The Quest of the Sacred Slipper
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Sax Rohmer >> The Quest of the Sacred Slipper
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He accepted a cigarette, and lighted it carefully.
"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!"
I stared at him amazedly.
"Someone has been at the lock!" I cried. "But that is impossible,
with two men in the room--unless--"
"They were both knocked on the head!"
"Both! But by whom! My God! They are not--"
"Oh, no! It was done artistically. They both came round about
four o'clock this morning."
"And who attacked them?"
"They had no idea. Neither of them saw a thing!"
My amazement grew by leaps and bounds. "But, Bristol, one of them
must have seen the other succumb!"
"Both did! Their statements tally exactly!"
"I quite fail to follow you."
"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."
"What! Was he attacked?"
"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."
"Did they have lights?"
"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.
"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.
"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!"
"But if Marden's account is true--"
"West, as he lost consciousness, saw Marden go in exactly the same
way."
"Marden was seated by the open window, but I cannot conjecture how
any one can have got at West, who sat by the table!"
"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."
"And the constable?"
"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!"
"The place is watched during the day, of course?"
"Of course. But it's unlikely that anything will be attempted in
daylight. Tonight I am going down myself."
"Could you arrange that I join you?"
"I could, but you can see the danger for yourself?"
"It is extraordinarily mysterious."
"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!"
"We must lay a trap for them to-night."
"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."
Inspector Bristol, though a man of considerable culture, clearly was
infected with a species of supernatural dread.
CHAPTER VIII
THE VIOLET EYES AGAIN
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.
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.
Passing the entrance to one of the big hotels, I was abruptly
recalled to the realities--by a woman's voice.
"Wait for me here," came musically to my ears.
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.
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.
"Madame," I said in a low tone, "I must detain you for a moment.
There is something I have to ask."
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.
"I fear you have made a mistake, sir. We have never met before!"
Her voice betrayed no trace of any foreign accent!
"But," I began--and paused.
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.
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.
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.
"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!"
She stood quite still, watching me coolly. "I suppose you would
wish to avoid a scene?" I added.
"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!"
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.
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.
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.
"Now, sir," she said softly, "explain yourself."
"Then you persist in pretending that we have not met before?"
"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.
"This fencing is useless."
"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?"
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.
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.
For a long time I looked sternly into her eyes; but their violet
mystery defied, whilst her red-lipped smile taunted me.
"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--"
She raised her eyebrows slightly.
"Surely that depends upon the quality of the honour!" she said.
"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."
At that she leaned toward me, laying her hand on my arm.
"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."
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.
"Quick!" I said, "I am Cavanagh of the Report! Did you see a lady
enter the lift?"
"I did, Mr. Cavanagh," answered the hotel detective; for this was he.
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--
"Is she staying here?"
"She is not. I have never seen her before!"
The girl with the violet eyes had escaped, taking all her secrets
with her!
CHAPTER IX
SECOND ATTEMPT ON THE SAFE
"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."
"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.
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.
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.
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.
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?
"Bristol," I said suddenly, "it was someone who came through the
open window."
"No one," he replied, "came through the windows. West saw
absolutely nothing. But if any one comes that way to-night, we
have him!"
"West may have seen nothing; but how else could any one enter?"
Bristol offered no reply; and I plunged again into a maze of
speculation.
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.
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?
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.
"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?"
"It has not," he replied. "In the strictest sense of the expression,
they would be out for trouble! What gave you the idea?"
"I hardly know," I returned evasively, for even now I was loath to
betray the mysterious girl with the wonderful eyes.
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.
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.
I glanced toward the corner of the room where the safe stood,
reliquary of a worthless thing for which much blood had been spilled.
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!
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.
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.
"Mr. Cavanagh!"
I laughed dryly at my own cowardice, but my heart was still beating
abnormally.
"Here I am, Bristol, in a ghastly funk!"
"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."
"Wind in the bushes?"
"It may have been; but he says there was no breeze at the time."
We resumed our seats.
"Bristol," I said, "now that the danger grows imminent, doesn't it
seem to you foolhardy for us thus to expose ourselves?"
"Perhaps it is," he agreed; "but how otherwise are we likely to
learn what happened to Marden and West?"
"The enemy may adopt different measures to-night."
"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."
Silence fell.
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.
So we sat, until the moonlight poured fully in upon Bristol's back.
So we sat when the clock chimed the hour of one.
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.
"All's well," he said.
But from his tones I knew that he had not forgotten that it was at
this hour Marden and West had suffered mysterious attack.
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.
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.
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.
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!
A faint sound, quite indescribable, came to my ears from somewhere
outside-beyond.
"My God!" whispered Bristol. "Did you hear it?"
"Yes! What?"
"It must have been Morris!--"
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.
With an exclamation of dismay, I stooped quickly to recover it.
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!
"Bristol!" I whispered.
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.
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.
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!
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.
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.
A hot breath fanned my cheek!
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!
A second brown man (who must have entered by one of the windows
overlooking the shrubbery) was bending over me!
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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