by Sax Rohmer
CHAPTER VI
THE RING OF THE PROPHET
"There is no doubt," said Mr. Rawson, "that great personal dangerattaches to any contact with this relic. It is the first time Ihave been concerned with anything of the kind."
Mr. Bristol, of Scotland Yard, standing stiffly military by thewindow, looked across at the gray-haired solicitor. We were allsilent for a few moments.
"My late client's wishes," continued Mr. Rawson, "are explicit.His last instructions, evidently written but a short time prior tohis death, advise me that the holy slipper of the Prophet iscontained in the locked safe at his house in Dulwich. He wasclearly of opinion that you, Mr. Cavanagh, would incur risk--greatrisk--from your possession of the key. Since attempts have beenmade upon you, murderous attempts, the late Professor Deeping, myunfortunate client, evidently was not in error."
"Mysterious outrages," said Bristol, "have marked the progress ofthe stolen slipper from Mecca almost to London."
"I understand," interrupted the solicitor, "that a fanatic knownas Hassan of Aleppo seeks to restore the relic to its formerresting-place."
"That is so."
"Exactly; and it accounts for the Professor's wish that the safeshould not be touched by any one but a Believer--and for hisinstructions that its removal to the Antiquarian Museum and theplacing of the slipper within that institution be undertaken by aMoslem or Moslems."
Bristol frowned.
"Any one who has touched the receptacle containing the thing," hesaid, "has either been mutilated or murdered. I want to apprehendthe authors of those outrages, but I fail to see why the slippershould be put on exhibition. Other crimes are sure to follow."
"I can only pursue my instructions," said Mr. Rawson dryly. "Theyare, that the work be done in such a manner as to expose allconcerned to a minimum of risk from these mysterious people; thatif possible a Moslem be employed for the purpose; and that Mr.Cavanagh, here, shall always hold the key or keys to the case inthe museum containing the slipper. Will you undertake to look forsome--Eastern workmen, Mr. Bristol? In the course of yourinquiries you may possibly come across such a person."
"I can try," replied Bristol. "Meanwhile, I take it, the safe mustremain at Dulwich?"
"Certainly. It should be guarded."
"We are guarding it and shall guard it," Bristol assured him. "Ionly hope we catch someone trying to get at it!"
Shortly afterward Bristol and I left the office, and, his dutiestaking him to Scotland Yard, I returned to my chambers to surveythe position in which I now found myself. Indeed, it was a strangeone enough, showing how great things have small beginnings; for,as a result of a steamer acquaintance I found myself involved in adark business worthy of the Middle Ages. That Professor Deepingshould have stolen one of the holy slippers of Mohammed was noaffair of mine, and that an awful being known as Hassan of Alepposhould have pursued it did not properly enter into my concerns; yetnow, with a group of Eastern fanatics at large in England, I wasbecome, in a sense, the custodian of the relic. Moreover, Iperceived that I had been chosen that I might safeguard myself.What I knew of the matter might imperil me, but whilst I held thekey to the reliquary, and held it fast, I might hope to remainimmune though I must expect to be subjected to attempts. It wouldbe 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 tome. The weather, as is its uncomfortable habit in England, hadsuddenly grown tropically hot, plunging London into the vapours ofan African spring, and the sun was streaming through my open windowfully upon the table.
I mopped my clammy forehead, glancing with distaste at the pile ofwork which lay before me. Then my eyes turned to an open quartobook. It was the late Professor Deeping's "Assyrian Mythology,"and embodied the result of his researches into the history of theHashishin, the religious murderers of whose existence he had beenso skeptical. To the Chief of the Order, the terrible Sheikh Hassanof Aleppo, he referred as a "fabled being"; yet it was at the handsof this "fabled being" that he had met his end! How incredible itall seemed. But I knew full well how worthy of credence it was.
Then upon my gloomy musings a sound intruded--the ringing of my doorbell. I rose from my chair with a weary sigh, went to the door,and opened it. An aged Oriental stood without. He was tall andstraight, had a snow-white beard and clear-cut, handsome features.He wore well-cut European garments and a green turban. As I stoodstaring 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 apeculiar one, I wished to speak with you--as a friend of the lateProfessor."
I hesitated. The old man looked harmless enough, but there was anair 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 theconditions under which I could arrange to furnish suitable porters."
His patient explanation disposed me to believe that he was merelysome kind of small contractor, and in any event I had nothing tofear from this frail old man.
"Step in, sir," I said, repenting of my brusquerie--and stoodaside for him.
He entered, with that Oriental meekness in which there issomething majestic. I placed a chair for him in the study, andreseated myself at the table. The old man, who from the first hadkept his eyes lowered deferentially, turned to me with a gentlegesture, as if to apologize for opening the conversation.
"From the papers, Mr. Cavanagh," he began, "I have learned of thecircumstances attending the death of Professor Deeping. Yourpapers"--he smiled, and I thought I had never seen a smile ofsuch sweetness--"your papers know all! Now I understand why aMoslem is required, and I understand what is required of him. Butremembering that the object of his labours would be to place aholy relic on exhibition for the amusement of unbelievers, can youreasonably 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 seethe slipper back in Mecca, or wherever it came from. But ProfessorDeeping--"
"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 themethods adopted by those who seek to recover the relic are suchas to alienate all sympathy."
"You speak of the Hashishin?" asked the old man. "Mr. Cavanagh, inyour own faith you have had those who spilled the blood of infidelsas freely!"
"My good sir, the existence of such an organization cannot betolerated today! This survival of the dark ages must be stampedout. However just a cause may be, secret murder is not permissible,as you, a man of culture, a Believer, and"--I glanced at hisunusual 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. Iask you--have you the courage of your convictions?"
"Perhaps; I trust so."
"Then assist me to rid England of what you have called a survivalof the dark ages. I will furnish porters to remove and carry thesafe, if you will deliver to me the key!"
I sprang to my feet.
"That is madness!" I cried. "In the first place I should becompromising with my conscience, and in the second place I shouldbe defenceless against those who might--"
"I have with me a written promise from one highly placed--one towhose will Hassan of Aleppo bows!"
My mind greatl
y disturbed, I watched the venerable speaker. I haddetermined now that he was some religious leader of Islam inEngland, who had been deputed to approach me; and, let me add, Iwas sorely tempted to accede to his proposal, for nothing would begained by any one if the slipper remained for ever at the museum,whereas by conniving at its recovery by those who, after all, wereits rightful owners I should be ridding England of a weird andundesirable visitant.
I think I should have agreed, when I remembered that the Hashishinhad murdered Professor Deeping and had mutilated others whollyinnocent of offence. I looked across at the old man. He had drawnhimself up to his great height, and for the first time fullyraising the lids, had fixed upon me the piercing gaze of a pair ofeagle eyes. I started, for the aspect of this majestic figure wasentirely different from that of the old stranger who had stoodsuppliant before me a moment ago.
"It is impossible," I said. "I can come to no terms with thosewho shield murderers."
He regarded me fixedly, but did not move.
"Es-selam 'aleykum!" I added ("Peace be on you!") closing theinterview 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 thedoor and closed it upon his exit. In his last salute I had noticedthe flashing of a ring which he wore upon his left hand, and he wasgone scarce ten seconds ere my heart began to beat furiously. Isnatched up "Assyrian Mythology" and with trembling fingers turnedto a certain page.
There I read--
Each Sheikh of the Assassins is said to be invested with the "Ringof the Prophet." It bears a green stone, shaped in the form of ascimitar or crescent.
My dreadful suspicion was confirmed. I knew who my visitor hadbeen.
"God in heaven!" I whispered. "It was Hassan of Aleppo!"
