The Quest of the Sacred Slipper

by Sax Rohmer

  CHAPTER XXIII

  THE THREE MESSAGES

  I stood in the foyer of the Astoria Hotel. About me was the pulsingstir of transatlantic life, for the tourist season was now at itsheight, and I counted myself fortunate in that I had been able tosecure a room at this establishment, always so popular with Americanvisitors. Chatting groups surrounded me and I became acquaintedwith numberless projects for visiting the Tower of London, theNational Gallery, the British Museum, Windsor Castle, Kew Gardens,and the other sights dear to the heart of our visiting cousins.Loaded lifts ascended and descended. Bradshaws were in greatevidence everywhere; all was hustle and glad animation.

  The tall military-looking man who stood beside me glanced about himwith a rather grim smile.

  "You ought to be safe enough here, Mr. Cavanagh!" he said.

  "I ought to be safe enough in my own chambers," I replied wearily."How many of these pleasure-seeking folk would believe that a mancan be as greatly in peril of his life in Fleet Street as in themost uncivilized spot upon the world map? Do you think if I toldthat prosperous New Yorker who is buying a cigar yonder, forinstance, that I had been driven from my chambers by a band ofEastern assassins founded some time in the eleventh century, hewould believe it?"

  "I am certain he wouldn't!" replied Bristol. "I should not havecredited it myself before I was put in charge of this damnable case."

  My position at that hour was in truth an incredible one. The sacredslipper of Mohammed lay once more in the glass case at theAntiquarian Museum from which Earl Dexter had stolen it. Now, withapish yellow faces haunting my dreams, with ghostly menaces doggingme day and night, I was outcast from my own rooms and compelled, inself-defence, to live amid the bustle of the Astoria. So whollynonplussed were the police authorities that they could afford me noprotection. They knew that a group of scientific murderers layhidden in or near to London; they knew that Earl Dexter, the foremostcrook of his day, was also in the metropolis--and they could make nomove, were helpless; indeed, as Bristol had confessed, were hopeless!

  Bristol, on the previous day, had unearthed the Greek cigar merchant,Acepulos, who had replaced the slipper in its case (for a monetaryconsideration). He had performed a similar service when thebloodstained thing had first been put upon exhibition at the Museum,and for a considerable period had disappeared. We had feared thathis religious pretensions had not saved him from the avengingscimitar of Hassan; but quite recently he had returned again to hisSoho shop, and in time thus to earn a second cheque.

  As Bristol and I stood glancing about the foyer of the hotel, aplain-clothes officer whom I knew by sight came in and approachedmy companion. I could not divine the fact, of course, but I wasabout to hear news of the money-loving and greatly daringGraeco-Moslem.

  The detective whispered something to Bristol, and the latter started,and paled. He turned to me.

  "They haven't overlooked him this time, Mr. Cavanagh," he said."Acepulos has been found dead in his room, nearly decapitated!"

  I shuddered involuntarily. Even there, amid the chatter and laughterof those light-hearted tourists, the shadow of Hassan of Aleppo wasfalling upon me.

  Bristol started immediately for Soho and I parted from him in theStrand, he proceeding west and I eastward, for I had occasion thatmorning to call at my bank. It was the time of the year when Londonis full of foreigners, and as I proceeded in the direction of FleetStreet I encountered more than one Oriental. To my excitedimagination they all seemed to glance at me furtively, with menacingeyes, but in any event I knew that I had little to fear whilst Icontrived to keep to the crowded thoroughfares. Solitude I dreadedand with good reason.

  Then at the door of the bank I found fresh matter for reflection.The assistant manager, Mr. Colby, was escorting a lady to the door.As I stood aside, he walked with her to a handsome car which waited,and handed her in with marks of great deference. She was heavilyveiled and I had no more than a glimpse of her, but she appeared tobe of middle age and had gray hair and a very stately manner.

  I told myself that I was unduly suspicious, suspicious of everyoneand of everything; yet as I entered the bank I found myself wonderingwhere I had seen that dignified, grayhaired figure before. I eventhought of asking the manager the name of his distinguished customer,but did not do so, for in the circumstances such an inquiry musthave appeared impertinent.

  My business transacted, I came out again by the side entrance whichopens on the little courtyard, for this branch of the London Countyand Provincial Bank occupies a corner site.

  A ragged urchin who was apparently waiting for me handed me a note.I looked at him inquiringly.

  "For me?" I said.

