one who responded to it. I ran down the narrow street, which was +practically deserted, and heard windows thrown up as I passed for the cries for +help continued. +</p> + +<p> +Just beyond a patch of light cast by a street lamp a scene was being enacted +strange enough at any time and in any place, but doubly singular at that hour +of the night, or early morning, in a lane off the Waterloo Road. +</p> + +<p> +An old woman, from whose hand a basket of provisions had fallen, was struggling +in the grasp of a tall Oriental! He was evidently trying to stifle her screams +and at the same time to pinion her arms behind her! +</p> + +<p> +I perceived that there was more in this scene than met the eye. Oriental +footpads are rarities in the purlieus of Waterloo Road. So much was evident; +and since I carried a short, sharp argument in my pocket, I hastened to advance +it. +</p> + +<p> +At the sight of the gleaming revolver barrel the man, who was dressed in dark +clothes and wore a turban, turned and ran swiftly off. I had scarce a glimpse +of his pallid brown face ere he was gone, nor did the thought of pursuit enter +my mind. I turned to the old woman, who was dressed in shabby black and who was +rearranging her thick veil in an oddly composed manner, considering the nature +of the adventure that had befallen her. +</p> + +<p> +She picked up her basket, and turned away. Needless to say I was rather shocked +at her callous ingratitude, for she offered no word of thanks, did not even +glance in my direction, but made off hurriedly toward Waterloo Road. +</p> + +<p> +I had been on the point of inquiring if she had sustained any injury, but I +checked the words and stood looking after her in blank wonderment. Then my +ideas were diverted into a new channel. I perceived, as she passed under an +adjacent lamp, that her basket contained provisions such as a woman of her +appearance would scarcely be expected to purchase. I noted a bottle of wine, a +chicken, and a large melon. +</p> + +<p> +The nationality of the assailant from the first had marked the affair for no +ordinary one, and now a hazy notion of what lay behind all this began to come +to me. +</p> + +<p> +Keeping well in the shadows on the opposite side of the way, I followed the +woman with the basket. The lane was quite deserted; for, the disturbance over, +those few residents who had raised their windows had promptly lowered them +again. She came out into Waterloo Road, crossed over, and stood waiting by a +stopping-place for electric cars. I saw her arranging a cloth over her basket +in such a way as effectually to conceal the contents. A strong mental +excitement possessed me. The detective fever claims us all at one time or +another, I think, and I had good reason for pursuing any inquiry that promised +to lead to the elucidation of the slipper mystery. A theory, covering all the +facts of the assault incident, now presented itself, and I stood back in the +shadow, watchful; in a degree, exultant. +</p> + +<p> +A Greenwich-bound car was hailed by the woman with the basket. I could not be +mistaken, I felt sure, in my belief that she cast furtive glances about her as +she mounted the steps. But, having seen her actually aboard, my attention +became elsewhere engaged. +</p> + +<p> +All now depended upon securing a cab before the tram car had passed from view! +</p> + +<p> +I counted it an act of Providence that a disengaged taxi appeared at that +moment, evidently bound for Waterloo Station. I ran out into the road with cane +upraised. +</p> + +<p> +As the man drew up— +</p> + +<p> +“Quick!” I cried. “You see that Greenwich car—nearly at the Ophthalmic +Hospital? Follow it. Don’t get too near. I will give you further instructions +through the tube.” I leapt in. We were off! +</p> + +<p> +The rocking car ahead was rounding the bend now toward St. George’s Circus. As +it passed the clock and entered South London Road it stopped. I raised the +tube. +</p> + +<p> +“Pass it slowly!” +</p> + +<p> +We skirted the clock tower, and bore around to the right. Then I drew well back +in the corner of the cab. +</p> + +<p> +The woman with the basket was descending! “Pull up a few yards beyond!” I +directed. As the car re-started, and passed us, the taxi became stationary. I +peered out of the little window at the back. +</p> + +<p> +The woman was returning in the direction of Waterloo Road! +</p> + +<p> +“Drive slowly back along Waterloo Road,” was my next order. “Pretend you are +looking for a fare; I will keep out of sight.” +</p> + +<p> +The man nodded. It was unlikely that any one would notice the fact that the cab +was engaged. +</p> + +<p> +I was borne back again upon my course. The woman kept to the right, and, once +we were entered into the straight road which leads to the bridge, I again +raised the speaking-tube. +</p> + +<p> +“Pull up,” I said. “On the right-hand side is an old woman carrying a basket, +fifty yards ahead. Do you see her? Keep well behind, but don’t lose sight of +her.” +</p> + +<p> +The man drew up again and sat watching the figure with the basket until it was +almost lost from sight. Then slowly we resumed our way. I would have continued +the pursuit afoot now, but I feared that my quarry might again enter a vehicle. +She did not do so, however, but coming abreast of the turning in which the +mysterious assault had taken place, she crossed the road and disappeared from +view. +</p> + +<p> +I leapt out of the cab, thrust half a crown into the man’s hand, and ran on to +the corner. The night was now far advanced, and I knew that the chances of +detection were thereby increased. But the woman seemed to have abandoned her +fears, and I saw her just ahead of me walking resolutely past the lamp beyond +which a short time earlier she had met with a dangerous adventure. +</p> + +<p> +Since the opposite side of the street was comparatively in darkness, I slipped +across, and in a state of high nervous tension pursued this strange work of +espionage. I was convinced that I had forestalled Bristol and that I was hot +upon the track of those who could explain the mystery of the dead dwarf. +</p> + +<p> +The woman entered the gate of the block of dwellings even more forbidding in +appearance than those which that night had staged a dreadful drama. +</p> + +<p> +As the figure with the basket was lost from view I crept on, and in turn +entered the evil-smelling hallway. I stepped cautiously, and standing beneath a +gaslight protected by a wire frame, I congratulated myself upon having reached +that point of vantage as silently as any Sioux stalker. +</p> + +<p> +Footsteps were receding up the stone stairs. Craning my neck, I peered up the +well of the staircase. I could not see the woman, but from the sound of her +tread it was possible to count the landings which she passed. When she had +reached the fourth, and I heard her step upon yet another flight, I knew that +she must be bound for the topmost floor; and observing every precaution, almost +holding my breath in a nervous endeavour to make not the slightest sound, +rapidly I mounted the stairs. +</p> + +<p> +I was come to the third landing in this secret fashion when quite distinctly I +heard the grating of a key in a lock! +</p> + +<p> +Since four doors opened upon each of the landings, at all costs, I thought, I +must learn by which door she entered. +</p> + +<p> +Throwing caution to the winds I raced up the remaining flights ... and there at +the top the woman confronted me, with blazing eyes!—with eyes that +thrilled every nerve; for they were violet eyes, the only truly violet eyes I +have ever seen! They were the eyes of the woman who like a charming, mocking +will-o’-the-wisp had danced through this tragic scene from the time that poor +Professor Deeping had brought the Prophet’s slipper to London up to this +present hour! +</p> + +<p> +There at the head of those stone steps in that common dwelling-house I knew +her—and in the violet eyes it was written that she knew, and feared, me! +</p> + +<p> +“What do you want? Why are you following me?” +</p> + +<p> +She made no endeavour to disguise her voice. Almost, I think, she spoke the +words involuntarily. +</p> + +<p> +I stood beside her. Quickly as she had turned from the door at my ascent, I had +noted that it was that numbered forty-eight which she had been about to open. +</p> + +<p> +“You waste words,” I said grimly. “Who lives there?” +</p> + +<p> +I nodded in the direction of the doorway. The violet eyes watched me with an +expression in their depths which I find myself wholly unable to describe. Fear +predominated, but there was anger, too, and with it a sort of entreaty which +almost made me regret that I had taken this task upon myself. From beneath the +shabby black hat escaped an errant lock of wavy hair wholly inconsistent with +the assumed appearance of the woman. The flickering gaslight on the landing +sought out in that wonderful hair shades which seemed to glow with the soft +light seen in the heart of a rose. The thick veil was raised now and all +attempts at deception abandoned. At bay she faced me, this secret woman whom I +knew to hold the key to some of the darkest places which we sought to explore. +</p> + +<p> +“I live there,” she said slowly. “What do you want with me?” +</p> + +<p> +“I want to know,” I replied, “for whom are those provisions in your basket?” +</p> + +<p> +She watched me fixedly. +</p> + +<p> +“And I want to know,” I continued, “something that only you can tell me. We +have met before, madam, but you have always eluded me. This time you shall not +do so. There’s much I have to ask of you, but particularly I want to know who +killed the Hashishin who lies dead at no great distance from here!” +</p> + +<p> +“How can I tell you that? Of what are you speaking?” +</p> + +<p> +Her voice was low and musical; that of a cultured woman. She evidently +recognized the futility of further subterfuge in this respect. +</p> + +<p> +“You know quite well of what I am speaking! You know that you can tell me if +any one can! The fact that you go disguised alone condemns you! Why should I +remind you of our previous meetings—of the links which bind you to the +history of the Prophet’s slipper?” She shuddered and closed her eyes. “Your +present attitude is a sufficient admission!” +</p> + +<p> +She stood silent before me, with something pitiful in her pose—a +wonderfully pretty woman, whose disarranged hair and dilapidated hat could not +mar her beauty; whose clumsy, ill-fitting garments could not conceal her lithe +grace. +</p> + +<p> +Our altercation had not thus far served to arouse any of the inhabitants and on +that stuffy landing, beneath the flickering gaslight, we stood alone, a group +of two which epitomized strange things. +</p> + +<p> +Then, with that quietly dramatic note which marks real life entrances and +differentiates them from the loudly acclaimed episodes of the stage, a third +actor took up his cue. +</p> + +<p> +“Both hands, Mr. Cavanagh!” directed an American voice. +</p> + +<p> +Nerves atwitch, I started around in its direction. +</p> + +<p> +From behind the slightly opened door of No. 48 protruded a steel barrel, +pointed accurately at my head! +</p> + +<p> +I hesitated, glancing from the woman toward the open door. +</p> + +<p> +“Do it quick!” continued the voice incisively. “You are up against a desperate +man, Mr. Cavanagh. Raise your hands. Carneta, relieve Mr. Cavanagh of his gun!” +</p> + +<p> +Instantly the girl, with deft fingers, had obtained possession of my revolver. +</p> + +<p> +“Step inside,” said the crisp, strident voice. Knowing myself helpless and +quite convinced that I was indeed in the clutches of desperate people, I +entered the doorway, the door being held open from within. She whom I had heard +called Carneta followed. The door was reclosed; and I found myself in a +perfectly bare and dim passageway. From behind me came the order— +</p> + +<p> +“Go right ahead!” +</p> + +<p> +Into a practically unfurnished room, lighted by one gas jet, I walked. Some +coarse matting hung before the two windows and a fairly large grip stood on the +floor against one wall. A gas-ring was in the hearth, together with a few cheap +cooking utensils. +</p> + +<br/> +<p> +I turned and faced the door. First entered Carneta, carrying the basket; then +came a man with a revolver in his left hand and his right arm strapped across +his chest and swathed in bandages. One glance revealed the fact that his right +hand had been severed—revealed the fact, though I knew it already, that +my captor was Earl Dexter. +</p> + +<p> +He looked even leaner than when I had last seen him. I had no doubt that his +ghastly wound had occasioned a tremendous loss of blood. His gaunt face was +positively emaciated, but the steely gray eyes had lost nothing of their +brightness. There was a good deal about Mr. Earl Dexter, the cracksman, that +any man must have admired. +</p> + +<p> +“Shut the door, Carneta,” he said quietly. His companion closed the door and +Dexter sat down on the grip, regarding me with his oddly humorous smile. +</p> + +<p> +“You’re a visitor I did not expect, Mr. Cavanagh,” he said. “I expected someone +worse. You’ve interfered a bit with my plans but I don’t know that I can’t +rearrange things satisfactorily. I don’t think I’ll stop for supper, +though—” He glanced at the girl, who stood silent by the door. +</p> + +<p> +“Just pack up the provisions,” he directed, nodding toward the basket—“in +the next room.” +</p> + +<p> +She departed without a word. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s a noticeable dust coat you’re wearing, Mr. Cavanagh,” said the +American; “it gives me a great notion. I’m afraid I’ll have to borrow it.” +</p> + +<p> +He glanced, smiling, at the revolver in his left hand and back again to me. +There was nothing of the bully about him, nothing melodramatic; but I took off +the coat without demur and threw it across to him. +</p> + +<p> +“It will hide this stump,” he said grimly; “and any of the Hashishin gentlemen +who may be on the look-out—though I rather fancy the road is clear at the +moment—will mistake me for you. See the idea? Carneta will be in a cab +and I’ll be in after her and away before they’ve got time to so much as +whistle.” +</p> + +<p> +Very awkwardly he got into the coat. +</p> + +<p> +“She’s a clever girl, Carneta,” he said. “She’s doctored me all along since +those devils cut my hand off.” +</p> + +<p> +As he finished speaking Carneta returned. +</p> + +<p> +She had discarded her rags and wore a large travelling coat and a fashionable +hat. +</p> + +<p> +“Ready?” asked Dexter. “We’ll make a rush for it. We meant to go to-night +anyway. It’s getting too hot here!” He turned to me. +</p> + +<p> +“Sorry to say,” he drawled, “I’ll have to tie you up and gag you. Apologize; +but it can’t be helped.” +</p> + +<p> +Carneta nodded and went out of the room again, to return almost immediately +with a line that looked as though it might have been employed for drying +washing. +</p> + +<p> +“Hands behind you,” rapped Dexter, toying with the revolver—“and think +yourself lucky you’ve got two!” +</p> + +<p> +There was no mistaking the manner of man with whom I had to deal, and I obeyed; +but my mind was busy with a hundred projects. Very neatly the girl bound my +wrists, and in response to a slight nod from Dexter threw the end of the line +up over a beam in the sloping ceiling, for the room was right under the roof, +and drew it up in such a way that, my wrists being raised behind me, I became +utterly helpless. It was an ingenious device indicating considerable +experience. +</p> + +<p> +“Just tie his handkerchief around his mouth,” directed Dexter: “that will keep +him quiet long enough for our purpose. I hope you will be released soon, Mr. +Cavanagh,” he added. “Greatly regret the necessity.” +</p> + +<p> +Carneta bound the handkerchief over my mouth. +</p> + +<p> +Dexter extinguished the gas. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Cavanagh,” he said, “I’ve gone through hell and I’ve lost the most useful +four fingers and a thumb in the United States to get hold of the Prophet’s +slipper. Any one can have it that’s open to pay for it—but I’ve got to +retire on the deal, so I’ll drive a hard bargain! Good-night!” +</p> + +<p> +There was a sound of retreating footsteps, and I heard the entrance door close +quietly. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap18"></a> +CHAPTER XVIII<br/> +WHAT CAME THROUGH THE WINDOW</h2> + +<p> +I had not been in my unnatural position for many minutes before I began to +suffer agonies, agonies not only physical but mental; for standing there like +some prisoner of the Inquisition, it came to me how this dismantled apartment +must be the focus of the dreadful forces of Hassan of Aleppo! +</p> + +<p> +That Earl Dexter had the slipper of the Prophet I no longer doubted, and that +he had sustained, in this dwelling beneath the roof, an uncanny siege during +the days which had passed since the theft from the Antiquarian Museum, was +equally certain. Helpless, gagged, I pictured those hideous creatures, evil +products of the secret East, who might, nay, who must surround that place! I +thought of the horrible little yellow man who lay dead in Wyatt’s Buildings; +and it became evident to me that the house in which I was now imprisoned must +overlook the back of those unsavoury tenements. The windows, sack-covered now, +no doubt commanded a view of the roofs of the buildings. One of the mysteries +that had puzzled us was solved. It was Earl Dexter who had shot the yellow +dwarf as he was bound for this very room! But how humanly the Hashishin had +proposed to gain his goal, how he had travelled through empty space—for +from empty space the shot had brought him down—I could not imagine. +</p> + +<p> +I knew something of the almost supernatural attributes of these people. From +Professor Deeping’s book I knew of the incredible feats which they could +perform when under the influence of the drug hashish. From personal experience +also I knew that they had powers wholly abnormal. +</p> + +<p> +The pain in my arms and back momentarily increased. An awesome silence ruled. I +tortured myself with pictures of murderous yellow men possessed of the power +claimed by the Mahatmas, of levitation. Mentally I could see a distorted +half-animal creature carrying a great gleaming knife and floating +supernaturally toward me through the night! +</p> + +<p> +A soft pattering sound became perceptible on the sloping roof above! +</p> + +<p> +I think I have never known such intense and numbing fear as that which now +descended upon me. Perhaps I may be forgiven it. A more dreadful situation it +would be hard to devise. Knowing that I was on the fifth story of a house, +bound, helpless, I knew, too, that a second mystic guardian of the slipper was +come to accomplish the task in which the first had failed! +</p> + +<p> +I began to pray fervently. +</p> + +<p> +Neither of the windows were closed; and now through the intense darkness I +heard one of them being raised up—up—up... +</p> + +<p> +The sacking was pulled aside inch by inch. +</p> + +<p> +Silhouetted against the faintly luminous background I saw a hunched, unnatural +figure. The real was more dreadful even than the imaginary—for some stray +beam of light touched into cold radiance a huge curved knife which the visitant +held between his teeth! +</p> + +<p> +My fear became a madness, and I twisted my body violently in a wild endeavour +to free myself. A dreadful pain shot through my left shoulder, and the whole +nightmare scene—the thing with the knife at the window—the +low-ceiled room-began to fade away from me. I seemed to be falling into deep +water. +</p> + +<p> +A splintering crash and the sound of shouting formed my last recollections ere +unconsciousness came. +</p> + +<p> +I found myself lying in an armchair with Bristol forcing brandy between my +lips. My left arm hung limply at my side and the pain in my dislocated shoulder +was excruciating. +</p> + +<p> +“Thank God you are all right, Mr. Cavanagh!” said the inspector. “I got the +surprise of my life when we smashed the door in and found you tied up here!” +</p> + +<p> +“You came none too soon,” I said feebly. “God knows how Providence directed you +here.” +</p> + +<p> +“Providence it was,” replied Bristol. “From the roof of Wyatt’s +Buildings—you know the spot?—I saw the second yellow devil coming. +By God! They meant to have it to-night! They don’t value their lives a brass +farthing against that damned slipper!” +</p> + +<p> +“But how—” +</p> + +<p> +“Along the telegraph-wires, Mr. Cavanagh! They cross Wyatt’s Buildings and +cross this house. It was a moonless night or we should have seen it at once! I +watched him, saw him drop to this roof—and brought the men around to the +front.” +</p> + +<p> +“Did he, that awful thing, escape?” +</p> + +<p> +“He dropped full forty feet into a tree—from the tree to the ground, and +went off like a cat!” +</p> + +<p> +“Earl Dexter has escaped us,” I said, “and he has the slipper!” +</p> + +<p> +“God help him!” replied Bristol. “For by now he has that hell-pack at his +heels! What a case! Heavens above, it will drive me mad!” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap19"></a> +CHAPTER XIX<br/> +A RAPPING AT MIDNIGHT</h2> + +<p> +Inspector Bristol finished his whisky at a gulp and stood up, a tall, massive +figure, stretching himself and yawning. +</p> + +<p> +“The detective of fiction would be hard at work on this case, now,” he said, +smiling, “but I don’t even pretend to be. I am at a standstill and I don’t care +who knows it.” +</p> + +<p> +“You have absolutely no clue to the whereabouts of Earl Dexter?