The Quest of the Sacred Slipper

by Sax Rohmer

  CHAPTER X

  AT THE BRITISH ANTIQUARIAN MUSEUM

  A little group of interested spectators stood at the head of thesquare glass case in the centre of the lofty apartment in theBritish Antiquarian Museum known as the Burton Room (by reason ofthe fact that a fine painting of Sir Richard Burton faces you asyou enter). A few other people looked on curiously from the lowerend of the case. It contained but one exhibit--a dirty anddilapidated markoob--or slipper of morocco leather that had oncebeen red.

  "Our latest acquisition, gentlemen," said Mr. Mostyn, the curator,speaking in a low tone to the distinguished Oriental scholarsaround him. "It has been left to the Institution by the lateProfessor Deeping. He describes it in a document furnished by hissolicitor as one of the slippers worn by the Prophet Mohammed, butgives us no further particulars. I myself cannot quite place therelic."

  "Nor I," interrupted one of the group. "It is not mentioned byany of the Arabian historians to my knowledge--that is, if itcomes from Mecca, as I understand it does."

  "I cannot possibly assert that it comes from Mecca, Dr. Nicholson,"Mostyn replied. "The Professor may have taken it from Al-Madinah--perhapsfrom the mysterious inner passage of the baldaquin wherethe treasures of the place lie. But I can assure you that whatlittle we do know of its history is sufficiently unsavoury."

  I fancied that the curator's tired cultured voice faltered as hespoke; and now, without apparent reason, he moved a step to theright and glanced oddly along the room. I followed the directionof his glance, and saw a tall man in conventional morning dress,irreproachable in every detail, whose head was instantly bent uponhis catalogue. But before his eyes fell I knew that their longalmond shape, as well as the peculiar burnt pallor of hiscountenance, were undoubtedly those of an Oriental.

  "There have been mysterious outrages committed, I believe, uponmany of those who have come in contact with the slipper?" asked oneof the savants.

  "Exactly. Professor Deeping was undoubtedly among the victims.His instructions were explicit that the relic should be brought hereby a Moslem, but for a long time we failed to discover any Moslemwho would undertake the task; and, as you are aware, while theslipper remained at the Professor's house attempts were made tosteal it."

  He ceased uneasily, and glanced at the tall Eastern figure. It hadedged a little nearer; the head was still bowed and the fine yellowwaxen fingers of the hand from which he had removed his glovefumbled with the catalogue's leaves. It may well have been thatin those days I read menace in every eye, yet I felt assured thatthe yellow visitor was eavesdropping--was malignantly attentive tothe conversation.

  The curator spoke lower than ever now; no one beyond the circlecould possibly hear him as he proceeded--

  "We discovered an Alexandrian Greek who, for personal reasons, notunconnected with matrimony, had turned Moslem! He carried theslipper here, strongly escorted, and placed it where you now see it.No other hand has touched it." (The speaker's voice was raised everso slightly.) "You will note that there is a rail around the case,to prevent visitors from touching even the glass."

  "Ah," said Dr. Nicholson quizzically, "And has anything untowardhappened to our Graeco-Moslem friend?"

  "Perhaps Inspector Bristol can tell," replied the curator.

  The straight, military figure of the well-known Scotland Yard manwas conspicuous among the group of distinguished--and mostlyround-shouldered--scholars.

  "Sorry, gentlemen," he said, smiling, "but Mr. Acepulos has vanishedfrom his tobacco shop in Soho. I am not apprehensive that he hadbeen kidnapped or anything of that kind. I think rather that thedate of his disappearance tallies with that on which he cashed hischeque for service rendered! His present wife is getting mostunbeautifully fat, too."

  "What precautions," someone asked, "are being taken to guard theslipper?"

  "Well," Mostyn answered, "though we have only the bare word of thelate Professor Deeping that the slipper was actually worn byMohammed, it has certainly an enormous value according to Moslemideas. There can be no doubt that a group of fanatics known asHashishin are in London engaged in an extraordinary endeavour torecover it."

  Mostyn's voice sank to an impressive whisper. My gaze sought againthe tall Eastern visitor and was held fascinated by the baffledstraining in those velvet eyes. But the lids fell as I looked; andthe effect was that of a fire suddenly extinguished. I determinedto draw Bristol's attention to the man.

  "Accordingly," Mostyn continued, "we have placed it in this room,from which I fancy it would puzzle the most accomplished thief toremove it."

  The party, myself included, stared about the place, as he went onto explain--

  "We have four large windows here; as you see. The Burton Roomoccupies the end of a wing; there is only one door; it communicateswith the next room, which in turn opens into the main building byanother door on the landing. We are on the first floor; these twoeast windows afford a view of the lawn before the main entrance;those two west ones face Orpington Square; all are heavily barredas you see. During the day there is a man always on duty in thesetwo rooms. At night that communicating door is locked. Short oferecting a ladder in full view either of the Square or of GreatOrchard Street, filing through four iron bars and breaking thewindow and the case, I fail to see how anybody can get at theslipper here."

