The Quest of the Sacred Slipper
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Sax Rohmer >> The Quest of the Sacred Slipper
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"Yes. I think he must have been trying to prise open that box
yonder when he was attacked."
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.
"When did this arrive?" asked Bristol. Lester, the Professor's
man, who had entered the room, replied shakily--
"It came by carrier, sir, just before I went out."
"Was he expecting it?"
"I don't think so."
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.
"It is perfectly evident," remarked Bristol, "that the murderer
stayed to search for--"
"The key of the safe!"
"Exactly. If the men really heard sounds here, it would appear that
the assassin was still searching at that time."
"I assure you," the officer interrupted, "that there was no living
thing in the room when we entered."
Bristol and I looked at one another in horrified wonder.
"It's incomprehensible!" he said.
"See if the key is in the place mentioned by the Professor, Mr.
Cavanagh, whilst I break the box."
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--
"This box is unopenable by ordinary means! I shall have to smash
it!"
At his words, I joined him where he knelt on the floor.
Mysteriously, the chest had defied all his efforts.
"There's a pick-axe in the garden," volunteered Lester. "Shall I
bring it?"
"Yes."
The man ran off.
"I see the key is safe," said Bristol. "Possibly the letter may
throw some light upon all this."
"Let us hope so," I replied. "You might read it."
He took the letter from my hand, stepped up to the table, and by
the light of the lamp read as follows--
My Dear Cavanagh,--
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.
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."
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.
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!
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.
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.
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.
EDWARD DEEPING.
"It is almost incredible!" I said hoarsely.
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.
Through the house of death the sound of the blows echoed and rang
with a sort of sacrilegious mockery. The box fell to pieces.
"My God! look, sir!"
Lester was the trembling speaker.
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!
CHAPTER V
THE OCCUPANT OF THE BOX
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.
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.
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.
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.
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!
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.
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--
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.
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.)
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.
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.
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?
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!
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.
But what was this creature?
I turned to the chapter in "Assyrian Mythology"--"The Tradition
of the Hashishin."
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.
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.
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!
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.
"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."
My door began very slowly to open!
Merciful God! What was coming into the room!
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.
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!
"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--"
(At this moment I remembered that my bathroom window was open, and
that the waste-pipe passed down the exterior wall.)
"--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--"
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!
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.
Something whirred past me and struck the wall behind.
Revolver in hand, I leapt across the room, dashed the door open,
and fired blindly--again--and again--and again--down the
passage.
And in the brief gleams I saw it!
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.
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!
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.
Wildly, I fired again. I hurled myself forward and dashed into
the room.
Like nothing so much as a cat, the gleaming body (the dwarf was
but scantily clothed) streaked through the open window!
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.
Brilliant moonlight flooded the pavement beneath; for twenty yards
to left and right every stone was visible.
The court was empty!
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.
Moved by some instinct, as that of a frightened child, I dropped
to my knees and buried my face in trembling hands.
CHAPTER VI
THE RING OF THE PROPHET
"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."
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.
"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."
"Mysterious outrages," said Bristol, "have marked the progress of
the stolen slipper from Mecca almost to London."
"I understand," interrupted the solicitor, "that a fanatic known
as Hassan of Aleppo seeks to restore the relic to its former
resting-place."
"That is so."
"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."
Bristol frowned.
"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."
"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."
"I can try," replied Bristol. "Meanwhile, I take it, the safe must
remain at Dulwich?"
"Certainly. It should be guarded."
"We are guarding it and shall guard it," Bristol assured him. "I
only hope we catch someone trying to get at it!"
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.
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.
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.
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.
"Mr. Cavanagh?" he asked, speaking in faultless English.
"I am he."
"I learn that the services of a Moslem workman are required."
"Quite correct, sir; but you should apply at the offices of Messrs.
Rawson & Rawson, Chancery Lane."
The old man bowed, smiling.
"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."
I hesitated. The old man looked harmless enough, but there was an
air of mystery about the matter which put me on my guard.
"You will pardon me," I said, "but the work is scarcely of a kind--"
He raised his thin hand.
"I am not undertaking it myself. I wished to explain to you the
conditions under which I could arrange to furnish suitable porters."
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.
"Step in, sir," I said, repenting of my brusquerie--and stood
aside for him.
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.
"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?"
His point of view was fair enough.
"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--"
"Professor Deeping was a thorn in the flesh of the Faithful!"
My visitor's voice was gravely reproachful.
"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."
"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!"
"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."
"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?"
"Perhaps; I trust so."
"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!"
I sprang to my feet.
"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--"
"I have with me a written promise from one highly placed--one to
whose will Hassan of Aleppo bows!"
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.
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.
"It is impossible," I said. "I can come to no terms with those
who shield murderers."
He regarded me fixedly, but did not move.
"Es-selam 'aleykum!" I added ("Peace be on you!") closing the
interview in the Eastern manner.
The old man lowered his eyes, and saluted me with graceful gravity.
"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.
There I read--
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.
My dreadful suspicion was confirmed. I knew who my visitor had
been.
"God in heaven!" I whispered. "It was Hassan of Aleppo!"
CHAPTER VII
FIRST ATTEMPT ON THE SAFE
On the following morning I was awakened by the arrival of Bristol.
I hastened to admit him.
"Your visitor of yesterday," he began, "has wasted no time!"
"What has happened?"
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--"
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