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not the slightest, Mr. Cavanagh. You hear a lot about the machinery of the +law, but as a matter of fact, looking for a clever man hidden in London is a +good deal like looking for a needle in a haystack. Then, he may have been +bluffing when he told you he had the Prophet’s slipper. He’s already had his +hand cut off through interfering with the beastly thing, and I really can’t +believe he would take further chances by keeping it in his possession. +Nevertheless, I should like to find him.” +</p> + +<p> +He leaned back against the mantelpiece, scratching his head perplexedly. In +this perplexity he had my sympathy. No such pursuit, I venture to say, had ever +before been required of Scotland Yard as this of the slipper of the Prophet. An +organization founded in 1090, which has made a science of assassination, which +through the centuries has perfected the malign arts, which, lingering on in a +dark spot in Syria, has suddenly migrated and established itself in London, is +a proposition almost unthinkable. +</p> + +<p> +It was hard to believe that even the daring American cracksman should have +ventured to touch that blood-stained relic of the Prophet, that he should have +snatched it away from beneath the very eyes of the fanatics who fiercely +guarded it. What he hoped to gain by his possession of the slipper was not +evident, but the fact remained that if he could be believed, he had it, and +provided Scotland Yard’s information was accurate, he still lurked in hiding +somewhere in London. +</p> + +<p> +Meanwhile, no clue offered to his hiding-place, and despite the ceaseless +vigilance of the men acting under Bristol’s orders, no trace could be found of +Hassan of Aleppo nor of his fiendish associates. +</p> + +<p> +“My theory is,” said Bristol, lighting a cigarette, “that even Dexter’s +cleverness has failed to save him. He’s probably a dead man by now, which +accounts for our failing to find him; and Hassan of Aleppo has recovered the +slipper and returned to the East, taking his gruesome company with +him—God knows how! But that accounts for our failing to find him.” +</p> + +<p> +I stood up rather wearily. Although poor Deeping had appointed me legal +guardian of the relic, and although I could render but a poor account of my +stewardship, let me confess that I was anxious to take that comforting theory +to my bosom. I would have given much to have known beyond any possibility of +doubt that the accursed slipper and its blood-lustful guardian were far away +from England. Had I known so much, life would again have had something to offer +me besides ceaseless fear, endless watchings. I could have slept again, +perhaps; without awaking, clammy, peering into every shadow, listening, nerves +atwitch to each slightest sound disturbing the night; without groping beneath +the pillow for my revolver. +</p> + +<p> +“Then you think,” I said, “that the English phase of the slipper’s history is +closed? You think that Dexter, minus his right hand, has eluded British +law—that Hassan and Company have evaded retribution?” +</p> + +<p> +“I do!” said Bristol grimly, “and although that means the biggest failure in my +professional career, I am glad—damned glad!” +</p> + +<p> +Shortly afterward he took his departure; and I leaned from the window, watching +him pass along the court below and out under the arch into Fleet Street. He was +a man whose opinions I valued, and in all sincerity I prayed now that he might +be right; that the surcease of horror which we had recently experienced after +the ghastly tragedies which had clustered thick about the haunted slipper, +might mean what he surmised it to mean. +</p> + +<p> +The heat to-night was very oppressive. A sort of steaming mist seemed to rise +from the court, and no cooling breeze entered my opened windows. The clamour of +the traffic in Fleet Street came to me but remotely. Big Ben began to strike +midnight. So far as I could see, residents on the other stairs were all abed +and a velvet shadow carpet lay unbroken across three parts of the court. The +sky was tropically perfect, cloudless, and jewelled lavishly. Indeed, we were +in the midst of an Indian summer; it seemed that the uncanny visitants had +brought, together with an atmosphere of black Eastern deviltry, something, too, +of the Eastern climate. +</p> + +<p> +The last stroke of the Cathedral bell died away. Other more distant bells still +were sounding dimly, but save for the ceaseless hum of the traffic, no unusual +sound now disturbed the archaic peace of the court. +</p> + +<p> +I returned to my table, for during the time that had passed I had badly +neglected my work and now must often labour far into the night. I was just +reseated when there came a very soft rapping at the outer door! +</p> + +<p> +No doubt my mood was in part responsible, but I found myself thinking of Poe’s +weird poem, “The Raven”; and like the character therein I found myself +hesitating. +</p> + +<p> +I stole quietly into the passage. It was in darkness. How odd it is that in +moments of doubt instinctively one shuns the dark and seeks the light. I +pressed the switch lighting the hall lamp, and stood looking at the closed +door. +</p> + +<p> +Why should this late visitor have rapped in so uncanny a fashion in preference +to ringing the bell? +</p> + +<p> +I stepped back to my table and slipped a revolver into my pocket. +</p> + +<p> +The muffled rapping was repeated. As I stood in the study doorway I saw the +flap of the letter-box slowly raised! +</p> + +<p> +Instantly I extinguished both lights. You may brand me as childishly timid, but +incidents were fresh in my memory which justified all my fears. +</p> + +<p> +A faintly luminous slit in the door showed me that the flap was now fully +raised. It was the dim light on the stairway shining through. Then quite +silently the flap was lowered. Came the soft rapping again. +</p> + +<p> +“Who’s there?” I cried. +</p> + +<p> +No one answered. +</p> + +<p> +Wondering if I were unduly alarming myself, yet, I confess, strung up tensely +in anticipation that this was some device of the phantom enemy, I stood in +doubt. +</p> + +<p> +The silence remained unbroken for thirty seconds or more. Then yet again it was +disturbed by that ghostly, muffled rapping. +</p> + +<p> +I advanced a step nearer to the door. +</p> + +<p> +“Who’s there?” I cried loudly. “What do you want?” +</p> + +<p> +The flap of the letter box began to move, and I formed a sudden determination. +Making no sound in my heelless Turkish slippers I crept close up to the door +and dropped upon my knees. +</p> + +<p> +Thereupon the flap became fully lifted, but from where I crouched beneath it I +was unable to see who or what was looking in; yet I hesitated no longer. I +suddenly raised myself and thrust the revolver barrel through the opening! +</p> + +<p> +“Who are you?” I cried. “Answer or I fire!”—and along the barrel I peered +out on to the landing. +</p> + +<p> +Still no one answered. But something impalpable—a powder—a +vapour—to this hour I do not know what—enveloped me with its +nauseating fumes; was puffed fully into my face! My eyes, my mouth, my nostrils +became choked up, it seemed, with a deadly stifling perfume. +</p> + +<p> +Wildly, feeling that everything about me was slipping away, that I was sinking +into a void, for ought I knew that of dissolution, I pulled the trigger once, +twice, thrice... +</p> + +<p> +“My God!”—the words choked in my throat and I reeled back into the +passage—“it’s not loaded!” +</p> + +<p> +I threw up my arms to save myself, lurched, and fell forward into what seemed a +bottomless pit. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap20"></a> +CHAPTER XX<br/> +THE GOLDEN PAVILION</h2> + +<p> +When I opened my eyes it was to a conviction that I dreamed. I lay upon a +cushioned divan in a small apartment which I find myself at a loss adequately +to describe. +</p> + +<p> +It was a yellow room, then, its four walls being hung with yellow silk, its +floor being entirely covered by a yellow Persian carpet. One lamp, burning in a +frame of some lemon coloured wood and having its openings filled with green +glass, flooded the place with a ghastly illumination. The lamp hung by gold +chains from the ceiling, which was yellow. Several low tables of the same +lemon-hued wood as the lamp-frame stood around; they were inlaid in fanciful +designs with gleaming green stones. Turn my eyes where I would, clutch my +aching head as I might, this dream chamber would not disperse, but remained +palpable before me—yellow and green and gold. +</p> + +<p> +There was a niche behind the divan upon which I lay framed about with yellow +wood. In it stood a golden bowl and a tall pot of yellow porcelain; I lay amid +yellow cushions having golden tassels. Some of them were figured with vivid +green devices. +</p> + +<p> +To contemplate my surroundings assuredly must be to court madness. No door was +visible, no window; nothing but silk and luxury, yellow and green and gold. +</p> + +<p> +To crown all, the air was heavy with a perfume wholly unmistakable by one +acquainted with Egypt’s ruling vice. It was the reek of smouldering +hashish—a stench that seemed to take me by the throat, a vapour damnable +and unclean. I saw that a little censer, golden in colour and inset with +emeralds, stood upon the furthermost corner of the yellow carpet. From it rose +a faint streak of vapour; and I followed the course of the sickly scented smoke +upward through the still air until in oily spirals it lost itself near to the +yellow ceiling. As a sick man will study the veriest trifle I studied that wisp +of smoke, pencilled grayly against the silken draperies, the carven tables, +against the almost terrifying persistency of the yellow and green and gold. +</p> + +<p> +I strove to rise, but was overcome by vertigo and sank back again upon the +yellow cushions. I closed my eyes, which throbbed and burned, and rested my +head upon my hands. I ceased to conjecture if I dreamed or was awake. I knew +that I felt weak and ill, that my head throbbed agonizingly, that my eyes +smarted so as to render it almost impossible to keep them open, that a +ceaseless humming was in my ears. +</p> + +<p> +For some time I lay endeavouring to regain command of myself, to prepare to +face again that scene which had something horrifying in its yellowness, touched +with the green and gold. +</p> + +<p> +And when finally I reopened my eyes, I sat up with a suppressed cry. For a tall +figure in a yellow robe from beneath which peeped yellow slippers, a figure +crowned with a green turban, stood in the centre of the apartment! +</p> + +<p> +It was that of a majestic old man, white bearded, with aquiline nose, and the +fierce eagle eyes of a fanatic set upon me sternly, reprovingly. +</p> + +<p> +With folded arms he stood watching me, and I drew a sharp breath and rose +slowly to my feet. +</p> + +<p> +There amid the yellow and green and gold, amid the abominable reek of burning +hashish I stood and faced Hassan of Aleppo! +</p> + +<p> +No words came to me; I was confounded. +</p> + +<p> +Hassan spoke in that gentle voice which I had heard only once before. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Cavanagh,” he said, “I have brought you here that I might warn you. Your +police are seeking me night and day, and I am fully alive to my danger whilst I +stay in your midst. But for close upon a thousand years the Sheikh-al-jebal, +Lord of the Hashishin, has guarded the traditions and the relics of the +Prophet, Salla-’llahu ’ale yhi wasellem! I, Hassan of Aleppo, am Sheikh of the +Order to-day, and my sacred duty has brought me here.” +</p> + +<p> +The piercing gaze never left my face. I was not yet by any means my own man and +still I made no reply. +</p> + +<p> +“You have been wise,” continued Hassan, “in that you have never touched the +sacred slipper. Had you lain hands upon it, no secrecy could have availed you. +The eye of the Hashishin sees all. There is a shaft of light which the true +Believer perceives at night as he travels toward El-Medineh. It is the light +which uprises, a spiritual fire, from the tomb of the Prophet (Salla-’llahu +’aleyhi wasellem!). The relics also are radiant, though in a lesser degree.” +</p> + +<p> +He took a step toward me, spreading out his lean brown hands, palms downward. +</p> + +<p> +“A shaft of light,” he said impressively, “shines upward now from London. It is +the light of the holy slipper.” He gazed intently at the yellow drapery at the +left of the divan, but as though he were looking not at the wall but through +it. His features worked convulsively; he was a man inspired. “I see it now!” he +almost whispered—“that white light by which the guardians of the relic +may always know its resting place!” +</p> + +<p> +I managed to force words to my lips. +</p> + +<p> +“If you know where the slipper is,” I said, more for the sake of talking than +for anything else, “why do you not recover it?” +</p> + +<p> +Hassan turned his eyes upon me again. +</p> + +<p> +“Because the infidel dog,” he cried loudly, “who has soiled it with his unclean +touch, defies us—mocks us! He has suffered the loss of the offending +hand, but the evil ginn protect him; he is inspired by efreets! But God is +great and Mohammed is His only Prophet! We shall triumph; but it is written, +oh, daring infidel, that you again shall become the guardian of the slipper!” +</p> + +<p> +He spoke like some prophet of old and I stared at him fascinated. I was loth to +believe his words. +</p> + +<p> +“When again,” he continued, “the slipper shall be in the receptacle of which +you hold the key, that key must be given to me!” +</p> + +<p> +I thought I saw the drift of his words now; I thought I perceived with what +object I had been trapped and borne to this mysterious abode for whose +whereabouts the police vainly were seeking. By the exercise of the gift of +divination it would seem that Hassan of Aleppo had forecast the future history +of the accursed slipper or believed that he had done so. According to his own +words I was doomed once more to become trustee of the relic. The key of the +case at the Antiquarian Museum, to which he had prophesied the slipper’s +return, would be the price of my life! But— +</p> + +<p> +“In order that these things may be fulfilled,” he continued, “I must permit you +to return to your house. So it is written, so it shall be. Your life is in my +hands; beware when it is demanded of you that you hesitate not in yielding up +the key!” +</p> + +<p> +He raised his hands before him, making a sort of obeisance, I doubt not in the +direction of Mecca, drew aside one of the yellow hangings behind him and +disappeared, leaving me alone again in that nightmare apartment of yellow and +green and gold. A moment I stood watching the swaying curtain. Utter silence +reigned, and a sort of panic seized me infinitely greater than that occasioned +by the presence of the weird Sheikh. I felt that I must escape from the place +or that I should become raving mad. +</p> + +<p> +I leapt forward to the curtain which Hassan had raised and jerked it aside; it +had concealed a door. In this door and about level with my eyes was a kind of +little barred window through which shone a dim green light. I bent forward, +peering into the place beyond, but was unable to perceive anything save a vague +greenness. +</p> + +<p> +And as I peered, half believing that the whole episode was a dreadful, fevered +dream, the abominable fumes of hashish grew, or seemed to grow, quite suddenly +insupportable. Through the square opening, from the green void beyond, a cloud +of oily vapour, pungent, stifling, resembling that of burning Indian hemp, +poured out and enveloped me! +</p> + +<p> +With a gasping cry I fell back, fighting for breath, for a breath of clean air +unpolluted with hashish. But every inhalation drew down into my lungs the fumes +that I sought to escape from. I experienced a deathly sickness; I seemed to be +sinking into a sea of hashish, amid bubbles of yellow and green and gold, and I +knew no more until, struggling again to my feet, surrounded by utter +darkness—I struck my head on the corner of my writing-table ... for I lay +in my own study! +</p> + +<p> +My revolver, unloaded, was upon the table beside me. The night was very still. +I think it must have been near to dawn. +</p> + +<p> +“My God!” I whispered, “did I dream it all? Did I dream it all?” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap21"></a> +CHAPTER XXI<br/> +THE BLACK TUBE</h2> + +<p> +“There’s no doubt in my mind,” said Inspector Bristol, “that your experience +was real enough.” +</p> + +<p> +The sun was shining into my room now, but could not wholly disperse the cloud +of horror which lay upon it. That I had been drugged was sufficiently evident +from my present condition, and that I had been taken away from my chambers +Inspector Bristol had satisfactorily proved by an examination of the soles of +my slippers. +</p> + +<p> +“It was a clever trick,” he said. “God knows what it was they puffed into your +face through the letter box, but the devilish arts of ten centuries, we must +remember, are at the command of Hassan of Aleppo! The repetition of the trick +at the mysterious place you were taken to is particularly interesting. I should +say you won’t be in a hurry to peer through letter boxes and so forth in the +future?” +</p> + +<p> +I shook my aching head. +</p> + +<p> +“That accursed yellow room,” I replied, “stank with the fumes of hashish. It +may have been some preparation of hashish that was used to drug me.” +</p> + +<p> +Bristol stood looking thoughtfully from the window. +</p> + +<p> +“It was a nightmare business, Mr. Cavanagh,” he said; “but it doesn’t advance +our inquiry a little bit. The prophecy of the old man with the white +beard—whom you assure me to be none other than Hassan of Aleppo—is +something we cannot very well act upon. He clearly believes it himself; for he +has released you after having captured you, evidently in order that you may be +at liberty to take up your duty as trustee of the slipper again. If the slipper +really comes back to the Museum the fact will show Hassan to be something +little short of a magician. I shan’t envy you then, Mr. Cavanagh, considering +that you hold the keys of the case!” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” I replied wearily. “Poor Professor Deeping thought that he acted in my +interests and that my possession of the keys would constitute a safeguard. He +was wrong. It has plunged me into the very vortex of this ghastly affair.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is maddening,” said Bristol, “to know that Hassan and Company are snugly +located somewhere under our very noses, and that all Scotland Yard can find no +trace of them. Then to think that Hassan of Aleppo, apparently by means of some +mystical light, has knowledge of the whereabouts of the slipper and +consequently of the whereabouts of Earl Dexter (another badly wanted man) is +extremely discouraging! I feel like an amateur; I’m ashamed of myself!” +</p> + +<p> +Bristol departed in a condition of irritable uncertainty. +</p> + +<p> +My head in my hands, I sat for long after his departure, with the phantom +characters of the ghoulish drama dancing through my brain. The distorted yellow +dwarfs seemed to gibe apish before me. Severed hands clenched and unclenched +themselves in my face, and gleaming knives flashed across the mental picture. +Predominant over all was the stately figure of Hassan of Aleppo, that +benignant, remorseless being, that terrible guardian of the holy relic who +directed the murderous operations. Earl Dexter, The Stetson Man, with his +tightly bandaged arm, his gaunt, clean-shaven face and daredevil smile, +figured, too, in my feverish daydream; nor was that other character missing, +the girl with the violet eyes whose beautiful presence I had come to dread; for +like a sybil announcing destruction her appearances in the drama had almost +invariably presaged fresh tragedies. I recalled my previous meetings with this +woman of mystery. I recalled my many surmises regarding her real identity and +association with the case. I wondered why in the not very distant past I had +promised to keep silent respecting her; I wondered why up to that present +moment, knowing beyond doubt that her activities were inimical to my interests, +were criminal, I had observed that foolish pledge. +</p> + +<p> +And now my door-bell was ringing—as intuitively I had anticipated. So +certain was I of the identity of my visitor that as I walked along the passage +I was endeavouring to make up my mind how I should act, how I should receive +her. +</p> + +<p> +I opened the door; and there, wearing European garments but a green turban ... +stood Hassan of Aleppo! +</p> + +<p> +When I say that amazement robbed me of the power to speak, to move, almost to +think, I doubt not you will credit me. Indeed, I felt that modern London was +crumbling about me and that I was become involved in the fantastic mazes of one +of those Oriental intrigues such as figure in the Romance of Abu Zeyd, or with +which most European readers have been rendered familiar by the glowing pages of +“The Thousand and One Nights.” +</p> + +<p> +“Effendim,” said my visitor, “do not hesitate to act as I direct!” +</p> + +<p> +In his gloved hand he carried what appeared to be an ebony cane. He raised and +pointed it directly at me. I perceived that it was, in fact, a hollow tube. +</p> + +<p> +“Death is in my hand,” he continued; “enter slowly and I will follow you.” +</p> + +<p> +Still the sense of unreality held me thralled and my brain refused me service. +Like an hypnotic subject I walked back to my study, followed by my terrible +visitor, who reclosed the door behind him. +</p> + +<p> +He sat facing me across my littered table with the mysterious tube held loosely +in his grasp. +</p> + +<p> +How infinitely more terrifying are perils unknown than those known and +appreciated! Had a European armed with a pistol attempted a similar act of +coercion, I cannot doubt that I should have put up some sort of fight; had he +sat before me now as Hassan of Aleppo sat, with a comprehensible weapon thus +laid upon his knees, I should have taken my chance, should have attacked him +with the lamp, with a chair, with anything that came to my hand. +</p> + +<p> +But before this awful, mysterious being who was turning my life into channels +unsuspected, before that black tube with its unknown potentialities, I sat in a +kind of passive panic which I cannot attempt to describe, which I had never +experienced before and have never known since. +</p> + +<p> +“There is one about to visit you,” he said, “whom you know, whom I think you +expect. For it is written that she shall come and such events cast a shadow +before them. I, too, shall be present at your meeting!” +</p> + +<p> +His eagle eyes opened widely; they burned with fanaticism. +</p> + +<p> +“Already she is here!” he resumed suddenly, and bent as one listening. “She +comes under the archway; she crossed the courtyard—and is upon the stair! +Admit her, effendim; I shall be close behind you!” +</p> + +<p> +The door-bell rang. +</p> + +<p> +With the consciousness that the black tube was directed toward the back of my +head, I went and opened the door. My mind was at work again, and busy with +plans to terminate this impossible situation. +</p> + +<p> +On the landing stood a girl wearing a simple white frock which fitted her +graceful figure perfectly. A white straw hat, of the New York tourist type, +with a long veil draped from the back suited her delicate beauty very well. The +red mouth drooped a little at the corners, but the big violet eyes, like lamps +of the soul, seemed afire with mystic light. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Cavanagh,” she said, very calmly and deliberately, “there is only one way +now to end all this trouble. I come from the man who can return the slipper to +where it belongs; but he wants his price!” +</p> + +<p> +Her quiet speech served completely to restore my mental balance, and I noted +with admiration that her words were so chosen as to commit her in no way. She +knew quite well that thus far she might appear in the matter with impunity, and +she clearly was determined to say nothing that could imperil her. +</p> + +<p> +“Will you please come in?” I said quietly—and stood aside to admit her. +</p> + +<p> +Exhibiting wonderful composure, she entered—and there, in the badly +lighted hallway came face to face with my other visitor! +</p> + +<p> +It was a situation so dramatic as to seem unreal. +</p> + +<p> +Away from that tall figure retreated the girl with the violet eyes—and +away—until she stood with her back to the wall. Even in the gloom I could +see that her composure was deserting her; her beautiful face was pallid. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, God!” she whispered, all but inaudible—“You!” +</p> + +<p> +Hassan, grasping the black rod in his hand, signed to her to enter the study. +She stood quite near to me, with her eyes fixed upon him. I bent closer to her. +</p> + +<p> +“My revolver—in left-hand table drawer,” I breathed in her ear. “Get it. +He is watching me!” +</p> + +<p> +I could not tell if my words had been understood, for, never taking her gaze +from the Sheikh of the Assassins, she sidled into the study. I followed her; +and Hassan came last of all. Just within the doorway he stood, confronting us. +</p> + +<p> +“You have come,” he said, addressing the girl and speaking in perfect English +but with a marked accent, “to open your impudent negotiations through Mr. +Cavanagh for the return of the thrice holy relic to the Museum! Your companion, +the man, who is inspired by the Evil One, has even dared to demand ransom for +the slipper from me!” +</p> + +<p> +Hassan was majestic in his wrath; but his eyes were black with venomous hatred. +</p> + +<p> +“He has suffered the penalty which the Koran lays down; he has lost his right +hand. But the lord of all evil protects him, else ere this he had lost his +life! Move no closer to that table!” +</p> + +<p> +I started. Either Hassan of Aleppo was omniscient or he had overheard my +whispered words! +</p> + +<p> +“Easily I could slay you where you stand!” he continued. “But to do so would +profit me nothing. This meeting has been revealed to me. Last night I witnessed +it as I slept. Also it has been revealed to me by Erroohanee, in the mirror of +ink, that the slipper of the Prophet, Salla-’llahu ’ale yhi wasellem! Shall +indeed return to that place accursed, that infidel eyes may look upon it! It is +the will of Allah, whose name be exalted, that I hold my hand, but it is also +His will that I be here, at whatever danger to my worthless body.” +</p> + +<p> +He turned his blazing eyes upon me. +</p> + +<p> +“To-morrow, ere noon,” he said, “the slipper will again be in the Museum from +which the man of evil stole it. So it is written; obscure are the ways. We met +last night, you and I, but at that time much was dark to me that now is light. +The holy ’Alee spoke to me in a vision, saying: ‘There are two keys to the case +in which it will be locked. Secure one, leaving the other with him who holds +it! Let him swear to be secret. This shall be the price of his life!’” +</p> + +<p> +The black tube was pointed directly at my forehead. +</p> + +<p> +“Effendim,” concluded the speaker, “place in my hand the key of the case in the +Antiquarian Museum!” +</p> + +<p> +Hands convulsively clenched, the girl was looking from me to Hassan. My throat +felt parched, but I forced speech to my lips. +</p> + +<p> +“Your omniscience fails you,” I said. “Both keys are at my bank!” +</p> + +<p> +Blacker grew the fierce eyes—and blacker. I gave myself up for lost; I +awaited death—death by some awful, unique means—with what courage I +could muster. +</p> + +<p> +From the court below came the sound of voices, the voices of passers-by who so +little suspected what was happening near to them that had someone told them +they certainly had refused to credit it. The noise of busy Fleet Street came +drumming under the archway, too. +</p> + +<p> +Then, above all, another sound became audible. To this day I find myself unable +to define it; but it resembled the note of a silver bell. +</p> + +<p> +Clearly it was a signal; for, hearing it, Hassan dropped the tube and glanced +toward the open window. +</p> + +<p> +In that instant I sprang upon him! +</p> + +<p> +That I had to deal with a fanatic, a dangerous madman, I knew; that it was his +life or mine, I was fully convinced. I struck out then and caught him fairly +over the heart. He reeled back, and I made a wild clutch for the damnable tube, +horrid, unreasoning fear of which thus far had held me inert. +</p> + +<p> +I heard the girl scream affrightedly, and I knew, and felt my heart chill to +know, that the tube had been wrenched from my hand! Hassan of Aleppo, old man +that he appeared, had the strength of a tiger. He recovered himself and hurled +me from him so that I came to the floor crashingly half under my writing-table! +</p> + +<p> +Something he cried back at me, furiously—and like an enraged animal, his +teeth gleaming out from his beard, he darted from the room. The front door +banged loudly. +</p> + +<p> +Shaken and quivering, I got upon my feet. On the threshold, in a state of +pitiable hesitancy, stood the pale, beautiful accomplice of Earl Dexter. One +quick glance she flashed at me, then turned and ran! +</p> + +<p> +Again the door slammed. I ran to the window, looking out into the court. The +girl came hurrying down the steps, and with never a backward glance ran on and +was lost to view in one of the passages opening riverward. +</p> + +<p> +Out under the arch, statelily passed a tall figure—and Inspector Bristol +was entering! I saw the detective glance aside as the two all but met. He stood +still, and looked back! +</p> + +<p> +“Bristol!” I cried, and waved my arms frantically. +</p> + +<p> +“Stop him! Stop him! It’s Hassan of Aleppo!” +</p> + +<p> +Bristol was not the only one to hear my wild cry—not the only one to dash +back under the arch and out into Fleet Street. +</p> + +<p> +But Hassan of Aleppo was gone! +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap22"></a> +CHAPTER XXII<br/> +THE LIGHT OF EL-MEDINEH</h2> + +<p> +Bristol and I walked slowly in the direction of the entrance of the British +Antiquarian Museum. It was the day following upon the sensational scene in my +chambers. +</p> + +<p> +“There’s very little doubt,” said Bristol, “that Earl Dexter has the slipper +and that Hassan of Aleppo knows where Dexter is in hiding. I don’t know which +of the two is more elusive. Hassan apparently melted into thin air yesterday; +and although The Stetson Man has never within my experience employed disguises, +no one has set eyes upon him since the night that he vanished from his lodgings +off the Waterloo Road. It’s always possible for a man to baffle the police by +remaining closely within doors, but during all the time that has elapsed Dexter +must have taken a little exercise occasionally, and the missing hand should +have betrayed him.” +</p> + +<p> +“The wonder to me is,” I replied, “that he has escaped death at the hands of +the Hashishin. He is a supremely daring man, for I should think that he must be +carrying the slipper of the Prophet about with him!” +</p> + +<p> +“I would rather he did it than I!” commented Bristol. “For sheer audacity +commend me to The Stetson Man! His idea no doubt was to use you as intermediary +in his negotiations with the Museum authorities, but that plan failing, he has +written them direct, thoughtfully omitting his address, of course!” +</p> + +<p> +We were, in fact, at that moment bound for the Museum to inspect this latest +piece of evidence. +</p> + +<p> +“The crowning example of the man’s audacity and cleverness,” added my +companion, “is his having actually approached Hassan of Aleppo with a similar +proposition! How did he get in touch with him? All Scotland Yard has failed to +find any trace of that weird character!” +</p> + +<p> +“Birds of a feather—” I suggested. +</p> + +<p> +“But they are not birds of a feather!” cried Bristol. “On your own showing, +Hassan of Aleppo is simply waiting his opportunity to balance Dexter’s account +forever! I always knew Dexter was a clever man; I begin to think he’s the most +daring genius alive!” +</p> + +<p> +We mounted the steps of the Museum. In the hallway Mostyn, the curator, awaited +us. Having greeted Bristol and myself he led the way to his private office, and +from a pigeon-hole in his desk took out a letter typewritten upon a sheet of +quarto paper. +</p> + +<p> +Bristol spread it out upon the blotting pad and we bent over it curiously. +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +SIR— +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +I believe I can supply information concerning the whereabouts of the missing +slipper of Mohammed. As any inquiry of this nature must be extremely perilous +to the inquirer and as the relic is a priceless one, my fee would be 10,000 +pounds. The fanatics who seek to restore the slipper to the East must not know +of any negotiations, therefore I omit my address, but will communicate further +if you care to insert instructions in the agony column of Times.<br/> +<br/> +Faithfully,<br/> +EARL DEXTER +</p> + +<p> +Bristol laughed grimly. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s a daring game,” he said; “a piece of barefaced impudence quite +characteristic. +</p> + +<p> +“He’s posing as a sort of private detective now, and is prepared for a trifling +consideration to return the slipper which he stole himself! He must know, +though, that we have his severed hand at the Yard to be used in evidence +against him.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is the Burton Room open to the public again?” I asked Mostyn. +</p> + +<p> +“It is open, yes,” he replied, “and a quite unusual number of visitors come +daily to gaze at the empty case which once held the slipper of the Prophet.” +</p> + +<p> +“Has the case been mended?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes; it is quite intact again; only the exhibit is missing.” +</p> + +<p> +We ascended the stairs, passed along the Assyrian Room, which seemed to be +unusually crowded, and entered the lofty apartment known as the Burton Room. +The sunblinds were drawn, and a sort of dim, religious light prevailed therein. +A group of visitors stood around an empty case at the farther end of the +apartment. +</p> + +<p> +“You see,” said Mostyn, pointing, “that empty case has a greater attraction +than all the other full ones!” +</p> + +<p> +But I scarcely heeded his words, for I was intently watching the movements of +one of the group about the empty case. I have said that the room was but dimly +illuminated, and this fact, together no doubt with some effect of reflected +light, enhanced by my imagination, perhaps produced the phenomenon which was +occasioning me so much amazement. +</p> + +<p> +Remember that my mind was filled with memories of weird things, that I often +found myself thinking of that mystic light which Hassan of Aleppo had called +the light of El-Medineh—that light whereby, undeterred by distance, he +claimed to be able to trace the whereabouts of any of the relics of the +Prophet. +</p> + +<p> +Bristol and Mostyn walked on then; but I stood just within the doorway, +intently, breathlessly watching an old man wearing an out-of-date Inverness +coat and a soft felt hat. He had a gray beard and moustache, and long, untidy +hair, walked with a stoop, and in short was no unusual type of Visitor to that +institution. +</p> + +<p> +But it seemed to me, and the closer I watched him the more convinced I became, +that this was no optical illusion, that a faint luminosity, a sort of elfin +light, played eerily about his head! +</p> + +<p> +As Bristol and Mostyn approached the case the old man began to walk toward me +and in the direction of the door. The idea flashed through my mind that it +might be Hassan of Aleppo himself, Hassan who had predicted that the stolen +slipper should that day be returned to the Museum! +</p> + +<p> +Then he came abreast of me, passed me, and I felt that my surmise had been +wrong. I saw Bristol, from farther up the room, turn and look back. Something +attracted his trained eye, I suppose, which was not perceptible to me. But he +suddenly came striding along. Obviously he was pursuing the old man, who was +just about to leave the apartment. Seeing that the latter had reached the +doorway, Bristol began to run. +</p> + +<p> +The old man turned; and amid a chorus of exclamations from the astonished +spectators, Bristol sprang upon him! +</p> + +<p> +How it all came about I cannot say, cannot hope to describe; but there was a +short, sharp scuffle, the crack of a well-directed blow ... and Bristol was +rolling on his back, the old man, hatless, was racing up the Assyrian Room, and +everyone in the place seemed to be shouting at once! +</p> + +<p> +Bristol, with blood streaming from his face, staggered to his feet, clutching +at me for support. +</p> + +<p> +“After him, Mr. Cavanagh!” he cried hoarsely. “It’s your turn to-day! After +him! That’s Earl Dexter!” +</p> + +<p> +Mostyn waited for no more, but went running quickly through the Assyrian Room. +I may mention here that at the head of the stairs he found the caped Inverness +which had served to conceal Dexter’s mutilated arm, and later, behind a piece +of statuary, a wig and a very ingenious false beard and moustache were +discovered. But of The Stetson Man there was no trace. His brief start had +enabled him to make good his escape. +</p> + +<p> +As Mostyn went off, and a group of visitors flocked in our direction, Bristol, +who had been badly shaken by the blow, turned to them. +</p> + +<p> +“You will please all leave the Burton Room immediately,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +Looks of surprise greeted his words; but with his handkerchief raised to his +face, he peremptorily repeated them. The official note in his voice was readily +to be detected; and the wonder-stricken group departed with many a backward +glance. +</p> + +<p> +As the last left the Burton Room, Bristol pointed, with a rather shaky finger, +at the soft felt hat which lay at his feet. It had formed part of Dexter’s +disguise. Close beside it lay another object which had evidently fallen from +the hat—a dull red thing lying on the polished parquet flooring. +</p> + +<p> +“For God’s sake don’t go near it!” whispered Bristol. “The room must be closed +for the present. And now I’m off after that man. Step clear of it.” +</p> + +<p> +His words were unnecessary; I shunned it as a leprous thing. +</p> + +<p> +It was the slipper of the Prophet! +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap23"></a> +CHAPTER XXIII<br/> +THE THREE MESSAGES</h2> + +<p> +I stood in the foyer of the Astoria Hotel. About me was the pulsing stir of +transatlantic life, for the tourist season was now at its height, and I counted +myself fortunate in that I had been able to secure a room at this +establishment, always so popular with American visitors. Chatting groups +surrounded me and I became acquainted with numberless projects for visiting the +Tower of London, the National Gallery, the British Museum, Windsor Castle, Kew +Gardens, and the other sights dear to the heart of our visiting cousins. Loaded +lifts ascended and descended. Bradshaws were in great evidence everywhere; all +was hustle and glad animation. +</p> + +<p> +The tall military-looking man who stood beside me glanced about him with a +rather grim smile. +</p> + +<p> +“You ought to be safe enough here, Mr. Cavanagh!” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“I ought to be safe enough in my own chambers,” I replied wearily. “How many of +these pleasure-seeking folk would believe that a man can be as greatly in peril +of his life in Fleet Street as in the most uncivilized spot upon the world map? +Do you think if I told that prosperous New Yorker who is buying a cigar yonder, +for instance, that I had been driven from my chambers by a band of Eastern +assassins founded some time in the eleventh century, he would believe it?” +</p> + +<p> +“I am certain he wouldn’t!” replied Bristol. “I should not have credited it +myself before I was put in charge of this damnable case.” +</p> + +<p> +My position at that hour was in truth an incredible one. The sacred slipper of +Mohammed lay once more in the glass case at the Antiquarian Museum from which +Earl Dexter had stolen it. Now, with apish yellow faces haunting my dreams, +with ghostly menaces dogging me day and night, I was outcast from my own rooms +and compelled, in self-defence, to live amid the bustle of the Astoria. So +wholly nonplussed were the police authorities that they could afford me no +protection. They knew that a group of scientific murderers lay hidden in or +near to London; they knew that Earl Dexter, the foremost crook of his day, was +also in the metropolis—and they could make no move, were helpless; +indeed, as Bristol had confessed, were hopeless! +</p> + +<p> +Bristol, on the previous day, had unearthed the Greek cigar merchant, Acepulos, +who had replaced the slipper in its case (for a monetary consideration). He had +performed a similar service when the bloodstained thing had first been put upon +exhibition at the Museum, and for a considerable period had disappeared. We had +feared that his religious pretensions had not saved him from the avenging +scimitar of Hassan; but quite recently he had returned again to his Soho shop, +and in time thus to earn a second cheque. +</p> + +<p> +As Bristol and I stood glancing about the foyer of the hotel, a plain-clothes +officer whom I knew by sight came in and approached my companion. I could not +divine the fact, of course, but I was about to hear news of the money-loving +and greatly daring Graeco-Moslem. +</p> + +<p> +The detective whispered something to Bristol, and the latter started, and +paled. He turned to me. +</p> + +<p> +“They haven’t overlooked him this time, Mr. Cavanagh,” he said. “Acepulos has +been found dead in his room, nearly decapitated!” +</p> + +<p> +I shuddered involuntarily. Even there, amid the chatter and laughter of those +light-hearted tourists, the shadow of Hassan of Aleppo was falling upon me. +</p> + +<p> +Bristol started immediately for Soho and I parted from him in the Strand, he +proceeding west and I eastward, for I had occasion that morning to call at my +bank. It was the time of the year when London is full of foreigners, and as I +proceeded in the direction of Fleet Street I encountered more than one +Oriental. To my excited imagination they all seemed to glance at me furtively, +with menacing eyes, but in any event I knew that I had little to fear whilst I +contrived to keep to the crowded thoroughfares. Solitude I dreaded and with +good reason. +</p> + +<p> +Then at the door of the bank I found fresh matter for reflection. The assistant +manager, Mr. Colby, was escorting a lady to the door. As I stood aside, he +walked with her to a handsome car which waited, and handed her in with marks of +great deference. She was heavily veiled and I had no more than a glimpse of +her, but she appeared to be of middle age and had gray hair and a very stately +manner. +</p> + +<p> +I told myself that I was unduly suspicious, suspicious of everyone and of +everything; yet as I entered the bank I found myself wondering where I had seen +that dignified, grayhaired figure before. I even thought of asking the manager +the name of his distinguished customer, but did not do so, for in the +circumstances such an inquiry must have appeared impertinent. +</p> + +<p> +My business transacted, I came out again by the side entrance which opens on +the little courtyard, for this branch of the London County and Provincial Bank +occupies a corner site. +</p> + +<p> +A ragged urchin who was apparently waiting for me handed me a note. I looked at +him inquiringly. +</p> + +<p> +“For me?” I said. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir. A dark gentleman pointed you out as you was goin’ into the bank.” +</p> + +<p> +The note was written upon a half sheet of paper and, doubting if it was really +intended for me, I unfolded it and read the following— +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +Mr. Cavanagh, take the keys of the case containing the holy slipper to your +hotel this evening without fail.<br/> +HASSAN. +</p> + +<p> +“Who gave you this, boy?” I asked sharply. +</p> + +<p> +“A foreign gentleman, sir, very dark—like an Indian.” +</p> + +<p> +“Where is he?” +</p> + +<p> +“He went off in a cab, sir, after he give me the note.” +</p> + +<p> +I handed the boy sixpence and slowly pursued my way. An idea was forming in my +mind to trap the enemy by seeming acquiescent. I wondered if my movements were +being watched at that moment. Since it was more than probable, I returned to +the bank, entered, and made some trivial inquiry of a cashier, and then came +out again and walked on as far as the Report office. +</p> + +<p> +I had not been in the office more than five minutes before I received a +telegram from Inspector Bristol. It had been handed in at Soho, and the message +was an odd one. +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +CAVANAGH, Report, London.<br/> +Plot afoot to steal keys. Get them from bank and join me 11 o’clock at Astoria. +Have planned trap.<br/> +<br/> +BRISTOL. +</p> + +<p> +This was very mysterious in view of the note so recently received by me, but I +concluded that Bristol had hit upon a similar plan to that which was forming in +my own mind. It seemed unnecessarily hazardous, though, actually to withdraw +the keys from their place of safety. +</p> + +<p> +Pondering deeply upon the perplexities of this maddening case, I shortly +afterward found myself again at the bank. With the manager I descended to the +strong-room, and the safe was unlocked which contained the much-sought-for keys +of the case at the Antiquarian Museum. +</p> + +<p> +“There are the keys, quite safe!—and by the way, this is my second visit +here this morning, Mr. Cavanagh,” said the manager, with whom I was upon rather +intimate terms. “A foreign lady who has recently become a customer of the bank +deposited some valuable jewels here this morning—less than an hour ago, +in fact.” +</p> + +<p> +“Indeed,” I said, and my mind was working rapidly. “The lady who came in the +large blue car, a gray-haired lady?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” was the reply, “did you notice her, then?” +</p> + +<p> +I nodded and said no more, for in truth I had no more to say. I had good reason +to respect the uncanny powers of Hassan of Aleppo, but I doubted if even his +omniscience could tell him (since I had actually gone down into the +strong-room) whether when I emerged I had the keys, or whether my visit and +seeming acceptance of his orders had been no more than a subterfuge! +</p> + +<p> +That the Hashishin had some means of communicating with me at the Astoria was +evident from the contents of the note which I had received, and as I walked in +the direction of the hotel my mind was filled with all sorts of misgivings. I +was playing with fire! Had I done rightly or should I have acted otherwise? I +sighed wearily. The dark future would resolve all my doubts. +</p> + +<p> +When I reached the Astoria, Bristol had not arrived. I lighted a cigarette and +sat down in the lounge to await his coming. Presently a boy approached, handing +me a message which had been taken down from the telephone by the clerk. It was +as follows— +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +Tell Mr. Cavanagh, who is waiting in the hotel, to take what I am expecting to +his chambers, and say that I will join him there in twenty minutes.<br/> +<br/> +INSPECTOR BRISTOL. +</p> + +<p> +Again I doubted the wisdom of Bristol’s plan. Had I not fled to the Astoria to +escape from the dangerous solitude of my rooms? That he was laying some trap +for the Hashishin was sufficiently evident, and whilst I could not justly +suspect him of making a pawn of me I was quite unable to find any other +explanation of this latest move. +</p> + +<p> +I was torn between conflicting doubts. I glanced at my watch. Yes! There was +just time for me to revisit the bank ere joining Bristol at my chambers! I +hesitated. After all, in what possible way could it jeopardize his plans for me +merely to pretend to bring the keys? +</p> + +<p> +“Hang it all!” I said, and jumped to my feet. “These maddening conjectures will +turn my brain! I’ll let matters stand as they are, and risk the consequences!” +</p> + +<p> +I hesitated no longer, but passed out from the hotel and once more directed my +steps in the direction of Fleet Street. +</p> + +<p> +As I passed in under the arch through which streamed many busy workers, I told +myself that to dread entering my own chambers at high noon was utterly +childish. Yet I did dread doing so! And as I mounted the stair and came to the +landing, which was always more or less dark, I paused for quite a long time +before putting the key in the lock. +</p> + +<p> +The affair of the accursed slipper was playing havoc with my nerves, and I +laughed dryly to note that my hand was not quite steady as I turned the key, +opened my door, and slipped into the dim hallway. +</p> + +<p> +As I closed it behind me, something, probably a slight noise, but possibly +something more subtle—an instinct—made me turn rapidly. +</p> + +<p> +There facing me stood Hassan of Aleppo. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap24"></a> +CHAPTER XXIV<br/> +I KEEP THE APPOINTMENT</h2> + +<p> +That moment was pungent with drama. In the intense hush of the next five +seconds I could fancy that the world had slipped away from me and that I was +become an unsubstantial thing of dreams. I was in no sense master of myself; +the effect of the presence of this white-bearded fanatic was of a kind which I +am entirely unable to describe. About Hassan of Aleppo was an aroma of evil, +yet of majesty, which marked him strangely different from other men—from +any other that I have ever known. In his venerable presence, remembering how he +was Sheikh of the Assassins, and recalling his bloody history, I was always +conscious of a weakness, physical and mental. He appalled me; and now, with my +back to the door, I stood watching him and watching the ominous black tube +which he held in his hand. It was a weapon unknown to Europe and therefore more +fearful than the most up-to-date of death-dealing instruments. +</p> + +<p> +Hassan of Aleppo pointed it toward me. +</p> + +<p> +“The keys, effendim,” he said; “hand me the keys!” +</p> + +<p> +He advanced a step; his manner was imperious. The black tube was less than a +foot removed from my face. That I had my revolver in my pocket could avail me +nothing, for in my pocket it must remain, since I dared to make no move to +reach it under cover of that unfamiliar, terrible weapon. +</p> + +<p> +The black eyes of Hassan glared insanely into mine. +</p> + +<p> +“You will have placed them in your pocketcase,” he said. “Take it out; hand it +to me!” +</p> + +<p> +I obeyed, for what else could I do? Taking the case from my pocket, I placed it +in his lean brown hand. +</p> + +<p> +An expression of wild exultation crossed his features; the eagle eyes seemed to +be burning into my brain. A puff of hot vapour struck me in the +face—something which was expelled from the mysterious black tube. And +with memories crowding to my mind of similar experiences at the hands of the +Hashishin, I fell back, clutching at my throat, fighting for my life against +the deadly, vaporous thing that like a palpable cloud surrounded me. I tried to +cry out, but the words died upon my tongue. Hassan of Aleppo seemed to grow +huge before my eyes like some ginn of Eastern lore. Then a curtain of darkness +descended. I experienced a violent blow upon the forehead (I suppose I had +pitched forward), and for the time resigned my part in the drama of the sacred +slipper. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap25"></a> +CHAPTER XXV<br/> +THE WATCHER IN BANK CHAMBERS</h2> + +<p> +At about five o’clock that afternoon Inspector Bristol, who had spent several +hours in Soho upon the scene of the murder of the Greek, was walking along +Fleet Street, bound for the offices of the Report. As he passed the court, on +the corner of which stands a branch of the London County and Provincial Bank, +his eye was attracted by a curious phenomenon. +</p> + +<p> +There are reflectors above the bank windows which face the court, and it +appeared to Bristol that there was a hole in one of these, the furthermost from +the corner. A tiny beam of light shone from the bank window on to the +reflector, or from the reflector on to the window, which circumstance in itself +was not curious. But above the reflector, at an acute angle, this mysterious +beam was seemingly projected upward. Walking a little way up the court he saw +that it shone through, and cast a disc of light upon the ceiling of an office +on the first floor of Bank Chambers above. +</p> + +<p> +It is every detective’s business to be observant, and although many thousands +of passersby must have cast their eyes in the same direction that day, there is +small matter for wonder in the fact that Bristol alone took the trouble to +inquire into the mystery—for his trained eye told him that there was a +mystery here. +</p> + +<p> +Possibly he was in that passive frame of mind when the brain is particularly +receptive of trivial impressions; for after a futile search of the Soho cigar +store for anything resembling a clue, he was quite resigned to the idea of +failure in the case of Hassan and Company. He walked down the court and into +the entrance of Bank Chambers. An Inspection of the board upon the wall showed +him that the first floor apparently was occupied by three firms, two of them +legal, for this is the neighbourhood of the law courts, and the third a press +agency. He stepped up to the first floor. Past the doors bearing the names of +the solicitors and past that belonging to the press agent he proceeded to a +fourth suite of offices. Here, pinned upon the door frame, appeared a card +which bore the legend— +</p> + +<h4>THE CONGO FIBRE COMPANY</h4> + +<p> +Evidently the Congo Fibre Company had so recently taken possession of the +offices that there had been no time to inscribe their title either upon the +doors or upon the board in the hall. +</p> + +<p> +Inspector Bristol was much impressed, for into one of the rooms occupied by the +Fibre Company shone that curious disc of light which first had drawn his +attention to Bank Chambers. He rapped on the door, turned the handle, and +entered. The sole furniture of the office in which he found himself apparently +consisted of one desk and an office stool, which stool was occupied by an +office boy. The windows opened on the court, and a door marked “Private” +evidently communicated with an inner office whose windows likewise must open on +the court. It was the ceiling of this inner office, unless the detective’s +calculation erred, which he was anxious to inspect. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir?” said the boy tentatively. +</p> + +<p> +Bristol produced a card which bore the uncompromising legend: John Henry Smith. +</p> + +<p> +“Take my card to Mr. Boulter, boy,” he said tersely. The boy stared. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Boulter, sir? There isn’t any one of that name here.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh!” said Bristol, looking around him in apparent surprise: “how long is he +gone?” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know, sir. I’ve only been here three weeks, and Mr. Knowlson only took +the offices a month ago.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh,” commented Bristol, “then take my card to Mr. Knowlson; he will probably +be able to give me Mr. Boulter’s present address.” +</p> + +<p> +The boy hesitated. The detective had that authoritative manner which awes the +youthful mind. +</p> + +<p> +“He’s out, sir,” he said, but without conviction. +</p> + +<p> +“Is he?” rapped Bristol. “Well, I’ll leave my card.” +</p> + +<p> +He turned and quitted the office, carefully closing the door behind him. Three +seconds later he reopened it, and peering in, was in time to see the boy knock +upon the private door. A little wicket, or movable panel, was let down, the +card of John Henry Smith was passed through to someone unseen, and the wicket +was reclosed! +</p> + +<br/> +<p> +The boy turned and met the wrathful eye of the detective. Bristol reentered, +closing the door behind him. +</p> + +<p> +“See here, young fellow,” said he, “I don’t stand for those tricks! Why didn’t +you tell me Mr. Knowlson was in?” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m very sorry, sir!”—the boy quailed beneath his glance—“but he +won’t see any one who hasn’t an appointment.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is there someone with him, then?” +</p> + +<p> +“No.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, what’s he doing?” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know, sir; I’ve never been in to see!” +</p> + +<p> +“What! never been in that room?” +</p> + +<p> +“Never!” declared the boy solemnly. “And I don’t mind telling you,” he added, +recovering something of his natural confidence, “that I am leaving on the 31st. +This job ain’t any use to me!” +</p> + +<p> +“Too much work?” suggested Bristol. +</p> + +<p> +“No work at all!” returned the boy indignantly. “I’m just here for a blessed +buffer, that’s what I’m here for, a buffer!” +</p> + +<p> +“What do you mean?” +</p> + +<p> +“I just have to sit here and see that nobody gets into that office. Lively, +ain’t it? Where’s the prospects?” +</p> + +<p> +Bristol surveyed him thoughtfully. +</p> + +<p> +“Look here, my lad,” he said quietly; “is that door locked?” +</p> + +<p> +“Always,” replied the boy. +</p> + +<p> +“Does Mr. Knowlson come to that shutter when you knock?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then go and knock!” +</p> + +<p> +The boy obeyed with alacrity. He rapped loudly on the door, not noticing or not +caring that the visitor was standing directly behind him. The shutter was +lowered and a grizzled, bearded face showed for a moment through the opening. +</p> + +<p> +Bristol leant over the boy and pushed a card through into the hand of the man +beyond. On this occasion it did not bear the legend “John Henry Smith,” but the +following— +</p> + +<h4>CHIEF INSPECTOR BRISTOL<br/> +C.I.D.<br/> +NEW SCOTLAND YARD</h4> + +<p> +“Good afternoon, Mr. Knowlson,” said the detective dryly. “I want to come in!” +</p> + +<p> +There followed a moment of silence, from which Bristol divined that he had +blundered upon some mystery, possibly upon a big case; then a key was turned in +the lock and the door thrown open. +</p> + +<p> +“Come right in, Inspector,” invited a strident voice. “Carter, you can go +home.” +</p> + +<p> +Bristol entered warily, but not warily enough. For as the door was banged upon +his entrance he faced around only in time to find himself looking down the +barrel of a Colt automatic. +</p> + +<p> +With his back to the door which contained the wicket, now reclosed, stood the +man with the bearded face. The revolver was held in his left hand; his right +arm terminated in a bandaged stump. But without that his steel-gray eyes would +have betrayed him to the detective. +</p> + +<p> +“Good God!” whispered Bristol. “It’s Earl Dexter!” +</p> + +<p> +“It is!” replied the cracksman, “and you’ve looked in at a real inconvenient +time! My visitors mostly seem to have that knack. I’ll have to ask you to stay, +Inspector. Sit down in that chair yonder.” +</p> + +<p> +Bristol knew his man too well to think of opening any argument at that time. He +sat down as directed, and ignoring the revolver which covered him all the time, +began coolly to survey the room in which he found himself. In several respects +it was an extraordinary apartment. +</p> + +<p> +The only bright patch in the room was the shining disc upon the ceiling; and +the detective noted with interest that this marked the position of an +arrangement of mirrors. A white-covered table, entirely bare, stood upon the +floor immediately beneath this mysterious apparatus. With the exception of one +or two ordinary items of furniture and a small hand lathe, the office otherwise +was unfurnished. Bristol turned his eyes again upon the daring man who so +audaciously had trapped him—the man who had stolen the slipper of the +Prophet and suffered the loss of his hand by the scimitar of an Hashishin as a +result. When he had least expected to find one, Fate had thrown a clue in +Bristol’s way. He reflected grimly that it was like to prove of little use to +him. +</p> + +<p> +“Now,” said Dexter, “you can do as you please, of course, but you know me +pretty well and I advise you to sit quiet.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am sitting quiet!” was the reply. +</p> + +<p> +“I am sorry,” continued Dexter, with a quick glance at his maimed arm, “that I +can’t tie you up, but I am expecting a friend any moment now.” +</p> + +<p> +He suddenly raised the wicket with a twitch of his elbow and, without removing +his gaze from the watchful detective, cried sharply— +</p> + +<p> +“Carter!” +</p> + +<p> +But there was no reply. +</p> + +<p> +“Good; he’s gone!” +</p> + +<p> +Dexter sat down facing Bristol. +</p> + +<p> +“I have lost my hand in this game, Mr. Bristol,” he said genially, “and had +some narrow squeaks of losing my head; but having gone so far and lost so much +I’m going through, if I don’t meet a funeral! You see I’m up against two tough +propositions.” +</p> + +<p> +Bristol nodded sympathetically. +</p> + +<p> +“The first,” continued Dexter, “is you and Cavanagh, and English law generally. +My idea—if I can get hold of the slipper again—oh! you needn’t +stare; I’m out for it!—is to get the Antiquarian Institution to ransom +it. It’s a line of commercial speculation I have worked successfully before. +There’s a dozen rich highbrows, cranks to a man, connected with it, and they +are my likeliest buyers—sure. But to keep the tone of the market healthy +there’s Hassan of Aleppo, rot him! He’s a dangerous customer to approach, but +you’ll note I’ve been in negotiation with him already and am still, if not +booming, not much below par!” +</p> + +<p> +“Quite so,” said Bristol. “But you’ve cut off a pretty hefty chew nevertheless. +They used to call you The Stetson Man, you used to dress like a fashion plate +and stop at the big hotels. Those days are past, Dexter, I’m sorry to note. +You’re down to the skulking game now and you’re nearer an advert for Clarkson +than Stein-Bloch!” +</p> + +<p> +“Yep,” said Dexter sadly, “I plead guilty, but I think here’s Carneta!” +</p> + +<p> +Bristol heard the door of the outer office open, and a moment later that upon +which his gaze was set opened in turn, to admit a girl who was heavily veiled, +and who started and stood still in the doorway, on perceiving the situation. +Never for one unguarded moment did the American glance aside from his prisoner. +</p> + +<p> +“The Inspector’s dropped in, Carneta!” he drawled in his strident way. “You’re +handy with a ball of twine; see if you can induce him to stay the night!” +</p> + +<p> +The girl, immediately recovering her composure, took off her hat in a +businesslike way and began to look around her, evidently in search of a +suitable length of rope with which to fasten up Bristol. +</p> + +<p> +“Might I suggest,” said the detective, “that if you are shortly quitting these +offices a couple of the window-cords neatly joined would serve admirably?” +</p> + +<p> +“Thanks,” drawled Dexter, nodding to his companion, who went into the outer +office, where she might be heard lowering the windows. She was gone but a few +moments ere she returned again, carrying a length of knotted rope. Under cover +of Dexter’s revolver, Bristol stoically submitted to having his wrists tied +behind him. The end of the line was then thrown through the ventilator above +the door which communicated with the outer office and Bristol was triced up in +such a way that, his wrists being raised behind him to an uncomfortable degree, +he was almost forced to stand upon tiptoe. The line was then secured. +</p> + +<p> +“Very workmanlike!” commented the victim. “You’ll find a large handkerchief in +my inside breast pocket. It’s a clean one, and I can recommend it as a gag!” +</p> + +<p> +Very promptly it was employed for the purpose, and Inspector Bristol found +himself helpless and constrained in a very painful position. Dexter laid down +his revolver. +</p> + +<p> +“We will now give you a free show, Inspector,” he said, genially, “of our +camera obscura!” +</p> + +<p> +He pulled down the blinds, which Bristol noted with interest to be black, but +through an opening in one of them a mysterious ray of light—the same that +he had noticed from Fleet Street—shone upon that point in the ceiling +where the arrangement of mirrors was attached. Dexter made some alteration, +apparently in the focus of the lens (for Bristol had divined that in some way a +lens had been fixed in the reflector above the bank window below) and the disc +of light became concentrated. The white-covered table was moved slightly, and +in the darkness some further manipulation was performed. +</p> + +<p> +“Observe,” came the strident voice—“we now have upon the screen here a +minute moving picture. This little device, which is not protected in any way, +is of my own invention, and proved extremely useful in the Arkwright jewel +case, which startled Chicago. It has proved useful now. I know almost as much +concerning the arrangements below as the manager himself. In confidence, +Inspector, this is my last bid for the slipper! I have plunged on it. Madame +Sforza, the distinguished Italian lady who recently opened an account below, +opened it for 500 pounds cash. She has drawn a portion, but a balance remains +which I am resigned to lose. Her motor-car (hired), her references (forged), +the case of jewels which she deposited this morning (duds!)