  "Yes, sir. A dark gentleman pointed you out as you was goin' intothe bank."

  The note was written upon a half sheet of paper and, doubting if itwas really intended for me, I unfolded it and read the following--

  Mr. Cavanagh, take the keys of the case containing the holy slipper to your hotel this evening without fail. HASSAN.

  "Who gave you this, boy?" I asked sharply.

  "A foreign gentleman, sir, very dark--like an Indian."

  "Where is he?"

  "He went off in a cab, sir, after he give me the note."

  I handed the boy sixpence and slowly pursued my way. An idea wasforming in my mind to trap the enemy by seeming acquiescent. Iwondered if my movements were being watched at that moment. Sinceit was more than probable, I returned to the bank, entered, andmade some trivial inquiry of a cashier, and then came out again andwalked on as far as the Report office.

  I had not been in the office more than five minutes before Ireceived a telegram from Inspector Bristol. It had been handed inat Soho, and the message was an odd one.

  CAVANAGH, Report, London. Plot afoot to steal keys. Get them from bank and join me 11 o'clock at Astoria. Have planned trap. BRISTOL.

  This was very mysterious in view of the note so recently received byme, but I concluded that Bristol had hit upon a similar plan to thatwhich was forming in my own mind. It seemed unnecessarily hazardous,though, actually to withdraw the keys from their place of safety.

  Pondering deeply upon the perplexities of this maddening case, Ishortly afterward found myself again at the bank. With the managerI descended to the strong-room, and the safe was unlocked whichcontained the much-sought-for keys of the case at the AntiquarianMuseum.

  "There are the keys, quite safe!--and by the way, this is my secondvisit here this morning, Mr. Cavanagh," said the manager, with whomI was upon rather intimate terms. "A foreign lady who has recentlybecome a customer of the bank deposited some valuable jewels herethis morning--less than an hour ago, in fact."

  "Indeed," I said, and my mind was working rapidly. "The lady whocame in the large blue car, a gray-haired lady?"

  "Yes," was the reply, "did you notice her, then?"

  I nodded and said no more, for in truth I had no more to say. Ihad good reason to respect the uncanny powers of Hassan of Aleppo,but I doubted if even his omniscience could tell him (since I hadactually gone down into the strong-room) whether when I emerged Ihad the keys, or whether my visit and seeming acceptance of hisorders had been no more than a subterfuge!

  That the Hashishin had some means of communicating with me at theAstoria was evident from the contents of the note which I hadreceived, and as I walked in the direction of the hotel my mindwas filled with all sorts of misgivings. I was playing with fire!Had I done rightly or should I have acted otherwise? I sighedwearily. The dark future would resolve all my doubts.

  When I reached the Astoria, Bristol had not arrived. I lighted acigarette and sat down in the lounge to await his coming. Presentlya boy approached, handing me a message which had been taken downfrom the telephone by the clerk. It was as follows--

  Tell Mr. Cavanagh, who is waiting in the hotel, to take what I am expecting to his chambe
rs, and say that I will join him there in twenty minutes. INSPECTOR BRISTOL.

  Again I doubted the wisdom of Bristol's plan. Had I not fled tothe Astoria to escape from the dangerous solitude of my rooms? Thathe was laying some trap for the Hashishin was sufficiently evident,and whilst I could not justly suspect him of making a pawn of meI was quite unable to find any other explanation of this latest move.

  I was torn between conflicting doubts. I glanced at my watch. Yes!There was just time for me to revisit the bank ere joining Bristolat my chambers! I hesitated. After all, in what possible way couldit jeopardize his plans for me merely to pretend to bring the keys?

  "Hang it all!" I said, and jumped to my feet. "These maddeningconjectures will turn my brain! I'll let matters stand as theyare, and risk the consequences!"

  I hesitated no longer, but passed out from the hotel and once moredirected my steps in the direction of Fleet Street.

  As I passed in under the arch through which streamed many busyworkers, I told myself that to dread entering my own chambers athigh noon was utterly childish. Yet I did dread doing so! And asI mounted the stair and came to the landing, which was always moreor less dark, I paused for quite a long time before putting thekey in the lock.

  The affair of the accursed slipper was playing havoc with my nerves,and I laughed dryly to note that my hand was not quite steady as Iturned the key, opened my door, and slipped into the dim hallway.

  As I closed it behind me, something, probably a slight noise, butpossibly something more subtle--an instinct--made me turn rapidly.

  There facing me stood Hassan of Aleppo.