CHAPTER IX
SECOND ATTEMPT ON THE SAFE
"You see," said Bristol, "the Hashishin must know that the safewon't remain here unopened much longer. They will thereforeprobably make another attempt to-night."
"It seems likely," I replied; and was silent. Outside the openwindows whispered the shrubbery, as a soft breeze stole through thebushes. Beyond, the moon made play in the dim avenue. From theold chapel hard by the sweet-toned bell proclaimed midnight. Ourvigil was begun. In this room it was that Professor Deeping hadmet death at the hands of the murderous Easterns; here it was thatMarden and West had mysteriously been struck down the night before.
To-night was every whit as hot, and Bristol and I had the windowswidely opened. My companion was seated where the detective, Marden,had sat, in a chair near the westerly window, and I lay back inthe armchair that had been occupied by West.
I may repeat here that the house of the late Professor Deeping wasmore properly a cottage, surrounded by a fairly large piece ofground, for the most part run wild. The room used as a study wason the ground floor, and had windows on the west and on the south.Those on the west (French windows) opened on a loggia; those on thesouth opened right into the dense tangle of a neglected shrubbery.The place possessed an oppressive atmosphere of loneliness, forwhich in some measure its history may have been responsible.
The silence, seemingly intensified by each whisper that sped throughthe elms and crept about the shrubbery, grew to such a stillnessthat I told myself I had experienced nothing like it since crossingwith a caravan I had slept in the desert. Yet noisy, whirlingLondon was within gunshot of us; and this, though hard enough tobelieve, was a reflection oddly comforting. Only one train ofthought was possible, and this I pursued at random.
By what means were Marden and West struck down? In thus exposingourselves, in order that we might trap the author or authors of theoutrage, did we act wisely?
"Bristol," I said suddenly, "it was someone who came through theopen window."
"No one," he replied, "came through the windows. West sawabsolutely nothing. But if any one comes that way to-night, wehave him!"
"West may have seen nothing; but how else could any one enter?"
Bristol offered no reply; and I plunged again into a maze ofspeculation.
Powerful mantraps were set in such a way that any one or anything,ignorant of their positions, coming up to the windows mustunavoidably be snared. These had been placed in position withmuch secrecy after dusk, and the man on duty at the gate stoodwith his back to the wall. No one could approach him except fromthe front. My thoughts took a new turn.
Was the girl with the violet eyes an ally of the Hashishin? Thusfar, although she so palpably had tricked me, I had found myselfunable to speak of her to Bristol; for the idea had entered my mindthat she might have learned of the plan to murder Deeping withoutdirectly being implicated. Now came yet another explanation. Thepublicity given to that sensational case might have interested somethird party in the fate of the stolen slipper! Could it be thatothers, in no way connected with the dreadful Hassan of Aleppo,were in quest of the slipper?
Scotland Yard had taken care to ensure that the general public bekept in ignorance of the existence of such an organization as theHashishin, but I must assume that this hypothetical third partywere well aware that they had Hassan, as well as the authorities,to count with. Granting the existence of such a party, my beautifulacquaintance might be classified as one of its members. I spokeagain.
"Bristol," I said, "has it occurred to you that there may be others,as well as Hassan of Aleppo, seeking to gain possession of thesacred slipper?"
"It has not," he replied. "In the strictest sense of the expression,they would be out for trouble! What gave you the idea?"
"I hardly know," I returned evasively, for even now I was loath tobetray the mysterious girl with the wonderful eyes.
The chapel bell sounding the half-hour, Bristol rose with a sighthat might have been one of relief, and went out to take the reportof the man on duty at the gate. As his footsteps died away alongthe elm avenue, it came to me how, in the darkness about, menacelurked; and I felt myself succumbing to the greatest dreadexperienced by man--the dread of the unknown.
All that I knew of the weird group of fanatics--survivals of a dimand evil past--who must now be watching this cottage as bloodlustfuldevotees watch a shrine violated, burst upon my mind. I peopled thestill blackness with lurking assassins, armed with the murderousknowledge of by-gone centuries, armed with invisible weapons whichstruck down from afar, supernaturally.