—all represent +a considerable outlay. It’s a nerve-racking line of operation, too. Any hour of +the day may bring such a visitor as yourself, for example. In short, I am at +the end of my tether.” +</p> + +<p> +Bristol, ignoring the increasing pain in his arms and wrists, turned his eyes +upon the white-covered table and there saw a minute and clear-cut picture, such +as one sees in a focussing screen, of the interior of the manager’s office of +the London County and Provincial Bank! +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap26"></a> +CHAPTER XXVI<br/> +THE STRONG-ROOM</h2> + +<p> +I wonder how often a sense of humour has saved a man from desperation? Perhaps +only the Easterns have thoroughly appreciated that divine gift. I have +interpolated the adventure of Inspector Bristol in order that the sequence of +my story be not broken; actually I did not learn it until later, but when, on +the following day, the whole of the facts came into my possession, I laughed +and was glad that I could laugh, for laughter has saved many a man from +madness. +</p> + +<p> +Certainly the Fates were playing with us, for at a time very nearly +corresponding with that when Bristol found himself bound and helpless in Bank +Chambers I awoke to find myself tied hand and foot to my own bed! Nothing but +the haziest recollections came to me at first, nothing but dim memories of the +awful being who had lured me there; for I perceived now that all the messages +proceeded, not from Bristol, but from Hassan of Aleppo! I had been a fool, and +I was reaping the fruits of my folly. Could I have known that almost within +pistol shot of me the Inspector was trussed up as helpless as I, then indeed my +situation must have become unbearable, since upon him I relied for my speedy +release. +</p> + +<p> +My ankles were firmly lashed to the rails at the foot of my bed; each of my +wrists was tied back to a bedpost. I ached in every limb and my head burned +feverishly, which latter symptom I ascribed to the powerful drug which had been +expelled into my face by the uncanny weapon carried by Hassan of Aleppo. I +reflected bitterly how, having transferred my quarters to the Astoria, I could +not well hope for any visitor to my chambers; and even the event of such a +visitor had been foreseen and provided against by the cunning lord of the +Hashishin. A gag, of the type which Dumas has described in “Twenty Years +After,” the poire d’angoisse, was wedged firmly into my mouth, so that only by +preserving the utmost composure could I breathe. I was bathed in cold +perspiration. So I lay listening to the familiar sounds without and reflecting +that it was quite possible so to lie, undisturbed, and to die alone, my +presence there wholly unsuspected! +</p> + +<p> +Once, toward dusk, my phone bell rang, and my state of mind became agonizing. +It was maddening to think that someone, a friend, was virtually within reach of +me, yet actually as far removed as if an ocean divided us! I tasted the hellish +torments of Tantalus. I cursed fate, heaven, everything; I prayed; I sank into +bottomless depths of despair and rose to dizzy pinnacles of hope, when a +footstep sounded on the landing and a thousand wild possibilities, vague +possibilities of rescue, poured into my mind. +</p> + +<p> +The visitor hesitated, apparently outside my door; and a change, as sudden as +lightning out of a cloud, transformed my errant fancies. A gruesome conviction +seized me, as irrational as the hope which it displayed, that this was one of +the Hashishin—an apish yellow dwarf, a strangler, the awful Hassan +himself! +</p> + +<p> +The footsteps receded down the stairs. And my thoughts reverted into the old +channels of dull despair. +</p> + +<p> +I weighed the chances of Bristol’s seeking me there; and, eager as I was to +give them substance, found them but airy—ultimately was forced to admit +them to be nil. +</p> + +<p> +So I lay, whilst only a few hundred yards from me a singular scene was being +enacted. Bristol, a prisoner as helpless as myself, watched the concluding +business of the day being conducted in the bank beneath him; he watched the +lift descend to the strongroom—the spying apparatus being slightly +adjusted in some way; he saw the clerks hastening to finish their work in the +outer office, and as he watched, absorbed by the novelty of the situation, he +almost forgot the pain and discomfort which he suffered... +</p> + +<p> +“This little peep-show of ours has been real useful,” Dexter confided out of +the darkness. “I got an impression of the key of the strongroom door a week +ago, and Carneta got one of the keys of the safe only this morning, when she +lodged her box of jewellery with the bank! I was at work on that key when you +interrupted me, and as by means of this useful apparatus I have learnt the +combination, you ought to see some fun in the next few hours!” +</p> + +<p> +Bristol repressed a groan, for the prospect of remaining in that position was +thus brought keenly home to him. +</p> + +<p> +The bank staff left the premises one by one until only a solitary clerk worked +on at a back desk. His task completed, he, too, took his departure and the bank +messenger commenced his nightly duty of sweeping up the offices. It was then +that excitement like an anaesthetic dulled the detective’s pain—indeed, +he forgot his aching body and became merely a watchful intelligence. +</p> + +<p> +So intent had he become upon the picture before him that he had not noticed the +fact that he was alone in the office of the Congo Fibre Company. Now he +realized it from the absolute silence about him, and from another circumstance. +</p> + +<p> +The spying apparatus had been left focussed, and on to the screen beneath his +eyes, bending low behind the desks and creeping, Indian-like, around, toward +the head of the stair which communicated with the strongroom and the apartment +used by the messenger, came the alert figure of Earl Dexter! +</p> + +<p> +It may be a surprise to some people to learn that at any time in the day the +door of a bank, unguarded, should be left open, when only a solitary messenger +is within the premises; yet for a few minutes at least each evening this +happens at more than one City bank, where one of the duties of the resident +messenger is to clean the outer steps. Dexter had taken advantage of the man’s +absence below in quest of scrubbing material to enter the bank through the open +door. +</p> + +<p> +Watching, breathless, and utterly forgetful of his own position, Bristol saw +the messenger, all unconscious of danger, come up the stairs carrying a pail +and broom. As his head reached the level of the railings The Stetson Man neatly +sand-bagged him, rushed across to the outer door, and closed it! +</p> + +<p> +Given duplicate keys and the private information which Dexter so ingeniously +had obtained, there are many London banks vulnerable to similar attack. +Certainly, bullion is rarely kept in a branch storeroom, but the detective was +well aware that the keys of the case containing the slipper were kept in this +particular safe! +</p> + +<p> +He was convinced, and could entertain no shadowy doubt, that at last Dexter had +triumphed. He wondered if it had ever hitherto fallen to the lot of a +representative of the law thus to be made an accessory to a daring felony! +</p> + +<p> +But human endurance has well-defined limits. The fading light rendered the +ingenious picture dim and more dim. The pain occasioned by his position became +agonizing, and uttering a stifled groan he ceased to take an interest in the +robbery of the London County and Provincial Bank. +</p> + +<p> +Fate is a comedian; and when later I learned how I had lain strapped to my bed, +and, so near to me, Bristol had hung helpless as a butchered carcass in the +office of the Congo Fibre Company, whilst, in our absence from the stage, the +drama of the slipper marched feverish to its final curtain, I accorded Fate her +well-earned applause. I laughed; not altogether mirthfully. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap27"></a> +CHAPTER XXVII<br/> +THE SLIPPER</h2> + +<p> +Someone was breaking in at the door of my chambers! +</p> + +<p> +I aroused myself from a state of coma almost death-like and listened to the +blows. The sun was streaming in at my windows. +</p> + +<p> +A splintering crash told of a panel broken. Then a moment later I heard the +grating of the lock, and a rush of footsteps along the passage. +</p> + +<p> +“Try the study!” came a voice that sounded like Bristol’s, save that it was +strangely weak and shaky. +</p> + +<p> +Almost simultaneously the Inspector himself threw open the bedroom +door—and, very pale and haggard-eyed, stood there looking across at me. +It was a scene unforgettable. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Cavanagh!” he said huskily—“Mr. Cavanagh! Thank God you’re alive! +But”—he turned—“this way, Marden!” he cried, “Untie him quickly! +I’ve got no strength in my arms!” +</p> + +<p> +Marden, a C.I.D. man, came running, and in a minute, or less, I was sitting up +gulping brandy. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve had the most awful experience of my life,” said Bristol. “You’ve fared +badly enough, but I’ve been hanging by my wrists—you know Dexter’s +trick!—for close upon sixteen hours! I wasn’t released until Carter, an +office boy, came on the scene this morning!” +</p> + +<p> +Very feebly I nodded; I could not talk. +</p> + +<p> +“The strong-room of your bank was rifled under my very eyes last evening!” he +continued, with something of his old vigour; “and five minutes after the +Antiquarian Museum was opened to the public this morning quite an unusual +number of visitors appeared. +</p> + +<p> +“I saw the bank manager the moment he arrived, and learned a piece of news that +positively took my breath away! I was at the Museum seven minutes later and got +another shock! There in the case was the red slipper!” +</p> + +<p> +“Then,” I whispered—“it hadn’t been stolen?” +</p> + +<p> +“Wrong! It had! This was a duplicate, as Mostyn, the curator, saw at a glance! +Some of the early visitors—they were Easterns—had quite surrounded +the case. They were watched, of course, but any number of Orientals come to see +the thing; and, short of smashing the glass, which would immediately attract +attention, the authorities were unprepared, of course, for any attempt. Anyway, +they were tricked. Somebody opened the case. The real slipper of the Prophet is +gone!” +</p> + +<p> +“They told you at the bank—” +</p> + +<p> +“That you had withdrawn the keys! If Dexter had known that!” +</p> + +<p> +“Hassan of Aleppo took them from me last night! At last the Hashishin have +triumphed.” +</p> + +<p> +Bristol sank into the armchair. +</p> + +<p> +“Every port is watched,” he said. “But—” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap28"></a> +CHAPTER XXVIII<br/> +CARNETA</h2> + +<p> +“I am entirely at your mercy; you can do as you please with me. But before you +do anything I should like you to listen to what I have to say.” +</p> + +<p> +Her beautiful face was pale and troubled. Violet eyes looked sadly into mine. +</p> + +<p> +“For nearly an hour I have been waiting for this chance—until I knew you +were alone,” she continued. “If you are thinking of giving me up to the police, +at least remember that I came here of my own free will. Of course, I know you +are quite entitled to take advantage of that; but please let me say what I came +to say!” +</p> + +<p> +She pleaded so hard, with that musical voice, with her evident helplessness, +most of all with her wonderful eyes, that I quite abandoned any project I might +have entertained to secure her arrest. I think she divined this masculine +weakness, for she said, with greater confidence— +</p> + +<p> +“Your friend, Professor Deeping, was murdered by the man called Hassan of +Aleppo. Are you content to remain idle while his murderer escapes?” +</p> + +<p> +God knows I was not. My idleness in the matter was none of my choosing. Since +poor Deeping’s murder I had come to handgrips with the assassins more than +once, but Hassan had proved too clever for me, too clever for Scotland Yard. +The sacred slipper was once more in the hands of its fanatic guardian. +</p> + +<p> +One man there was who might have helped the search, Earl Dexter. But Earl +Dexter was himself wanted by Scotland Yard! +</p> + +<p> +From the time of the bank affair up to the moment when this beautiful visitor +had come to my chambers I had thought Dexter, as well as Hassan, to have fled +secretly from England. But the moment that I saw Carneta at my door I divined +that The Stetson Man must still be in London. +</p> + +<p> +She sat watching me and awaiting my answer. +</p> + +<p> +“I cannot avenge my friend unless I can find his murderer.” +</p> + +<p> +Eagerly she bent forward. +</p> + +<p> +“But if I can find him?” +</p> + +<p> +That made me think, and I hesitated before speaking again. +</p> + +<p> +“Say what you came to say,” I replied slowly. “You must know that I distrust +you. Indeed, my plain duty is to detain you. But I will listen to anything you +may care to tell me, particularly if it enables me to trap Hassan of Aleppo.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very well,” she said, and rested her elbows upon the table before her. “I have +come to you in desperation. I can help you to find the man who murdered +Professor Deeping, but in return I want you to help me!” +</p> + +<p> +I watched her closely. She was very plainly, almost poorly, dressed. Her face +was pale and there were dark marks around her eyes. This but served to render +their strange beauty more startling; yet I could see that my visitor was in +real trouble. The situation was an odd one. +</p> + +<p> +“You are possibly about to ask me,” I suggested, “to assist Earl Dexter to +escape the police?” +</p> + +<p> +She shook her head. Her voice trembled as she replied— +</p> + +<p> +“That would not have induced me to run the risk of coming here. I came because +I wanted to find a man who was brave enough to help me. We have no friends in +London, and so it became a question of terms. I can repay you by helping you to +trace Hassan.” +</p> + +<p> +“What is it, then, that Dexter asks me to do?” +</p> + +<p> +“He asks nothing. I, Carneta, am asking!” +</p> + +<p> +“Then you are not come from him?” +</p> + +<p> +At my question, all her self-possession left her. She abruptly dropped her face +into her hands and was shaken with sobs! It was more than I could bear, +unmoved. I forgot the shady past, forgot that she was the associate of a daring +felon, and could only realize that she was a weeping woman, who had appealed to +my pity and who asked my aid. +</p> + +<p> +I stood up and stared out of the window, for I experienced a not unnatural +embarrassment. Without looking at her I said— +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t be afraid to tell me your troubles. I don’t say I should go out of my +way to be kind to Mr. Dexter, but I have no wish whatever to be instrumental +in”—I hesitated—“in making you responsible for his misdeeds. If you +can tell me where to find Hassan of Aleppo, I won’t even ask you where Dexter +is—” +</p> + +<p> +“God help me! I don’t know where he is!” +</p> + +<p> +There was real, poignant anguish in her cry. I turned and confronted her. Her +lashes were all wet with tears. +</p> + +<p> +“What! has he disappeared?” +</p> + +<p> +She nodded, fought with her emotion a moment, and went on unsteadily, +</p> + +<p> +“I want you to help me to find him for in finding him we shall find Hassan!” +</p> + +<p> +“How so?” +</p> + +<p> +Her gaze avoided me now. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Cavanagh, he has staked everything upon securing the slipper—and the +Hashishin were too clever for him. His hand—those Eastern fiends cut off +his hand! But he would not give in. He made another bid—and lost again. +It left him almost penniless.” +</p> + +<p> +She spoke of Earl Dexter’s felonious plans as another woman might have spoken +of her husband’s unwise investments! It was fantastic hearing that confession +of The Stetson Man’s beautiful partner, and I counted the interview one of the +strangest I had ever known. +</p> + +<p> +A sudden idea came to me. “When did Dexter first conceive the plan to steal the +slipper?” I asked. +</p> + +<p> +“In Egypt!” answered Carneta. “Yes! You may as well know! He is thoroughly +familiar with the East, and he learned of the robbery of Professor Deeping +almost as soon as it became known to Hassan. I know what you are going to +ask—” +</p> + +<p> +“Ahmad Ahmadeen!” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes! He travelled home as Ahmadeen—the only time he ever used a +disguise. Oh! the thing is accursed!” she cried. “I begged him, implored him, +to abandon his attempts upon it. Day and night we were watched by those ghastly +yellow men! But it was all in vain. He knew, had known for a long time, where +Hassan of Aleppo was in hiding!” +</p> + +<p> +And I reflected that the best men at New Scotland Yard had failed to pick up +the slightest clue! +</p> + +<p> +“The Hashishin, of whom that dreadful man is leader, are rich, or have +supporters who are rich. The plan was to make them pay for the slipper.” +</p> + +<p> +“My God! it was playing with fire!” +</p> + +<p> +She sat silent awhile. Emotion threatened to get the upper hand. Then— +</p> + +<p> +“Two days ago,” she almost whispered, “he set out—to ... get the +slipper!” +</p> + +<p> +“To steal it?” +</p> + +<p> +“To steal it!” +</p> + +<p> +“From Hassan of Aleppo?” +</p> + +<p> +I could scarcely believe that any man, single-handed, could have had the +hardihood to attempt such a thing. +</p> + +<p> +“From Hassan, yes!” +</p> + +<p> +I faced her, amazed, incredulous. +</p> + +<p> +“Dexter had suffered mutilation, he knew that the Hashishin sought his life for +his previous attempts upon the relic of the Prophet, and yet he dared to +venture again into the very lions’ den?” +</p> + +<p> +“He did, Mr. Cavanagh, two days ago. And—” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes?” I urged, as gently as I could, for she was shaking pitifully. +</p> + +<p> +“He never came back!” +</p> + +<p> +The words were spoken almost in a whisper. She clenched her hands and leapt +from the chair, fighting down her grief and with such a stark horror in her +beautiful eyes that from my very soul I longed to be able to help her. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Cavanagh” (she had courage, this bewildering accomplice of a cracksman), +“I know the house he went to! I cannot hope to make you understand what I have +suffered since then. A thousand times I have been on the point of going to the +police, confessing all I knew, and leading them to that house! O God! if only +he is alive, this shall be his last crooked deal—and mine! I dared not go +to the police, for his sake! I waited, and watched, and hoped, through two such +nights and days ... then I ventured. I should have gone mad if I had not come +here. I knew you had good cause to hate, to detest me, but I remembered that +you had a great grievance against Hassan. Not as great, O heaven! not as great +as mine, but yet a great one. I remembered, too, that you were the kind of +man—a woman can come to...” +</p> + +<p> +She sank back into the chair, and with her fingers twining and untwining, sat +looking dully before her. +</p> + +<p> +“In brief,” I said, “what do you propose?” +</p> + +<p> +“I propose that we endeavour to obtain admittance to the house of Hassan of +Aleppo—secretly, of course, and all I ask of you in return for revealing +the secret of its situation is—” +</p> + +<p> +“That I let Dexter go free?” +</p> + +<p> +Almost inaudibly she whispered: “If he lives!” +</p> + +<p> +Surely no stranger proposition ever had been submitted to a law-abiding +citizen. I was asked to connive in the escape of a notorious criminal, and at +one and the same time to embark upon an expedition patently burglarious! As +though this were not enough, I was invited to beard Hassan of Aleppo, the most +dreadful being I had ever encountered East or West, in his mysterious +stronghold! +</p> + +<p> +I wondered what my friend, Inspector Bristol, would have thought of the +project; I wondered if I should ever live to see Hassan meet his just deserts +as a result of this enterprise, which I was forced to admit a foolhardy one. +But a man who has selected the career of a war correspondent from amongst those +which Fleet Street offers, is the victim of a certain craving for fresh +experiences; I suppose, has in his character something of an adventurous turn. +</p> + +<p> +For a while I stood staring from the window, then faced about and looked into +the violet eyes of my visitor. +</p> + +<p> +“I agree, Carneta!” I said. