The Quest of the Sacred Slipper

by Sax Rohmer

  CHAPTER XXXI

  THE POOL OF DEATH

  Not a sound broke the stillness of the Gate House. It was the mosteerily silent place in which I had ever found myself. Out into thecorridor 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 whichthey opened bare and deserted. Then we came upon a short, descendingstair, at its foot a massive oaken door.

  Carneta glided down, noiseless as a ghost, and to one of theblackened panels applied an ingenious little instrument which shecarried in her knapsack. It was not unlike a stethoscope; and as Iwatched her listening, by means of this arrangement, for any soundbeyond the oaken door, I reflected how almost every advance made byscience places a new tool in the hand of the criminal.

  No word had been spoken since we had discovered this door; none hadbeen necessary. For we both knew that the place beyond was thatfrom which proceeded the mysterious red light.

  I directed the ray of the electric torch upon Carneta, as she stoodthere listening, and against that sombre oaken background her faceand profile stood out with startling beauty. She seemed halfperplexed and half fearful. Then she abruptly removed the apparatus,and, stooping to the knapsack, replaced it and took out a bunch ofwire keys, signing to me to hand her the lamp.

  As I crept down the steps I saw her pause, glancing back over hershoulder toward the door. The expression upon her face inducedme to direct the light in the same direction.

  Why neither of us had observed the fact before I cannot conjecture;but a key was in the lock!

  Perhaps the traffic of the night afforded no more dramatic momentthan this. The house which we were come prepared burglariouslyto enter was thrown open, it would seem, to us, inviting ourinspection!

  Looking back upon that moment, it seems almost incredible that thesight of a key in a lock should have so thrilled me. But at thetime I perceived something sinister in this failure of the Lord ofthe Hashishin to close his doors to intruders. That Carneta sharedmy doubts and fears was to be read in her face; but her traininghad been peculiar, I learned, and such as establishes a surprisingresoluteness of character.

  Quite noiselessly she turned the key, and holding a dainty pocketrevolver in her hand, pushed the door open slowly!

  An odour, sickly sweet and vaguely familiar, was borne to mynostrils. Carneta became outlined in dim, reddish light. Bendingforward slightly, she entered the room, and I, with muscles tensednervously, advanced and stood beside her.

  I perceived that this was a cellar; indeed, I doubt not that insome past age it had served as a dungeon. From the stone roof hungthe first evidence of Eastern occupation which the Gate House hadyielded; in the form of an Oriental lantern, or fanoos, ofrose-coloured waxed paper upon a copper frame. Its vague lightrevealed the interior of the hideous place upon whose threshold westood.

  Straight before us, deep set in the stone wall, was the tiny squarewindow, iron-barred without, and glazed with red glass, the lightfrom which had so deeply mystified us. Within a niche in the wall,a little to the left of the window, rested an object which, at thatmoment, claimed our undivided attention the sight of which sowrought upon us that temporarily all else was forgotten.

  It was the red slipper of the Prophet!

  "My God!" whispered Carneta--"my God!"--and clutched at me,swaying dizzily.

  A few inches from our feet the floor became depressed, how deeplyI could not determine, for it was filled with water, water filthyand slimy! The strange, nauseating odour had grown all butunsupportable; it seemingly proceeded from this fetid pool which,occupying the floor of the dungeon, offered a barrier, since itsdepth was unknown, of fully twelve feet between ourselves and thefarther wall.

  There was a faint, dripping sound: a whispering, echoing drip-dripof falling water. I could not tell from whence it proceeded.

  Almost supporting my companion, whose courage seemed suddenly tohave failed her, I stared fascinatedly at that blood-stainedrelic. Something then induced me to look behind; I suppose awarning instinct of that sort which is unexplainable. I only knowthat upholding Carneta with my left arm, and nervously grasping myrevolver in my right, I turned and glanced over my shoulder.

  Very slowly, but with a constant, regular motion, the massive doorwas closing!

  I snatched away my arm; in my left hand I held the electric torch,and springing sharply about I directed the searching ray into theblack gap of the stairway. A yellow face, a malignant Orientalface, came suddenly, fully, into view! Instantly I recognized itfor that of the man who had driven Hassan's car!

  Acting upon the determination with which I had entered the GateHouse, I raised my revolver and fired straight between the evileyes! To the fact that I dropped my left hand in the act ofpulling the trigger with my right, and thus lost my mark, theservant of Hassan of Aleppo owed his escape. I missed him. Heuttered a shrill cry of fear and went racing up the wooden stair.I followed him with the light and fired twice at the retreatingfigure. I heard him stumble and a second time cry out. But,though I doubt not he was hit, he recovered himself, for I heardhis tread in the corridor above.

  Propping wide the door with my foot, I turned to Carneta. Herface was drawn and haggard; but her mouth set in a sort of grimdetermination.

  "Earl is dead!" she said, in a queer, toneless voice. "He diedtrying to get--that thing! I will get it, and destroy it!"

  Before I could detain her, even had I sought to do so, she steppedinto the filthy water, struggled to recover her foothold, and sankabove her waist into its sliminess. Without hesitation she beganto advance toward the niche which contained the slipper. In themiddle of the pool she stopped.

  What memory it was which supplied the clue to the identity of thatnauseating smell, heaven alone knows; but as the girl stopped anddrew herself up rigidly--then turned and leapt wildly back towardthe door--I knew what occasioned that sickly odour!

  She screamed once, dreadfully--shrilly--a scream of agonizingfear that I can never forget. Then, roughly I grasped her, for theneed was urgent--and dragged her out on to the floor beside me.With her wet garments clinging to her limbs, she fell prostrate onthe stones.

  A yard from the brink the slimy water parted, and the yellow snoutof a huge crocodile was raised above the surface! The saurian eyes,hungrily malevolent, rose next to view!

  The extremity of our danger found me suddenly cool. As the thingdrew its slimy body up out of the poor I waited. The jaws wereextended toward the prostrate body, were but inches removed fromit, dripped their saliva upon the soddened skirt--when I bentforward, and at a range of some ten inches emptied the remainingthree loaded chambers of my revolver into the creature's lefteye!

  Upchurned in bloody foam became the water of that dreadful place....As one recalls the incidents of a fevered dream, I recalldragging Carneta away from the contorted body of the death-strickenreptile. A nightmare chaos of horrid, revolting sights and soundsforms my only recollection of quitting the dungeon of the slipper.

  I succeeded in carrying her up the stairs and out through the emptyrooms on to the verandah; but there, from sheer exhaustion, I laidher down. I had no means of reviving her and I lacked the strengthto carry her farther. Having recharged my revolver, I stood watchingher where she lay, wanly beautiful in the dim light.

  There was no doubt in my mind respecting the fate of Earl Dexter,nor could I doubt that the slipper in the dungeon below was aduplicate of the real one. It was a death-trap into which he hadlured Dexter and which he had left baited for whomsoever might tracethe cracksman to the Gate House. Why Hassan should have remainedbehind, unless from fanatic lust of killing, I could not imagine.

  When at last the fresher night air had its effect, and Carnetaopened her eyes, I led her to the gates, nor did she offer theslightest resistance, but looked dully before her, muttering overand over again, "Earl, Earl!"

  The gates were open; we passed out on
to the open road. No manpursued us, and the night was gravely still.