I glanced toward the corner of the room where the safe stood,reliquary of a worthless thing for which much blood had been spilled.
Then sounded footsteps along the avenue, and my fear whispered thatthey were not those of Bristol but of one who had murdered him, andwho came guilefully, to murder me!
I snatched the revolver from my pocket and crossed the darkened room.Just to the right of one of the French windows I stood looking outacross the loggia to the end of the avenue. The night was a brightone, and the room was flooded with a reflected mystic light, butoutside the moon paved the avenue with pearl, and through the treesI saw a figure approaching.
Was it Bristol? It had his build, it had his gait; but my fearsremained. Then the figure crossed the patch of shrubbery and steppedon to the loggia.
"Mr. Cavanagh!"
I laughed dryly at my own cowardice, but my heart was still beatingabnormally.
"Here I am, Bristol, in a ghastly funk!"
"I don't wonder! They may be on us any time now. All's well atthe gate, but Morris says he heard, or thought he heard somethingat the side of the chapel opposite, a while ago."
"Wind in the bushes?"
"It may have been; but he says there was no breeze at the time."
We resumed our seats.
"Bristol," I said, "now that the danger grows imminent, doesn't itseem to you foolhardy for us thus to expose ourselves?"
"Perhaps it is," he agreed; "but how otherwise are we likely tolearn what happened to Marden and West?"
"The enemy may adopt different measures to-night."
"I think not. Our dispositions are the same, and I credit them withcunning enough to know it. At the same time I credit ourselves withhaving kept the existence of the steel traps completely secret. Theywill assume (so I've reasoned) that we intend to rely entirely uponour superior vigilance, therefore they will try the same game as lastnight."
Silence fell.
The moon rays, creeping around from the right of the avenue, crossingthe shrubbery and encroaching upon the low wall of the loggia, nowflooded its floor. Against the silvern light, Bristol appeared tome in black silhouette. The breeze, too, seemed now to blow from aslightly different direction. It came through the windows on myright, beyond which lay the unkempt bushes which extended on thatside to the wall of the grounds.
So we sat, until the moonlight poured fully in upon Bristol's back.So we sat when the clock chimed the hour of one.
Bristol arose and once more went out to the gate. He had arrangedto visit Morris's post every half-hour. Again I experienced thenervous dread that he would be attacked in the avenue; but again hereturned unscathed.
"All's well," he said.
But from his tones I knew that he had not forgotten that it was atthis hour Marden and West had suffered mysterious attack.
Neither of us, I think, was disposed to talk. We both wereunwilling to break the silence, wherein, with all our ears, welistened for the slightest disturbance.
And now my attention turned anew to the course of the slowly creepingmoon rays. In my mind an idea was struggling for definition. Therewas something significant in the lunar lighting of the room. Why, Iasked myself, had the attack been made at one o'clock? Did the timesignify anything? If so, what? I looked toward Bristol.
His figure, the chair upon which he sat, were sharply outlined bythe cold light. The wall behi
nd me, and to my left, was illuminatedbrilliantly; but no light fell directly upon me.
The idea was taking shape. From the loggia and the avenue Bristol,I reasoned, must be clearly visible. From the shrubbery on thesouth, through the other windows could I be seen? Yes, silhouettedagainst the moonlight!
A faint sound, quite indescribable, came to my ears from somewhereoutside-beyond.
"My God!" whispered Bristol. "Did you hear it?"
"Yes! What?"
"It must have been Morris!--"
Bristol was half standing, one hand upon the arm of the chair, theother concealed, but grasping his revolver as I well knew. I, too,had my revolver in my hand, and as I twisted in my seat, preparatoryto rising, in sheer nervousness I dropped the weapon upon thecarpet.
With an exclamation of dismay, I stooped quickly to recover it.
As I did so something whistled past my ear, so closely as almost totouch it--and struck with a dull thud upon the wall beyond!
"Bristol!" I whispered.