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap29"></a> +CHAPTER XXIX<br/> +WE MEET MR. ISAACS</h2> + +<p> +Quitting the wayside station, and walking down a short lane, we came out upon +Watling Street, white and dusty beneath the afternoon sun. We were less than an +hour’s train journey from London but found ourselves amid the Kentish hop +gardens, amid a rural peace unbroken. My companion carried a camera case slung +across her shoulder, but its contents were less innocent than one might have +supposed. In fact, it contained a neat set of those instruments of the +burglar’s art with whose use she appeared to be quite familiar. +</p> + +<p> +“There is an inn,” she said, “about a mile ahead, where we can obtain some +vital information. He last wrote to me from there.” +</p> + +<p> +Side by side we tramped along the dusty road. We both were silent, occupied +with our own thoughts. Respecting the nature of my companion’s I could +entertain little doubt, and my own turned upon the foolhardy nature of the +undertaking upon which I was embarked. No other word passed between us then, +until upon rounding a bend and passing a cluster of picturesque cottages, the +yard of the Vinepole came into view. +</p> + +<p> +“Do they know you by sight here?” I asked abruptly. +</p> + +<p> +“No, of course not; we never made strategic mistakes of that kind. If we have +tea here, no doubt we can learn all we require.” +</p> + +<p> +I entered the little parlour of the inn, and suggested that tea should be +served in the pretty garden which opened out of it upon the right. +</p> + +<p> +The host, who himself laid the table, viewed the camera case critically. +</p> + +<p> +“We get a lot of photographers down here,” he remarked tentatively. +</p> + +<p> +“No doubt,” said my companion. “There is some very pretty scenery in the +neighbourhood.” +</p> + +<p> +The landlord rested his hands upon the table. +</p> + +<p> +“There was a gentleman here on Wednesday last,” he said; “an old gentleman who +had met with an accident, and was staying somewhere hereabouts for his health. +But he’d got his camera with him, and it was wonderful the way he could use it, +considering he hadn’t got the use of his right hand.” +</p> + +<p> +“He must have been a very keen photographer,” I said, glancing at the girl +beside me. +</p> + +<p> +“He took three or four pictures of the Vinepole,” replied the landlord (which I +doubted, since probably his camera was a dummy); “and he wanted to know if +there were any other old houses in the neighbourhood. I told him he ought to +take Cadham Hall, and he said he had heard that the Gate House, which is about +a mile from here, was one of the oldest buildings about.” +</p> + +<p> +A girl appeared with a tea tray, and for a moment I almost feared that the +landlord was about to retire; but he lingered, whilst the girl distributed the +things about the table, and Carneta asked casually, “Would there be time for me +to photograph the Gate House before dark?” +</p> + +<p> +“There might be time,” was the reply, “but that’s not the difficulty. Mr. +Isaacs is the difficulty.” +</p> + +<p> +“Who is Mr. Isaacs?” I asked. +</p> + +<p> +“He’s the Jewish gentleman who bought the Gate House recently. Lots of money +he’s got and a big motor car. He’s up and down to London almost every day in +the week, but he won’t let anybody take photographs of the house. I know +several who’ve asked.” +</p> + +<p> +“But I thought,” said Carneta, innocently, “you said the old gentleman who was +here on Wednesday went to take some?” +</p> + +<p> +“He went, yes, miss; but I don’t know if he succeeded.” +</p> + +<p> +Carneta poured out some tea. +</p> + +<p> +“Now that you speak of it,” she said, “I too have heard that the Gate House is +very picturesque. What objection can Mr. Isaacs have to photographers?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, you see, miss, to get a picture of the house, you have to pass right +through the grounds.” +</p> + +<p> +“I should walk right up to the house and ask permission. Is Mr. Isaacs at home, +I wonder?” +</p> + +<p> +“I couldn’t say. He hasn’t passed this way to-day.” +</p> + +<p> +“We might meet him on the way,” said I. “What is he like?” +</p> + +<p> +“A Jewish gentleman sir, very dark, with a white beard. Wears gold glasses. +Keeps himself very much to himself. I don’t know anything about his household; +none of them ever come here.” +</p> + +<p> +Carneta inquired the direction of Cadham Hall and of the Gate House, and the +landlord left us to ourselves. My companion exhibited signs of growing +agitation, and it seemed to me that she had much ado to restrain herself from +setting out without a moment’s delay for the Gate House, which, I readily +perceived, was the place to which our strange venture was leading us. +</p> + +<p> +I found something very stimulating in the reflection that, rash though the +expedition might be, and, viewed from whatever standpoint, undeniably perilous, +it promised to bring me to that secret stronghold of deviltry where the +sinister Hassan of Aleppo so successfully had concealed himself. +</p> + +<p> +The work of the modern journalist had many points of contact with that of the +detective; and since the murder of Professor Deeping I had succumbed to the +man-hunting fever more than once. I knew that Scotland Yard had failed to +locate the hiding-place of the remarkable and evil man who, like an efreet of +Oriental lore, obeyed the talisman of the stolen slipper, striking down +whomsoever laid hand upon its sacredness. It was a novel sensation to know +that, aided by this beautiful accomplice of a rogue, I had succeeded where the +experts had failed! +</p> + +<p> +Misgivings I had and shall not deny. If our scheme succeeded it would mean that +Deeping’s murderer should be brought to justice. If it failed-well, frankly, +upon that possibility I did not dare to reflect! +</p> + +<p> +It must be needless for me to say that we two strangely met allies were ill at +ease, sometimes to the point of embarrassment. We proceeded on our way in +almost unbroken silence, and, save for a couple of farm hands, without meeting +any wayfarer, up to the time that we reached the brow of the hill and had our +first sight of the Gate House lying in a little valley beneath. It was a small +Tudor mansion, very compact in plan and its roof glowed redly in the rays of +the now setting sun. +</p> + +<p> +From the directions given by the host of the Vinepole it was impossible to +mistake the way or to mistake the house. Amid well-wooded grounds it stood, a +place quite isolated, but so typically English that, as I stood looking down +upon it, I found myself unable to believe that any other than a substantial +country gentleman could be its proprietor. +</p> + +<p> +I glanced at Carneta. Her violet eyes were burning feverishly, but her lips +twitched in a bravely pitiful way. +</p> + +<p> +Clearly now my adventure lay before me; that red-roofed homestead seemed to +have rendered it all substantial which hitherto had been shadowy; and I stood +there studying the Gate House gravely, for it might yet swallow me up, as +apparently it had swallowed Earl Dexter. +</p> + +<p> +There, amid that peaceful Kentish landscape, fantasy danced and horrors unknown +lurked in waiting... +</p> + +<p> +The eminence upon which we were commanded an extensive prospect, and eastward +showed a tower and flagstaff which marked the site of Cadham Hall. There were +homeward-bound labourers to be seen in the lanes now, and where like a white +ribbon the Watling Street lay across the verdant carpet moved an insect shape, +speedily. +</p> + +<p> +It was a car, and I watched it with vague interest. At a point where a dense +coppice spread down to the roadway and a lane crossed west to east, the car +became invisible. Then I saw it again, nearer to us and nearer to the Gate +House. Finally it disappeared among the trees. +</p> + +<p> +I turned to Carneta. She, too, had been watching. Now her gaze met mine. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Isaacs!” she said; and her voice was less musical than usual. “His +chauffeur, who learned his business in Cairo, is probably the only one of his +servants who remains in England.” +</p> + +<p> +“What!” I began—and said no more. +</p> + +<p> +Where the road upon which we stood wound down into the valley and lost itself +amid the trees surrounding the Gate House, the car suddenly appeared again, and +began to mount the slope toward us! +</p> + +<p> +“Heavens!” whispered Carneta. “He may have seen us—with glasses! Quick! +Let us walk back until the hill-top conceals us; then we must hide somewhere!” +</p> + +<p> +I shared her excitement. Without a moment’s hesitation we both turned and +retraced our steps. Twenty paces brought us to a spot where a stack of mangel +wurzels stood at the roadside. +</p> + +<p> +“This will do!” I said. +</p> + +<p> +We ran around into the field, and crouched where we could peer out on the road +without ourselves being seen. Nor had we taken up this position a moment too +soon. +</p> + +<p> +Topping the slope came a light-weight electric, driven by a man who, in his +spruce uniform, might have passed at a glance for a very dusky European. The +car had a limousine back, and as the chauffeur slowed down, out from the open +windows right and left peered the solitary occupant. +</p> + +<p> +He had the cast of countenance which is associated with the best type of Jew, +with clear-cut aquiline features wholly destitute of grossness. His white beard +was patriarchal and he wore gold-rimmed pince-nez and a glossy silk hat. Such +figures may often be met with in the great money-markets of the world, and Mr. +Isaacs would have passed for a successful financier in even more discerning +communities than that of Cadham. +</p> + +<p> +But I scarcely breathed until the car was past; and, beside me, my companion, +crouching to the ground, was trembling wildly. Fifty yards toward the village +Mr. Isaacs evidently directed the man to return. +</p> + +<p> +The car was put about, and flashed past us at high speed down into the valley. +When the sound of the humming motor had died to something no louder than the +buzz of a sleepy wasp, I held out my hand to Carneta and she rose, pale, but +with blazing eyes, and picked up her camera case. +</p> + +<p> +“If he had detected us, everything would have been lost!” she whispered. +</p> + +<p> +“Not everything!” I replied grimly—and showed her the revolver which I +had held in my hand whilst those eagle eyes had been seeking us. “If he had +made a sign to show that he had seen us, in fact, if he had once offered a safe +mark by leaning from the car, I should have shot him dead without hesitation!” +</p> + +<p> +“We must not show ourselves again, but wait for dusk. He must have seen us, +then, on the hilltop, but I hope without recognizing us. He has the sight and +instincts of a vulture!” +</p> + +<p> +I nodded, slipping the revolver into my pocket, but I wondered if I should not +have been better advised to have risked a shot at the moment that I had +recognized “Mr. Isaacs” for Hassan of Aleppo. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap30"></a> +CHAPTER XXX<br/> +AT THE GATE HOUSE</h2> + +<p> +From sunset to dusk I lurked about the neighbourhood of the Gate House with my +beautiful accomplice—watching and waiting: a man bound upon stranger +business, I dare swear, than any other in the county of Kent that night. +</p> + +<p> +Our endeavour now was to avoid observation by any one, and in this, I think, we +succeeded. At the same time, Carneta, upon whose experience I relied +implicitly, regarded it as most important that we should observe (from a safe +distance) any one who entered or quitted the gates. +</p> + +<p> +But none entered, and none came out. When, finally, we made along the narrow +footpath skirting the west of the grounds, the night was silent—most +strangely still. +</p> + +<p> +The trees met overhead, but no rustle disturbed their leaves and of animal life +no indication showed itself. There was no moon. +</p> + +<p> +A full appreciation of my mad folly came to me, and with it a sense of heavy +depression. This stillness that ruled all about the house which sheltered the +awful Sheikh of the Assassins was ominous, I thought. In short, my nerves were +playing me tricks. +</p> + +<p> +“We have little to fear,” said my companion, speaking in a hushed and quivering +voice. “The whole of the party left England some days ago.” +</p> + +<p> +“Are you sure?” +</p> + +<p> +“Certain! We learned that before Earl made his attempt. Hassan remains, for +some reason; Hassan and one other—the one who drives the car.” +</p> + +<p> +“But the slipper?” +</p> + +<p> +“If Hassan remains, so does the slipper!” From the knapsack, which, as you will +have divined, did not contain a camera, she took out an electric pocket lamp, +and directed its beam upon the hedge above us. +</p> + +<p> +“There is a gap somewhere here!” she said. “See if you can find it. I dare not +show the light too long.” +</p> + +<p> +Darkness followed. I clambered up the bank and sought for the opening of which +Carneta had spoken. +</p> + +<p> +“The light here a moment,” I whispered. “I think I have it!” +</p> + +<p> +Out shone the white beam, and momentarily fell upon a black hole in the +thickset hedge. The light disappeared, and as I extended my hand to Carneta she +grasped it and climbed up beside me. +</p> + +<p> +“Put on your rubber shoes,” she directed. “Leave the others here.” +</p> + +<p> +There in the darkness I did as she directed, for I was provided with a pair of +tennis shoes. Carneta already was suitably shod. +</p> + +<p> +“I will go first,” I said. “What is the ground like beyond?” +</p> + +<p> +“Just unkempt bushes and weeds.” +</p> + +<p> +Upon hands and knees I crawled through, saw dimly that there was a short +descent, corresponding with the ascent from the lane, and turned, whispering to +my fellow conspirator to follow. +</p> + +<p> +The grounds proved even more extensive than I had anticipated. We pressed on, +dodging low-sweeping branches and keeping our arms up to guard our faces from +outshoots of thorn bushes. Our progress necessarily was slow, but even so quite +a long time seemed to have elapsed ere we came in sight of the house. +</p> + +<p> +This was my first expedition of the kind; and now that my goal was actually in +sight I became conscious of a sort of exultation hard to describe. My +companion, on the contrary, seemed to have become icily cool. When next she +spoke, her voice had a businesslike ring, which revealed the fact that she was +no amateur at this class of work. +</p> + +<p> +“Wait here,” she directed. “I am going to pass all around the house, and I will +rejoin you.” +</p> + +<p> +I could see her but dimly, and she moved off as silent as an Indian +deer-stalker, leaving me alone there crouching at the extreme edge of the +thicket. I looked out over a small wilderness of unkempt flower-beds; so much +it was just possible to perceive. The plants in many instances had spread on to +the pathways and contested survival with the flourishing weeds. All was +wild—deserted—eerie. +</p> + +<p> +A sense of dampness assailed me, and I raised my eyes to the low-lying building +wherein no light showed, no sign of life was evident. The nearer wing presented +a verandah apparently overgrown by some climbing plant, the nature of which it +was impossible to determine in the darkness. +</p> + +<p> +The zest for the nocturnal operation which temporarily had thrilled me +succumbed now to loneliness. With keen anxiety I awaited the return of my more +experienced accomplice. The situation was grotesque, utterly bizarre; but even +my sense of humour could not save me from the growing dread which this +seemingly deserted place poured into my heart. +</p> + +<p> +When upon the right I heard a faint rustling I started, and grasped the +revolver in my pocket. +</p> + +<p> +“Not a sound!” came in Carneta’s voice. “Keep just inside the bushes and come +this way. There is something I want to show you.” +</p> + +<p> +The various profuse growths rendered concealment simple enough—if indeed +any other concealment were necessary than that which the strangely black night +afforded. Just within the evil-smelling thicket we made a half circuit of the +building, and stopped. +</p> + +<p> +“Look!” whispered Carneta. +</p> + +<p> +The word was unnecessary, for I was staring fixedly in the direction of that +which evidently had occasioned her uneasiness. +</p> + +<p> +It was a small square window, so low-set that I assumed it to be that of a +cellar, and heavily cross-barred. +</p> + +<p> +From it, out upon a tangled patch of vegetation, shone a dull red light! +</p> + +<p> +“There’s no other light in the place,” my companion whispered. “For God’s sake, +what can it be?” +</p> + +<p> +My mind supplied no explanation. The idea that it might be a dark room no doubt +was suggested by the assumed role of Carneta; but I knew that idea to be +absurd. The red light meant something else. +</p> + +<p> +Evidently the commencing of operations before all lights were out was +irregular, for Carneta said slowly— +</p> + +<p> +“We must wait and watch the light. There was formerly a moat around the Gate +House; that must be the window of a dungeon.” +</p> + +<p> +I little relished the prospect of waiting in that swamp-like spot, but since no +alternative presented itself I accepted the inevitable. For close upon an hour +we stood watching the red window. No sound of bird, beast, or man disturbed our +vigil; in fact, it would appear that the very insects shunned the neighbourhood +of Hassan of Aleppo. But the red light still shone out. +</p> + +<p> +“We must risk it!” said Carneta steadily. “There are French windows opening on +to that verandah. Ten yards farther around the bushes come right up to the wall +of the house. We’ll go that way and around by the other wing on to the +verandah.” +</p> + +<p> +Any action was preferable to this nerve-sapping delay, and with a determination +to shoot, and shoot to kill, any one who opposed our entrance, I passed through +the bushes and, with Carneta, rounded the southern border of that silent house +and slipped quietly on to the verandah. +</p> + +<p> +Kneeling, Carneta opened the knapsack. My eyes were growing accustomed to the +darkness, and I was just able to see her deft hands at work upon the +fastenings. She made no noise, and I watched her with an ever-growing wonder. A +female burglar is a personage difficult to imagine. Certainly, no one ever +could have suspected this girl with the violet eyes of being an expert +crackswoman; but of her efficiency there could be no question. I think I had +never witnessed a more amazing spectacle than that of this cultured girl +manipulating the tools of the house breaker with her slim white fingers. +</p> + +<p> +Suddenly she turned and clutched my arm. +</p> + +<p> +“The windows are not fastened!” she whispered. +</p> + +<p> +A strange courage came to me—perhaps that of desperation. For, ignoring +the ominous circumstance, I pushed open the nearest window and stepped into the +room beyond! A hissing breath from Carneta acknowledged my performance, and she +entered close behind me, silent in her rubber-soled shoes. +</p> + +<p> +For one thrilling moment we stood listening. Then came the white beam from the +electric lamp to cut through the surrounding blackness. +</p> + +<p> +The room was totally unfurnished! +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap31"></a> +CHAPTER XXXI<br/> +THE POOL OF DEATH</h2> + +<p> +Not a sound broke the stillness of the Gate House. It was the most eerily +silent place in which I had ever found myself. Out into the corridor we went, +noiselessly. It was stripped, uncarpeted. +</p> + +<p> +Three doors we passed, two upon the left and one upon the right. We tried them +all. All were unfastened, and the rooms into which they opened bare and +deserted. Then we came upon a short, descending stair, at its foot a massive +oaken door. +</p> + +<p> +Carneta glided down, noiseless as a ghost, and to one of the blackened panels +applied an ingenious little instrument which she carried in her knapsack. It +was not unlike a stethoscope; and as I watched her listening, by means of this +arrangement, for any sound beyond the oaken door, I reflected how almost every +advance made by science places a new tool in the hand of the criminal. +</p> + +<p> +No word had been spoken since we had discovered this door; none had been +necessary. For we both knew that the place beyond was that from which proceeded +the mysterious red light. +</p> + +<p> +I directed the ray of the electric torch upon Carneta, as she stood there +listening, and against that sombre oaken background her face and profile stood +out with startling beauty. She seemed half perplexed and half fearful. Then she +abruptly removed the apparatus, and, stooping to the knapsack, replaced it and +took out a bunch of wire keys, signing to me to hand her the lamp. +</p> + +<p> +As I crept down the steps I saw her pause, glancing back over her shoulder +toward the door. The expression upon her face induced me to direct the light in +the same direction. +</p> + +<p> +Why neither of us had observed the fact before I cannot conjecture; but a key +was in the lock! +</p> + +<p> +Perhaps the traffic of the night afforded no more dramatic moment than this. +The house which we were come prepared burglariously to enter was thrown open, +it would seem, to us, inviting our inspection! +</p> + +<p> +Looking back upon that moment, it seems almost incredible that the sight of a +key in a lock should have so thrilled me. But at the time I perceived something +sinister in this failure of the Lord of the Hashishin to close his doors to +intruders. That Carneta shared my doubts and fears was to be read in her face; +but her training had been peculiar, I learned, and such as establishes a +surprising resoluteness of character. +</p> + +<p> +Quite noiselessly she turned the key, and holding a dainty pocket revolver in +her hand, pushed the door open slowly! +</p> + +<p> +An odour, sickly sweet and vaguely familiar, was borne to my nostrils. Carneta +became outlined in dim, reddish light. Bending forward slightly, she entered +the room, and I, with muscles tensed nervously, advanced and stood beside her. +</p> + +<p> +I perceived that this was a cellar; indeed, I doubt not that in some past age +it had served as a dungeon. From the stone roof hung the first evidence of +Eastern occupation which the Gate House had yielded; in the form of an Oriental +lantern, or fanoos, of rose-coloured waxed paper upon a copper frame. Its vague +light revealed the interior of the hideous place upon whose threshold we stood. +</p> + +<p> +Straight before us, deep set in the stone wall, was the tiny square window, +iron-barred without, and glazed with red glass, the light from which had so +deeply mystified us. Within a niche in the wall, a little to the left of the +window, rested an object which, at that moment, claimed our undivided attention +the sight of which so wrought upon us that temporarily all else was forgotten. +</p> + +<p> +It was the red slipper of the Prophet! +</p> + +<p> +“My God!” whispered Carneta—“my God!”