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Page 21
"The constable can give us no clue. He was suddenly struck down,
as the others were. I examined the safe, of course, but didn't
touch it, according to instructions. Someone had been at work on
the lock, but it had defied their efforts. I'm fully expecting
though that they'll be back to-night, with different tools!"
"The place is watched during the day, of course?"
"Of course. But it's unlikely that anything will be attempted in
daylight. Tonight I am going down myself."
"Could you arrange that I join you?"
"I could, but you can see the danger for yourself?"
"It is extraordinarily mysterious."
"Mr. Cavanagh, it's uncanny!" said Bristol. "I can understand that
one of these Hashishin could easily have got up behind the man on
duty out in the open. I know, and so do you, that they're past
masters of that kind of thing; but unless they possess the power to
render themselves invisible, it's not evident how they can have got
behind West whilst he sat at the table, with Marden actually
watching him!"
"We must lay a trap for them to-night."
"Rely upon me to do so. My only fear is that they may anticipate it
and change their tactics. Hassan of Aleppo apparently knows as much
of our plans as we do ourselves."
Inspector Bristol, though a man of considerable culture, clearly was
infected with a species of supernatural dread.
CHAPTER VIII
THE VIOLET EYES AGAIN
At four o'clock in the afternoon I had heard nothing further from
Bristol, but I did not doubt that he would advise me of his
arrangements in good time. I sought by hard work to forget for a
time the extraordinary business of the stolen slipper; but it
persistently intruded upon my mind. Particularly, my thoughts
turned to the night of Professor Deeping's murder, and to the
bewitchingly pretty woman who had warned me of the impending tragedy.
She had bound me to secrecy--a secrecy which had proved irksome,
for it had since appeared to me that she must have been an
accomplice of Hassan of Aleppo. At the time I had been at a loss
to define her peculiar accent, now it seemed evidently enough to
have been Oriental.
I threw down my pen in despair, for work was impossible, went
downstairs, and walked out under the arch into Fleet Street. Quite
mechanically I turned to the left, and, still engaged with idle
conjectures, strolled along westward.
Passing the entrance to one of the big hotels, I was abruptly
recalled to the realities--by a woman's voice.
"Wait for me here," came musically to my ears.
I stopped, and turned. A woman who had just quitted a taxi-cab was
entering the hotel. The day was hot and thunderously oppressive,
and this woman with the musical voice wore a delicate costume of
flimsiest white. A few steps upward she paused and glanced back.
I had a view of a Greek profile, and for one magnetic instant looked
into eyes of the deepest and most wonderful violet.
Then, shaking off inaction, I ran up the steps and overtook the
lady in white as a porter swung open the door to admit her. We
entered together.
"Madame," I said in a low tone, "I must detain you for a moment.
There is something I have to ask."
She turned, exhibiting the most perfect composure, lowered her
lashes and raised them again, the gaze of the violet eyes sweeping
me from head to foot with a sort of frigid scorn.
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