But as I raised my eyes to him he seemed to crumple up, and fellloosely forward into the patch of moonlight spread upon the floor!"God in heaven!" I said aloud.
In a cold sweat of fear I crouched there, for it had become evidentto me that, as I bent, I was entirely in shadow.
There was a rustling in the bushes on the left; but before I couldturn in that direction, my attention was claimed elsewhere. Overinto the loggia leapt an almost naked brown figure!
It was that of a small but strongly built man, who carried a short,exceedingly thick bamboo rod in his hand. My fear was too great toadmit of my accurately observing anything at that time, but Inoticed that some kind of leather thong or loop was attached to theend of the squat cane.
The panic fear of the supernatural was strongly upon me, and I wasunable to realize that this Eastern apparition was a creature offlesh and blood. With my nerves strung up to snapping point, Icrouched watching him. He entered the room, bending over the bodyof Bristol.
A hot breath fanned my cheek!
At that my overwrought nerves betrayed me. I uttered a stifled cry,looking upward ... and into a pair of gleaming eyes which lookeddown into mine!
A second brown man (who must have entered by one of the windowsoverlooking the shrubbery) was bending over me!
Scarce knowing what I did, I raised my revolver and blazed straightinto the dimly-seen face. Down upon me silently dropped a nakedbody, and something warm came flowing over my hand. But, knowing myfoes to be of flesh and blood, feeling myself at handgrips now witha palpable enemy, I threw off the body, leapt up and fired, thoughblindly, at the flying shape that flashed across the loggia--andwas lost in the shadow pools under the elms.
Upon the din of my shooting fell silence like a cloak. A moment Ilistened, tense, still; then I turned to the table and lighted thelamp.
In its light I saw Bristol lying like a dead man. Close beside himwas a big and heavy lump of clay. It had been shaped as a ball,but now it was flattened out curiously. Bending over my unfortunatecompanion and learning that, though unconscious, he lived, I learnt,too, how the Hashishin contrived to strike men insensible withoutapproaching them; I learnt that the one whom I had shot, who lay inhis blood almost on the spot where Professor Deeping once had lain,was an expert slinger.
The contrivance which he carried, as did the other who had escaped,was a sling, of the ancient Persian type. In place of stones, heavylumps of clay were used, which operated much the same as a sand-bag,whilst enabling the operator to work from a considerable distance.
Hidden, over by the ancient chapel it might be, one of this eviltwain had struck down Morris, the constable; from the shelter of thetrees, from many yards away, they had shot their singular missilesthrough the open windows at Bristol and myself. Bristol hadsuccumbed, and now, with a redness showing through his close-cuthair immediately behind the right ear, lay wholly unconscious at myfeet.
It had been a divine accident which had caused me to drop myrevolver, and, stooping to recover it, unknowingly to frustrate thedesign of the second slinger upon myself. The light of the lampfell upon the face of the dead Hashishin. He lay forward upon hishands, crouching almost, but with his face, his dreadful,featureless face, twisted up at me from under his left shoulder.
God knows he deserved his end; but that mutilated face is oftengrinning, bloodily, in my dreams.
And then as I stood, between that horrid exultation which is bornof killing and the panic which threatened me out of the darkness,I saw something advancing ... slowly ... slowly ... from theelmen shades toward the loggia.
It was a shape--it was a shadow. Silent it came--on--and on.Where the dusk lay deepest it paused, undefined; for I could giveit no name of man or spirit. But a horror seemed to proceed fromit as light from a lamp.
I groped about the table near to me, never taking my eyes fromthat sinister form outside. As my fingers closed upon thetelephone, distant voices and the sound of running footsteps(of those who had heard the shots) came welcome to my ears.
The form stirred, seeming to raise phantom arms in execration, anda stray moonbeam pierced the darkness shrouding it. For a fleetinginstant something flashed venomously.
The sounds grew nearer. I could tell that the newcomers had foundMorris lying at the gate. Yet still I stood, frozen with uncannyfear, and watching--watching the spot to which that stray beam hadpierced; the spot where I had seen the moon gleam upon the ring ofthe Prophet!