  "If a duplicate key to the safe--" another voice struck in; I knewit afterward for that of Professor Rhys-Jenkyns.

  "Impossible to procure one, Professor," cried Mostyn, his eyessparkling with an almost boyish interest. "Mr. Cavanagh here holdsthe keys of the case, under the will of the late Professor Deeping.They are of foreign workmanship and more than a little complicated."

  The eyes of the savants were turned now in my direction.

  "I suppose you have them in a place of safety?" said Dr. Nicholson.

  "They are at my bankers," I replied.

  "Then I venture to predict," said the celebrated Orientalist, "thatthe slipper of the Prophet will rest here undisturbed."

  He linked his arm into that of a brother scholar and the littlegroup straggled away, Mostyn accompanying them to the main entrance.

  But I saw Inspector Bristol scratching his chin; he looked very muchas if he doubted the accuracy of the doctor's prediction. He hadalready had some experience of the implacable devotion of the Moslemgroup to this treasure of the Faithful.

  "The real danger begins," I suggested to him, "when the general publicis admitted--after to-day, is it not?"

  "Yes. All to-day's people are specially invited, or are usingspecial invitation cards," he replied. "The people who receivedthem often give their tickets away to those who will be likelyreally to appreciate the opportunity."

  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 mygaze fell upon an excessively thin, keen-faced man whose curiouslywide-open eyes met mine smilingly, whose gray suit spoke Stein-Bloch,whose felt was a Boss raw-edge unmistakably of a kind that onlyPhiladelphia can produce. At the height of the season such visitorsare not rare, but this one had an odd personality, and moreover hiskeen gaze was raking the place from ceiling to floor.

  Where had I met him before? To the best of my recollection I hadnever set eyes upon the man prior to that moment; and since he wasso palpably an American I had no reason for assuming him to beassociated with the Hashishin. But I remembered--indeed, I couldnever forget--how, in the recent past, I had met with an apparentassociate of the Moslems as evidently European as this curiouslyalert visitor was American. Moreover ... there was somethingtauntingly familiar, yet elusive, about that gaunt face.

  Was it not upon the eve of the death of Professor Deeping that thegirl with the violet eyes had first intruded her fascinatingpersonality into my tangled affairs? Patently, she had then beenseeking the holy slipper, and by craft had endeavoured to bend meto her will. Then had I not encountered her again, meeting theglance 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 sinceneither Bristol nor I could conceive of any one seeking to possessthe bloodstained thing except the mysterious leader of theHashishin--Hassan of Aleppo--as a creature of that awful fanaticbeing I had written her down.

  Why, then, if the mysterious Eastern employed a European girl,should he not also employ an American man? It might well be thatthe relic, in entering the doors of the impregnable AntiquarianMuseum, had passed where the diabolical arts of the Hashishin hadno power to reach it--where the beauty of Western women and thecraft of Eastern man were equally useless weapons. Perhaps Hassan'scampaign was entering upon a new phase.

  Was it a shirking of plain duty on my part that wish--thatever-present hope--that the murderous company of fanatics who hadpursued the stolen slipper from its ancient resting-place to London,should succeed in recovering it? I leave you to judge.

  The crescent of Islam fades to-day and grows pale, but there are yetfierce Believers, alust for the blood of the infidel. In such asthese a faith dies the death of an adder, and is more venomous inits death-throes than in the full pulse of life. The ghastlyindiscretion of Professor Deeping, in rifling a Moslem Sacristy, hadled to the mutilation of many who, unwittingly, had touched thelooted relic, had brought about his own end, had established a leagueof fantastic assassins in the heart of the metropolis.

  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 apassionate fury that seemed to scorch whom it fell upon. I knewthat the saintly Hassan was Sheikh of the Hashishin. Andfamiliarity with that dreadful organization had by no means bredcontempt. I was the holder of the key, and my fear of the fanaticsgrew like a magic mango, darkened the sunlight of each day, andfilled the night with indefinable dread.

  You, who have not read poor Deeping's "Assyrian Mythology", cannotpicture a creature with a huge, distorted head, and a tiny, dwarfedbody--a thing inhuman, yet human--a man stunted and malformed bythe cruel arts of brother men--a thing obnoxious to life, with butone passion, the passion to kill. You cannot conceive of the yearsof agony spent by that creature strapped to a wooden frame--inorder to prevent his growth! You cannot conceive of his fiercehatred of all humanity, inflamed to madness by the Eastern drug,hashish, and directed against the enemies of Islam--the holders ofthe slipper--by the wonderful power of Hassan of Aleppo.

  But I had not only read of such beings, I had encountered one!

  And he was but one of the many instruments of the Hashishin. Perhapsthe girl with the violet eyes was another. What else to be dreadedHassan might hold in store for us I could not conjecture.

  Do you wonder that I feared? Do you wonder that I hoped (I confessit), hoped that the slipper might be recovered without furtherbloodshed?