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CHAPTER I THE PHANTOM SCIMITAR
CHAPTER I THE PHANTOM SCIMITAR
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. 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 spar
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CHAPTER II THE GIRL WITH THE VIOLET EYES
CHAPTER II THE GIRL WITH THE VIOLET EYES
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. 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 se
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CHAPTER III “HASSAN OF ALEPPO”
CHAPTER III “HASSAN OF ALEPPO”
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. “Strange you should ring me up, Cavanagh,” he said; “for I was about to ring you up.” “First,” I replied, “listen to the contents of an anonymous letter which I have received.” (I remembered, and only just in time, my promise to the veiled messenger.) “To me,” I added, having rea
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CHAPTER IV THE OBLONG BOX
CHAPTER IV THE OBLONG BOX
“You had better wait for us,” said Bristol to the taxi-man. “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.” 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. Just
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CHAPTER V THE OCCUPANT OF THE BOX
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
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CHAPTER VI THE RING OF THE PROPHET
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 sl
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CHAPTER VII FIRST ATTEMPT ON THE SAFE
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 t
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CHAPTER VIII THE VIOLET EYES AGAIN
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 prove
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CHAPTER IX SECOND ATTEMPT ON THE SAFE
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
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CHAPTER X AT THE BRITISH ANTIQUARIAN MUSEUM
CHAPTER X AT THE BRITISH ANTIQUARIAN MUSEUM
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. “Our latest acquisition, gentlemen,” said Mr
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CHAPTER XI THE HOLE IN THE BLIND
CHAPTER XI THE HOLE IN THE BLIND
I stepped over to the door, where a constable stood on duty. “You observed a tall Eastern gentleman in the room a while ago, officer?” “I did, sir.” “How long is he gone?” The man started and began to peer about anxiously. “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!” “You didn’t notice his departure, then?” “I’m sorry to say I didn’t,
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CHAPTER XII THE HASHISHIN WATCH
CHAPTER XII THE HASHISHIN WATCH
“The American gentleman has just gone out, sir,” said the sergeant at the door. 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 figur
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CHAPTER XIII THE WHITE BEAM
CHAPTER XIII THE WHITE BEAM
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. The night was still—as still as
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CHAPTER XIV A SCREAM IN THE NIGHT
CHAPTER XIV A SCREAM IN THE NIGHT
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. I wondered if the visitors to the other rooms of the Museum realized, as I realized, that despite the blazing sunlight of tropical L
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CHAPTER XV A SHRIVELLED HAND
CHAPTER XV A SHRIVELLED HAND
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. I knew myself privileged in being admitted to such a conference at the C.I.D. headquarters and owed my admission partly t
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CHAPTER XVI THE DWARF
CHAPTER XVI THE DWARF
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 revolve
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CHAPTER XVII THE WOMAN WITH THE BASKET
CHAPTER XVII THE WOMAN WITH THE BASKET
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. 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. Then in upon my preoccupation burst a woman’s scream! I aroused mysel
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CHAPTER XVIII WHAT CAME THROUGH THE WINDOW
CHAPTER XVIII WHAT CAME THROUGH THE WINDOW
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! 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 A
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CHAPTER XIX A RAPPING AT MIDNIGHT
CHAPTER XIX A RAPPING AT MIDNIGHT
Inspector Bristol finished his whisky at a gulp and stood up, a tall, massive figure, stretching himself and yawning. “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.” “You have absolutely no clue to the whereabouts of Earl Dexter?” “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 Lond
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CHAPTER XX THE GOLDEN PAVILION
CHAPTER XX THE GOLDEN PAVILION
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. 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, wh
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CHAPTER XXI THE BLACK TUBE
CHAPTER XXI THE BLACK TUBE
“There’s no doubt in my mind,” said Inspector Bristol, “that your experience was real enough.” 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. “It was a clever trick,” he said. “God knows what it was they puffed into your face
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CHAPTER XXII THE LIGHT OF EL-MEDINEH
CHAPTER XXII THE LIGHT OF EL-MEDINEH
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. “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 upo
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CHAPTER XXIII THE THREE MESSAGES
CHAPTER XXIII THE THREE MESSAGES
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 hear
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CHAPTER XXIV I KEEP THE APPOINTMENT
CHAPTER XXIV I KEEP THE APPOINTMENT
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 ven
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THE CONGO FIBRE COMPANY
THE CONGO FIBRE COMPANY
“Take my card to Mr. Boulter, boy,” he said tersely. The boy stared. “Mr. Boulter, sir? There isn’t any one of that name here.” “Oh!” said Bristol, looking around him in apparent surprise: “how long is he gone?” “I don’t know, sir. I’ve only been here three weeks, and Mr. Knowlson only took the offices a month ago.” “Oh,” commented Bristol, “then take my card to Mr. Knowlson; he will probably be able to give me Mr. Boulter’s present address.” The boy hesitated. The detective had that authoritati
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CHIEF INSPECTOR BRISTOL C.I.D. NEW SCOTLAND YARD
CHIEF INSPECTOR BRISTOL C.I.D. NEW SCOTLAND YARD
“Good afternoon, Mr. Knowlson,” said the detective dryly. “I want to come in!” 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. “Come right in, Inspector,” invited a strident voice. “Carter, you can go home.” 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
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CHAPTER XXVI THE STRONG-ROOM
CHAPTER XXVI THE STRONG-ROOM
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. Certainly the Fates were playing wit
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CHAPTER XXVII THE SLIPPER
CHAPTER XXVII THE SLIPPER
Someone was breaking in at the door of my chambers! I aroused myself from a state of coma almost death-like and listened to the blows. The sun was streaming in at my windows. 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. “Try the study!” came a voice that sounded like Bristol’s, save that it was strangely weak and shaky. Almost simultaneously the Inspector himself threw open the bedroom door—and, very p
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CHAPTER XXVIII CARNETA
CHAPTER XXVIII CARNETA
“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.” Her beautiful face was pale and troubled. Violet eyes looked sadly into mine. “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; bu
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CHAPTER XXIX WE MEET MR. ISAACS
CHAPTER XXIX WE MEET MR. ISAACS
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
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CHAPTER XXX AT THE GATE HOUSE
CHAPTER XXX AT THE GATE HOUSE
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. 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.
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CHAPTER XXXI THE POOL OF DEATH
CHAPTER XXXI THE POOL OF DEATH
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. 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. Carneta glided down, noiseless as a ghost, and to one of the black
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CHAPTER XXXII SIX GRAY PATCHES
CHAPTER XXXII SIX GRAY PATCHES
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. A brief wire had contained the welcome invitation, and up to the time when I had received it I had be
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CHAPTER XXXIII HOW WE WERE REINFORCED
CHAPTER XXXIII HOW WE WERE REINFORCED
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. “Feel better now?” he asked anxiously. 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. “Thanks, Hilton,” I said. “I’m quite all right. You are naturally wondering what the devil it all means? Wel
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CHAPTER XXXIV MY LAST MEETING WITH HASSAN OF ALEPPO
CHAPTER XXXIV MY LAST MEETING WITH HASSAN OF ALEPPO
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. “Will you please get me a bowl of water and a sponge?” she said quietly. Soar departed without a word, and no one spoke u
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