—and clutched at me, swaying +dizzily. +</p> + +<p> +A few inches from our feet the floor became depressed, how deeply I could not +determine, for it was filled with water, water filthy and slimy! The strange, +nauseating odour had grown all but unsupportable; it seemingly proceeded from +this fetid pool which, occupying the floor of the dungeon, offered a barrier, +since its depth was unknown, of fully twelve feet between ourselves and the +farther wall. +</p> + +<p> +There was a faint, dripping sound: a whispering, echoing drip-drip of falling +water. I could not tell from whence it proceeded. +</p> + +<p> +Almost supporting my companion, whose courage seemed suddenly to have failed +her, I stared fascinatedly at that blood-stained relic. Something then induced +me to look behind; I suppose a warning instinct of that sort which is +unexplainable. I only know that upholding Carneta with my left arm, and +nervously grasping my revolver in my right, I turned and glanced over my +shoulder. +</p> + +<p> +Very slowly, but with a constant, regular motion, the massive door was closing! +</p> + +<p> +I snatched away my arm; in my left hand I held the electric torch, and +springing sharply about I directed the searching ray into the black gap of the +stairway. A yellow face, a malignant Oriental face, came suddenly, fully, into +view! Instantly I recognized it for that of the man who had driven Hassan’s +car! +</p> + +<p> +Acting upon the determination with which I had entered the Gate House, I raised +my revolver and fired straight between the evil eyes! To the fact that I +dropped my left hand in the act of pulling the trigger with my right, and thus +lost my mark, the servant of Hassan of Aleppo owed his escape. I missed him. He +uttered a shrill cry of fear and went racing up the wooden stair. I followed +him with the light and fired twice at the retreating figure. I heard him +stumble and a second time cry out. But, though I doubt not he was hit, he +recovered himself, for I heard his tread in the corridor above. +</p> + +<p> +Propping wide the door with my foot, I turned to Carneta. Her face was drawn +and haggard; but her mouth set in a sort of grim determination. +</p> + +<p> +“Earl is dead!” she said, in a queer, toneless voice. “He died trying to +get—that thing! I will get it, and destroy it!” +</p> + +<p> +Before I could detain her, even had I sought to do so, she stepped into the +filthy water, struggled to recover her foothold, and sank above her waist into +its sliminess. Without hesitation she began to advance toward the niche which +contained the slipper. In the middle of the pool she stopped. +</p> + +<p> +What memory it was which supplied the clue to the identity of that nauseating +smell, heaven alone knows; but as the girl stopped and drew herself up +rigidly—then turned and leapt wildly back toward the door—I knew +what occasioned that sickly odour! +</p> + +<p> +She screamed once, dreadfully—shrilly—a scream of agonizing fear +that I can never forget. Then, roughly I grasped her, for the need was +urgent—and dragged her out on to the floor beside me. With her wet +garments clinging to her limbs, she fell prostrate on the stones. +</p> + +<p> +A yard from the brink the slimy water parted, and the yellow snout of a huge +crocodile was raised above the surface! The saurian eyes, hungrily malevolent, +rose next to view! +</p> + +<p> +The extremity of our danger found me suddenly cool. As the thing drew its slimy +body up out of the pool I waited. The jaws were extended toward the prostrate +body, were but inches removed from it, dripped their saliva upon the soddened +skirt—when I bent forward, and at a range of some ten inches emptied the +remaining three loaded chambers of my revolver into the creature’s left eye! +</p> + +<p> +Upchurned in bloody foam became the water of that dreadful place.... As one +recalls the incidents of a fevered dream, I recall dragging Carneta away from +the contorted body of the death-stricken reptile. A nightmare chaos of horrid, +revolting sights and sounds forms my only recollection of quitting the dungeon +of the slipper. +</p> + +<p> +I succeeded in carrying her up the stairs and out through the empty rooms on to +the verandah; but there, from sheer exhaustion, I laid her down. I had no means +of reviving her and I lacked the strength to carry her farther. Having +recharged my revolver, I stood watching her where she lay, wanly beautiful in +the dim light. +</p> + +<p> +There was no doubt in my mind respecting the fate of Earl Dexter, nor could I +doubt that the slipper in the dungeon below was a duplicate of the real one. It +was a death-trap into which he had lured Dexter and which he had left baited +for whomsoever might trace the cracksman to the Gate House. Why Hassan should +have remained behind, unless from fanatic lust of killing, I could not imagine. +</p> + +<p> +When at last the fresher night air had its effect, and Carneta opened her eyes, +I led her to the gates, nor did she offer the slightest resistance, but looked +dully before her, muttering over and over again, “Earl, Earl!” +</p> + +<p> +The gates were open; we passed out on to the open road. No man pursued us, and +the night was gravely still. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap32"></a> +CHAPTER XXXII<br/> +SIX GRAY PATCHES</h2> + +<p> +When the invitation came from my old friend Hilton to spend a week “roughing +it” with him in Warwickshire I accepted with alacrity. If ever a man needed a +holiday I was that man. Nervous breakdown threatened me at any moment; the +ghastly experience at the Gate House together with Carneta’s grief-stricken +face when I had parted from her were obsessing memories which I sought in vain +to shake off. +</p> + +<p> +A brief wire had contained the welcome invitation, and up to the time when I +had received it I had been unaware that Hilton was back in England. Moreover, +beyond the fact that his house, “Uplands,” was near H—, for which I was +instructed to change at New Street Station, Birmingham, I had little idea of +its location. But he added “Wire train and will meet at H—”; so that I +had no uneasiness on that score. +</p> + +<p> +I had contemplated catching the 2:45 from Euston, but by the time I had got my +work into something like order, I decided that the 6:55 would be more suitable +and decided to dine on the train. +</p> + +<p> +Altogether, there was something of a rush and hustle attendant upon getting +away, and when at last I found myself in the cab, bound for Euston, I sat back +with a long-drawn sigh. The quest of the Prophet’s slipper was ended; in all +probability that blood-stained relic was already Eastward bound. Hassan of +Aleppo, its awful guardian, had triumphed and had escaped retribution. Earl +Dexter was dead. I could not doubt that; for the memory of his beautiful +accomplice, Carneta, as I last had seen her, broken-hearted, with her great +violet eyes dulled in tearless agony—have I not said that it lived with +me? +</p> + +<p> +Even as the picture of her lovely, pale face presented itself to my mind, the +cab was held up by a temporary block in the traffic—and my imagination +played me a strange trick. +</p> + +<p> +Another taxi ran close alongside, almost at the moment that the press of +vehicles moved on again. Certainly, I had no more than a passing glimpse of the +occupants; but I could have sworn that violet eyes looked suddenly into mine, +and with equal conviction I could have sworn to the gaunt face of the man who +sat beside the violet-eyed girl for that of Earl Dexter! +</p> + +<p> +The travellers, however, were immediately lost to sight in the rear, and I was +left to conjecture whether this had been a not uncommon form of optical +delusion or whether I had seen a ghost. +</p> + +<p> +At any rate, as I passed in between the big pillars, “The gateway of the +North,” I scrutinized, and closely, the numerous hurrying figures about me. +None of them, by any stretch of the imagination, could have been set down for +that of Dexter, The Stetson Man. No doubt, I concluded, I had been tricked by a +chance resemblance. +</p> + +<p> +Having dispatched my telegram, I boarded the 6:55. I thought I should have the +compartment to myself, and so deep in reverie was I that the train was actually +clear of the platforms ere I learned that I had a companion. He must have +joined me at the moment that the train started. Certainly, I had not seen him +enter. But, suddenly looking up, I met the eyes of this man who occupied the +corner seat facing me. +</p> + +<p> +This person was olive-skinned, clean-shaven, fine featured, and perfectly +groomed. His age might have been anything from twenty-five to forty-five, but +his hair and brows were jet black. His eyes, too, were nearer to real black +than any human eyes I had ever seen before—excepting the awful eyes of +Hassan of Aleppo. Hassan of Aleppo! It was, to that hour, a mystery how his +group of trained assassins—the Hashishin—had quitted England. Since +none of them were known to the police, it was no insoluble mystery, I admit; +but nevertheless it was singular that the careful watching of the ports had +yielded no result. Could it be that some of them had not yet left the country? +Could it be— +</p> + +<p> +I looked intently into the black eyes. They were caressing, smiling eyes, and +looked boldly into mine. I picked up a magazine, pretending to read. But I +supported it with my left hand; my right was in my coat pocket—and it +rested upon my Smith and Wesson! +</p> + +<p> +So much had the slipper of Mohammed done for me: I went in hourly dread of +murderous attack! +</p> + +<p> +My travelling companion watched me; of that I was certain. I could feel his +gaze. But he made no move and no word passed between us. This was the situation +when the train slowed into Northampton. At Northampton, to my indescribable +relief (frankly, I was as nervous in those days as a woman), the Oriental +traveller stepped out on to the platform. +</p> + +<p> +Having reclosed the door, he turned and leaned in through the open window. +</p> + +<p> +“Evidently you are not concerned, Mr. Cavanagh,” he said. “Be warned. Do not +interfere with those that are!” +</p> + +<p> +The night swallowed him up. +</p> + +<p> +My fears had been justified; the man was one of the Hashishin—a spy of +Hassan of Aleppo! What did it mean? +</p> + +<p> +I craned from the window, searching the platform right and left. But there was +no sign of him. +</p> + +<p> +When the train left Northampton I found myself alone, and I should only weary +you were I to attempt to recount the troubled conjectures that bore me company +to Birmingham. +</p> + +<p> +The train reached New Street at nine, with the result that having gulped a +badly needed brandy and soda in the buffet, I grabbed my bag, raced +across—and just missed the connection! More than an hour later I found +myself standing at ten minutes to eleven upon the H— platform, watching +the red taillight of the “local” disappear into the night. Then I realized to +the full that with four miles of lonely England before me there hung above my +head a mysterious threat—a vague menace. The solitary official, who but +waited my departure to lock up the station, was the last representative of +civilization I could hope to encounter until the gates of “Uplands” should be +opened to me! +</p> + +<p> +What was the matter with which I was warned not to interfere? Might I not, by +my mere presence in that place, unwittingly be interfering now? +</p> + +<p> +With the station-master’s directions humming like a refrain in my ears, I +passed through the sleeping village and out on to the road. The moon was +exceptionally bright and unobscured, although a dense bank of cloud crept +slowly from the west, and before me the path stretched as an unbroken thread of +silvery white twining a sinuous way up the bracken-covered slope, to where, +sharply defined against the moonlight sky, a coppice in grotesque silhouette +marked the summit. +</p> + +<p> +The month had been dry and tropically hot, and my footsteps rang crisply upon +the hard ground. There is nothing more deceptive than a straight road up a +hill; and half an hour’s steady tramping but saw me approaching the trees. +</p> + +<p> +I had so far resolutely endeavoured to keep my mind away from the idea of +surveillance. Now, as I paused to light my pipe—a never-failing friend in +loneliness—I perceived something move in the shadows of a neighbouring +bush. +</p> + +<p> +This object was not unlike a bladder, and the very incongruity of its +appearance served to revive all my apprehensions. Taking up my grip, as though +I had noticed nothing of an alarming nature, I pursued my way up the slope, +leaving a trail of tobacco smoke in my wake; and having my revolver secreted up +my right coat-sleeve. +</p> + +<p> +Successfully resisting a temptation to glance behind, I entered the cover of +the coppice, and, now invisible to any one who might be dogging me, stood and +looked back upon the moon-bright road. +</p> + +<p> +There was no living thing in sight, the road was empty as far as the eye could +see. The coppice now remained to be negotiated, and then, if the +station-master’s directions were not at fault, “Uplands” should be visible +beyond. Taking, therefore, what I had designed to be a final glance back down +the hillside, I was preparing to resume my way when I saw +something—something that arrested me. +</p> + +<p> +It was a long way behind—so far that, had the moon been less bright, I +could never have discerned it. What it was I could not even conjecture; but it +had the appearance of a vague gray patch, moving—not along the road, but +through the undergrowth—in my direction. +</p> + +<p> +For a second my eye rested upon it. Then I saw a second patch—a +third—a fourth! +</p> + +<p> +Six! +</p> + +<p> +There were six gray patches creeping up the slope toward me! +</p> + +<p> +The sight was unnerving. What were these things that approached, silently, +stealthily—like snakes in the grass? +</p> + +<p> +A fear, unlike anything I had known before the quest of the Prophet’s slipper +had brought fantastic horror into my life, came upon me. Revolver in hand I +ran—ran for my life toward the gap in the trees that marked the coppice +end. And as I went something hummed through the darkness beside my head, some +projectile, some venomous thing that missed its mark by a bare inch! +</p> + +<p> +Painfully conversant with the uncanny weapons employed by the Hashishin, I knew +now, beyond any possibility of doubt, that death was behind me. +</p> + +<p> +A pattering like naked feet sounded on the road, and, without pausing in my +headlong career, I sent a random shot into the blackness. +</p> + +<p> +The crack of the Smith and Wesson reassured me. I pulled up short, turned, and +looked back toward the trees. +</p> + +<p> +Nothing—no one! +</p> + +<p> +Breathing heavily, I crammed my extinguished briar into my +pocket—re-charged the empty chamber of the revolver—and started to +run again toward a light that showed over the treetops to my left. +</p> + +<p> +That, if the man’s directions were right, was “Uplands”—if his directions +were wrong—then... +</p> + +<p> +A shrill whistle—minor, eerie, in rising cadence—sounded on the +dead silence with piercing clearness! Six whistles—seemingly from all +around me—replied! +</p> + +<p> +Some object came humming through the air, and I ducked wildly. +</p> + +<p> +On and on I ran—flying from an unknown, but, as a warning instinct told +me, deadly peril—ran as a man runs pursued by devils. +</p> + +<p> +The road bent sharply to the left then forked. Overhanging trees concealed the +house, and the light, though high up under the eaves, was no longer visible. +Trusting to Providence to guide me, I plunged down the lane that turned to the +left, and, almost exhausted, saw the gates before me—saw the sweep of the +drive, and the moonlight, gleaming on the windows! +</p> + +<p> +None of the windows were illuminated. +</p> + +<p> +Straight up to the iron gates I raced. +</p> + +<p> +They were locked! +</p> + +<p> +Without a moment’s hesitation I hurled my grip over the top and clambered up +the bars! As I got astride, from the blackness of the lane came the ominous +hum, and my hat went spinning away across the lawn!—the black cloud +veiled the moon and complete darkness fell. +</p> + +<p> +Then I dropped and ran for the house—shouting, though all but +winded—“Hilton! Hilton! Open the door!” +</p> + +<p> +Sinking exhausted on the steps, I looked toward the gates—but they showed +only dimly in the dense shadows of the trees. +</p> + +<p> +Bzzz! Buzz! +</p> + +<p> +I dropped flat in the portico as something struck the metal knob of the door +and rebounded over me. A shower of gravel told of another misdirected +projectile. +</p> + +<p> +Crack! Crack! Crack! The revolver spoke its short reply into the mysterious +darkness; but the night gave up no sound to tell of a shot gone home. +</p> + +<p> +“Hilton! Hilton!” I cried, banging on the panels with the butt of the weapon. +“Open the door! Open the door!” +</p> + +<p> +And now I heard the coming footsteps along the hall within; heavy bolts were +withdrawn—the door swung open—and Hilton, pale-faced, appeared. His +hand shot out, grabbed my coat collar; and weak, exhausted, I found myself +snatched into safety, and the door rebolted. +</p> + +<p> +“Thank God!” I whispered. “Thank God! Hilton, look to all your bolts and +fastenings. Hell is outside!” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap33"></a> +CHAPTER XXXIII<br/> +HOW WE WERE REINFORCED</h2> + +<p> +Hilton, I learned, was living the simple life at “Uplands.” The place was not +yet decorated and was only partly furnished. But with his man, Soar, he had +been in solitary occupation for a week. +</p> + +<p> +“Feel better now?” he asked anxiously. +</p> + +<p> +I reached for my tumbler and blew a cloud of smoke into the air. I could hear +Soar’s footsteps as he made the round of bolts and bars, testing each +anxiously. +</p> + +<p> +“Thanks, Hilton,” I said. “I’m quite all right. You are naturally wondering +what the devil it all means? Well, then, I wired you from Euston that I was +coming by the 6:55.” +</p> + +<p> +“H— Post Office shuts at 7. I shall get your wire in the morning!” +</p> + +<p> +“That explains your failing to meet me. Now for my explanation!” +</p> + +<p> +“Surrounding this house at the present moment,” I continued, “are members of an +Eastern organization—the Hashishin, founded in Khorassan in the eleventh +century and flourishing to-day!” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you mean it, Cavanagh?” +</p> + +<p> +“I do! One Hassan of Aleppo is the present Sheikh of the order, and he has come +to England, bringing a fiendish company in his train, in pursuit of the sacred +slipper of Mohammed, which was stolen by the late Professor Deeping—-” +</p> + +<p> +“Surely I have read something about this?” +</p> + +<p> +“Probably. Deeping was murdered by Hassan! The slipper was placed in the +Antiquarian Museum—” +</p> + +<p> +“From which it was stolen again!” +</p> + +<p> +“Correct—by Earl Dexter, America’s foremost crook! But the real facts +have never got into print. I am the only pressman who knows them, and I have +good reason for keeping my knowledge to myself! Dexter is dead (I believe I saw +his ghost to-day). But although, to the best of my knowledge, the accursed +slipper is in the hands of Hassan and Company, I have been watched since I left +Euston, and on my way to ‘Uplands’ my life was attempted!” +</p> + +<p> +“For God’s sake, why?” +</p> + +<p> +“I cannot surmise, Hilton. Deeping, for certain reasons that are irrelevant at +the moment, left the keys of the case at the Museum in my perpetual +keeping—but the case was rifled a second time—” +</p> + +<p> +“I read of it!” +</p> + +<p> +“And the keys were stolen from me. I am utterly at a loss to understand why the +Hashishin—for it is members of that awful organization who, without a +doubt, surround this house at the present moment—should seek my life. +Hilton, I have brought trouble with me!” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s almost incredible!” said Hilton, staring at me. “Why do these people +pursue you?” +</p> + +<p> +Ere I had time to reply Soar entered, arrayed, as was Hilton, in his night +attire. Soar was an ex-dragoon and a model man. +</p> + +<p> +“Everything fast, sir,” he reported; “but from the window of the bedroom over +here—the room I got ready for Mr. Cavanagh—I thought I saw someone +in the orchard.” +</p> + +<p> +“Eh?” jerked Hilton—“in the orchard? Come on up, Cavanagh!” +</p> + +<p> +We all ran upstairs. The moonlight was streaming into the room. +</p> + +<p> +“Keep back!” I warned. +</p> + +<p> +Well within the shadow, I crept up to the window and looked out. The night was +hot and still. No breeze stirred the leaves, but the edge of the frowning +thunder cloud which I had noted before spread a heavy carpet of ebony black +upon the ground. Beyond, I could dimly discern the hills. The others stood +behind me, constrained by the fear of this mysterious danger which I had +brought to “Uplands.” +</p> + +<p> +There was someone moving among the trees! +</p> + +<p> +Closer came the figure, and closer, until suddenly a shaft of moonlight found +passage and spilled a momentary pool of light amid the shadows, I could see the +watcher very clearly. A moment he stood there, motionless, and looking up at +the window; then as he glided again into the shade of the trees the darkness +became complete. But I watched, crouching there nervously, for long after he +was gone. +</p> + +<p> +“For God’s sake, who is it?” whispered Hilton, with a sort of awe in his voice. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s Hassan of Aleppo!” I replied. +</p> + +<p> +Virtually, the house, with the capital of the Midlands so near upon the one +hand, the feverish activity of the Black Country reddening the night upon the +other, was invested by fanatic Easterns! +</p> + +<p> +We descended again to the extemporized study. Soar entered with us and Hilton +invited him to sit down. +</p> + +<p> +“We must stick together to-night!” he said. “Now, Cavanagh, let us see if we +can find any explanation of this amazing business. I can understand that at one +period of the slipper’s history you were an object of interest to those who +sought to recover it; but if, as you say, the Hashishin have the slipper now, +what do they want with you? If you have never touched it, they cannot be +prompted by desire for vengeance.” +</p> + +<p> +“I have never touched it,” I replied grimly; “nor even any receptacle +containing it.” +</p> + +<p> +As I ceased speaking came a distant muffled rumbling. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s the thunder,” said Hilton. “There’s a tremendous storm brewing.” +</p> + +<p> +He poured out three glasses of whisky, and was about to speak when Soar held up +a warning finger. +</p> + +<p> +“Listen!” he said. +</p> + +<p> +At his words, with tropical suddenness down came the rain. +</p> + +<p> +Hilton, his pipe in his hand, stood listening intently. +</p> + +<p> +“What?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know, sir; the sound of the rain has drowned it.” +</p> + +<p> +Indeed, the rain was descending in a perfect deluge, its continuous roar +drowning all other sounds; but as we three listened tensely we detected a noise +which hitherto had seemed like the overflowing of some spout. +</p> + +<p> +But louder and clearer it grew, until at last I knew it for what it was. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s a motor-car!” I cried. +</p> + +<p> +“And coming here!” added Soar. “Listen! it’s in the lane!” +</p> + +<p> +“It certainly isn’t a taxicab,” declared Hilton. “None of the men will come +beyond the village.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s the gate!” said Soar, in an awed voice, and stood up, looking at +Hilton. +</p> + +<p> +“Come on,” said the latter abruptly, making for the door. +</p> + +<p> +“Be careful, Hilton!” I cried; “it may be a trick!” +</p> + +<p> +Soar unbolted the front door, threw it open, and looked out. In the darkness of +the storm it was almost impossible to see anything in the lane outside. But at +that moment a great sheet of lightning split the gloom, and we saw a taxicab +standing close up to the gateway! +</p> + +<p> +“Help! Open the gate!” came a high-pitched voice; “open the gate!” +</p> + +<p> +Out into the rain we ran and down the gravel path. Soar had the gate open in a +twinkling, and a woman carrying a brown leather grip, but who was so closely +veiled that I had no glimpse of her features, leapt through on to the drive. +</p> + +<p> +“Lend a hand, two of you!” cried a vaguely familiar voice—“this way!” +</p> + +<p> +Hilton and Soar stepped out into the road. The driver of the cab was lying +forward across the wheel, apparently insensible, but as Hilton seized his arm +he moved and spoke feebly. +</p> + +<p> +“For God’s sake be quick, sir!” he said. “They’re after us! They’re on the +other side of the lane, there!” +</p> + +<p> +With that he dropped limply into Hilton’s arms! +</p> + +<p> +He was dragged in on to the drive—and something whizzed over our heads +and went sputtering into the gravel away up toward the house. The last to enter +was the man who had come in the cab. As he barred the gate behind him he +suddenly reached out through the bars and I saw a pistol in his hand. +</p> + +<p> +Once—twice—thrice—he fired into the blackness of the lane. +</p> + +<p> +“Take that, you swine!” he shouted. “Take that!” +</p> + +<p> +As quickly as we could, bearing the insensible man, we hurried back to the +door. On the step the woman was waiting for us, with her veil raised. A +blinding flash of lightning came as we mounted the step—and I looked into +the violet eyes of Carneta! I turned and stared at the man behind me. +</p> + +<p> +It was Earl Dexter. +</p> + +<p> +Three of the mysterious missiles fell amongst us, but miraculously no one was +struck. Amid the mighty booming of the thunder we reentered the houses and got +the door barred. In the hall we laid down the unconscious man and stood, a +strangely met company, peering at one another in the dim lamplight. +</p> + +<p> +“We’ve got to bury the hatchet, Mr. Cavanagh!” said Dexter. “It’s a case of the +common enemy. I’ve brought you your bag!” and he pointed to the brown grip upon +the floor. +</p> + +<p> +“My bag!” I cried. “My bag is upstairs in my room.” +</p> + +<p> +“Wrong, sir!” snapped The Stetson Man. “They are like as two peas in a pod, +I’ll grant you, but the bag you snatched off the platform at New Street was +mine! That’s what I’m after; I ought to be on the way to Liverpool. That’s what +Hassan’s after!” +</p> + +<p> +“The bag!” +</p> + +<p> +“You don’t need to ask what’s in the bag?” suggested Dexter. +</p> + +<p> +“What is in the bag?” ask Hilton hoarsely. +</p> + +<p> +“The slipper of the Prophet, sir!” was the reply. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap34"></a> +CHAPTER XXXIV<br/> +MY LAST MEETING WITH HASSAN OF ALEPPO</h2> + +<p> +I felt dazed, as a man must feel who has just heard the death sentence +pronounced upon him. Hilton seemed to have become incapable of speech or +action; and in silence we stood watching Carneta tending the unconscious man. +She forced brandy from a flask between his teeth, kneeling there beside him +with her face very pale and dark rings around her eyes. Presently she looked +up. +</p> + +<p> +“Will you please get me a bowl of water and a sponge?” she said quietly. +</p> + +<p> +Soar departed without a word, and no one spoke until he returned, bringing the +sponge and the water, when the girl set to work in a businesslike way to +cleanse a wound which showed upon the man’s head. +</p> + +<p> +“She’s a good nurse is Carneta,” said Dexter coolly. “She was the only doctor I +had through this”—indicating his maimed wrist. “If you will fetch my bag +down, there’s some lint in it.” +</p> + +<p> +I hesitated. +</p> + +<p> +“You needn’t worry,” said Dexter; “as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb. +You’ve handled the bag, and I’m not asking you to do any more.” +</p> + +<p> +I went up to my room and lifted the grip from the chair upon which I had put +it. Even now I found it difficult to perceive any difference between this and +mine. Both were of identical appearance and both new. In fact, I had bought +mine only that morning, my old one being past use, and being in a hurry, I had +not left it to be initialled. +</p> + +<p> +As I picked up the bag the lightning flashed again, and from the window I could +see the orchard as clearly as by sunlight. At the farther end near the wall +someone was standing watching the house. +</p> + +<p> +I went downstairs carrying the fatal bag, and rejoined the group in the hall. +</p> + +<p> +“He will have to be got to bed,” said Carneta, referring to the wounded man; +“he will probably remain unconscious for a long time.” +</p> + +<p> +Accordingly, we took the patient into one of the few furnished bedrooms, and +having put him to bed left him in care of the beautiful nurse. When we four men +met again downstairs, amazement had rendered the whole scene unreal to me. Soar +stood just within the open door, not knowing whether to go or to remain; but +Hilton motioned to him to stay. Earl Dexter bit off the end of a cigar and +stood with his left elbow resting on the mantelpiece. +</p> + +<p> +His gaunt face looked gaunter than ever, but the daredevil gray eyes still +nursed that humorous light in their depths. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Cavanagh,” he said, “we’re brothers! And if you’ll consider a minute, +you’ll see that I’m not lying when I say I’m on the straight, now and for +always!” +</p> + +<p> +I made no reply: I could think of none. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m a crook,” he resumed, “or I was up to a while ago. There’s a warrant out +for me—the first that ever bore my name. I’ve sailed near the wind often +enough, but it was desperation that got me into hot water about that!” +</p> + +<p> +He jerked his cigar in the direction of his grip, which lay now on the rug at +his feet. +</p> + +<p> +“I lost a useful right hand,” he went on—“and I lost every cent I had. It +was a dead rotten speculation—for I lost my good name! I mean it! Believe +me, I’ve handled some shady propositions in the past, but I did it right in the +sunlight! Up to the time I went out for that damned slipper I could have had +lunch with any detective from Broadway to the Strand! I didn’t need any false +whiskers and the Ritz was good enough for The Stetson Man. What now? I’m +‘wanted!’ Enough said.” +</p> + +<p> +He tossed the cigar—he had smoked scarce an inch of it—into the +empty grate. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m an Aunt Sally for any man to shy at,” he resumed bitterly. “My place +henceforth is in the dark. Right! I’ve finished; the book’s closed. From the +time I quit England—if I can quit—I’m on the straight! I’ve +promised Carneta, and I mean to keep my word. See here—” +</p> + +<p> +Dexter turned to me. +</p> + +<p> +“You’ll want to know how I escaped from the cursed death-trap at Hassan’s house +in Kent? I’ll tell you. I was never in it! I was hiding and waiting my chance. +You know what was left to guard the slipper while the Sheikh—rot +him—was away looking after arrangements for getting his mob out of the +country?” +</p> + +<p> +I nodded. +</p> + +<p> +“You fell into the trap—you and Carneta. By God! I didn’t know till it +was all over! But two minutes later I was inside that place—and three +minutes later I was away with the slipper! Oh, it wasn’t a duplicate; it was +the goods! What then? Carneta had had a sickening of the business and she just +invited me to say Yes or No. I said Yes; and I’m a straight man onward.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then what were you doing on the train with the slipper?” asked Hilton sharply. +</p> + +<p> +“I was going to Liverpool, sir!” snapped The Stetson Man, turning on him. “I +was going to try to get aboard the Mauretania and then make terms for my life! +What happened? I slipped out at Birmingham for a drink—grip in hand! I +put it down beside me, and Mr. Cavanagh here, all in a hustle, must have rushed +in behind me, snatched a whisky and snatched my grip and started for H—!” +</p> + +<p> +A vivid flash of lightning flickered about the room. Then came the deafening +boom of the thunder, right over the house it seemed. +</p> + +<p> +“I knew from the weight of the grip it wasn’t mine,” said Dexter, “and I was +the most surprised guy in Great Britain and Ireland when I found whose it was! +I opened it, of course! And right on top was a waistcoat and right in the first +pocket was a telegram. Here it is!” +</p> + +<p> +He passed it to me. It was that which I had received from Hilton. I had packed +the suit which I had been wearing that morning and must previously have thrust +the telegram into the waistcoat pocket. +</p> + +<p> +“Providence!” Dexter assured me. “Because I got on the station in time to see +Hassan of Aleppo join the train for H—! I was too late, though. But I +chartered a taxi out on Corporation Street and invited the man to race the +local! He couldn’t do it, but we got here in time for the fireworks! Mr. +Cavanagh, there are anything from six to ten Hashishin watching this house!” +</p> + +<p> +“I know it!” +</p> + +<p> +“They’re bareheaded; and in the dark their shaven skulls look like nothing +human. They’re armed with those damned tubes, too. I’d give a thousand +dollars—if I had it!—to know their mechanism. Well, gentlemen, +deeds speak. What am I here for, when I might be on the way to Liverpool, and +safety?” +</p> + +<p> +“You’re here to try to make up for the past a bit!” said a soft, musical voice. +“Mr. Cavanagh’s life is in danger.” +</p> + +<p> +Carneta entered the room. +</p> + +<p> +The light played in that wonderful hair of hers; and pale though she was, I +thought I had never seen a more beautiful woman. +</p> + +<p> +“Tell them,” she said quietly, “what must be done.” +</p> + +<p> +Soar glanced at me out of the corner of his eyes and shifted uneasily. Hilton +stared as if fascinated. +</p> + +<p> +“Now,” rapped Dexter, in his strident voice, “putting aside all questions of +justice and right (we’re not policemen), what do we want—you and I, Mr. +Cavanagh?” +</p> + +<p> +“I can’t think clearly about anything,” I said dully. “Explain yourself.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very well. Inspector Bristol, C.I.D., would want me and Hassan arrested. I +don’t want that! What I want is peace; I want to be able to sleep in comfort; I +want to know I’m not likely to be murdered on the next corner! Same with you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes—yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“How can we manage it? One way would be to kill Hassan of Aleppo; but he wants +a lot of killing—I’ve tried! Moreover, directly we’d done it, another +Sheikh-al-jebal would be nominated and he’d carry on the bloody work. We’d be +worse off than ever. Right! we’ve got to connive at letting the blood-stained +fanatic escape, and we’ve got to give up the slipper!” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll do that with all my heart!” +</p> + +<p> +“Sure! But you and I have both got little scores up against Hassan, which it’s +not in human nature to forget. But I’ve got it worked out that there’s only one +way. It may nearly choke us to have to do it, I’ll allow. I’m working on the +Moslem character. Mr. Hilton, make up a fire in the grate here!” +</p> + +<p> +Hilton stared, not comprehending. +</p> + +<p> +“Do as he asks,” I said. “Personally, I am resigned to mutilation, since I have +touched the bag containing the slipper, but if Dexter has a plan—” +</p> + +<p> +“Excuse me, sir,” Soar interrupted. “I believe there’s some coal in the +coal-box, but I shall have to break up a packing-case for firewood—or go +out into the yard!” +</p> + +<p> +“Let it be the packing-case,” replied Hilton hastily. +</p> + +<p> +Accordingly a fire was kindled, whilst we all stood about the room in a sort of +fearful uncertainty; and before long a big blaze was roaring up the chimney. +Dexter turned to me. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Cavanagh,” said he, “I want you to go right upstairs, open a first-floor +window—I would suggest that of your bedroom—and invite Hassan of +Aleppo to come and discuss terms!” +</p> + +<p> +Silence followed his words; we were all amazed. Then— +</p> + +<p> +“Why do you ask me to do this?” I inquired. +</p> + +<p> +“Because,” replied Dexter, “I happen to know that Hassan has some queer kind of +respect for you—I don’t know why.” +</p> + +<p> +“Which is probably the reason why he tried to kill me to-night!” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s beside the question, Mr. Cavanagh. He will believe you—which is +the important point.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very well. I have no idea what you have in mind but I am prepared to adopt any +plan since I have none of my own. What shall I say?” +</p> + +<p> +“Say that we are prepared to return the slipper—on conditions.” +</p> + +<p> +“He will probably try to shoot me as I stand at the window.” +</p> + +<p> +Dexter shrugged his shoulders. +</p> + +<p> +“Got to risk it,” he drawled. +</p> + +<p> +“And what are the conditions?” +</p> + +<p> +“He must come right in here and discuss them! Guarantee him safe conduct and I +don’t think he’ll hesitate. Anyway, if he does, just tell him that the slipper +will be destroyed immediately!” +</p> + +<p> +Without a word I turned on my heel and ascended the stairs. +</p> + +<p> +I entered my room, crossed to the window, and threw it widely open. Hovering +over the distant hills I could see the ominous thunder cloud, but the storm +seemed to have passed from “Uplands,” and only a distant muttering with the +faint dripping of water from the pipes broke the silence of the night. A great +darkness reigned, however, and I was entirely unable to see if any one was in +the orchard. +</p> + +<p> +Like some mueddin of fantastic fable I stood there. +</p> + +<p> +“Hassan!” I cried—“Hassan of Aleppo!” +</p> + +<p> +The name rang out strangely upon the stillness—the name which for me had +a dreadful significance; but the whole episode seemed unreal, the voice that +had cried unlike my voice. +</p> + +<p> +Instantly as any magician summoning an efreet I was answered. +</p> + +<p> +Out from the trees strode a tall figure, a figure I could not mistake. It was +that of Hassan of Aleppo! +</p> + +<p> +“I hear, effendim, and obey,” he said. “I am ready. Open the door!” +</p> + +<p> +“We are prepared to discuss terms. You may come and go safely”—still my +voice sounded unfamiliar in my ears. +</p> + +<p> +“I know, effendim; it is so written. Open the door.” +</p> + +<p> +I closed the window and mechanically descended the stairs. +</p> + +<p> +“Mind it isn’t a trap!” cried Hilton, who, with the others, had overheard every +word of this strange interview. “They may try to rush the door directly we open +it.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll stand the chest behind it,” said Soar; “between the door and the wall, so +that only one can enter at a time.” +</p> + +<p> +This was done, and the door opened. +</p> + +<p> +Alone, majestic, entered Hassan of Aleppo. +</p> + +<p> +He was dressed in European clothes but wore the green turban of a Sherif. With +his snowy beard and coal-black eyes he seemed like a vision of the Prophet, of +the Prophet in whose name he had committed such ghastly atrocities. +</p> + +<p> +Deigning no glance to Soar nor to Hilton, he paced into the room, passing me +and ignoring Carneta, where Earl Dexter awaited him. I shall never forget the +scene as Hassan entered, to stand looking with blazing eyes at The Stetson Man, +who sat beside the fire with the slipper of Mohammed in his hand! +</p> + +<p> +“Hassan,” said Dexter quietly, “Mr. Cavanagh has had to promise you safe +conduct, or as sure as God made me, I’d put a bullet in you!” +</p> + +<p> +The Sheikh of the Hashishin glared fixedly at him. +</p> + +<p> +“Companion of the evil one,” he said, “it is not written that I shall die by +your hand—or by the hand of any here. But it has been revealed to me that +to-night the gates of Paradise may be closed in my face.” +</p> + +<p> +“I shouldn’t be at all surprised,” drawled Dexter. “But it’s up to you. You’ve +got to swear by Mohammed—” +</p> + +<p> +“Salla-’llahu ’aleyhi wasellem!” +</p> + +<p> +“That you won’t lay a hand upon any living soul, or allow any of your followers +to do so, who has touched the slipper or had anything to do with it, but that +you will go in peace.” +</p> + +<p> +“You are doomed to die!” +</p> + +<p> +“You don’t agree, then?” +</p> + +<p> +“Those who have offended must suffer the penalty!” +</p> + +<p> +“Right!” said Dexter—and prepared to toss the slipper into the heart of +the fire! +</p> + +<p> +“Stop! Infidel! Stop!” +</p> + +<p> +There was real agony in Hassan’s voice. To my inexpressible surprise he dropped +upon his knee, extending his lean brown hands toward the slipper. +</p> + +<p> +Dexter hesitated. “You agree, then?” +</p> + +<p> +Hassan raised his eyes to the ceiling. +</p> + +<p> +“I agree,” he said. “Dark are the ways. It is the will of God...” +</p> + +<p> +Dimly the booming of the thunder came echoing back to us from the hills. Above +its roll sounded a barbaric chanting to which the drums of angry heaven formed +a fitting accompaniment. +</p> + +<p> +I heard Soar shooting the bolts again upon the going of our strange visitor. +</p> + +<p> +Faint and more faint grew the chanting, until it merged into the remote +muttering of the storm—and was lost. The quest of the sacred slipper was +ended. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 2126 ***</div> +</body> + +</html> + |