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Page 27
The contrivance which he carried, as did the other who had escaped,
was a sling, of the ancient Persian type. In place of stones, heavy
lumps 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 evil
twain had struck down Morris, the constable; from the shelter of the
trees, from many yards away, they had shot their singular missiles
through the open windows at Bristol and myself. Bristol had
succumbed, and now, with a redness showing through his close-cut
hair immediately behind the right ear, lay wholly unconscious at my
feet.
It had been a divine accident which had caused me to drop my
revolver, and, stooping to recover it, unknowingly to frustrate the
design of the second slinger upon myself. The light of the lamp
fell upon the face of the dead Hashishin. He lay forward upon his
hands, 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 often
grinning, bloodily, in my dreams.
And then as I stood, between that horrid exultation which is born
of killing and the panic which threatened me out of the darkness,
I saw something advancing . . . slowly . . . slowly . . . from the
elmen 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 give
it no name of man or spirit. But a horror seemed to proceed from
it as light from a lamp.
I groped about the table near to me, never taking my eyes from
that sinister form outside. As my fingers closed upon the
telephone, 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, and
a stray moonbeam pierced the darkness shrouding it. For a fleeting
instant something flashed venomously.
The sounds grew nearer. I could tell that the newcomers had found
Morris lying at the gate. Yet still I stood, frozen with uncanny
fear, and watching--watching the spot to which that stray beam had
pierced; the spot where I had seen the moon gleam upon the ring of
the Prophet!
CHAPTER X
AT THE BRITISH ANTIQUARIAN MUSEUM
A little group of interested spectators stood at the head of the
square glass case in the centre of the lofty apartment in the
British Antiquarian Museum known as the Burton Room (by reason of
the fact that a fine painting of Sir Richard Burton faces you as
you enter). A few other people looked on curiously from the lower
end of the case. It contained but one exhibit--a dirty and
dilapidated markoob--or slipper of morocco leather that had once
been red.
"Our latest acquisition, gentlemen," said Mr. Mostyn, the curator,
speaking in a low tone to the distinguished Oriental scholars
around him. "It has been left to the Institution by the late
Professor Deeping. He describes it in a document furnished by his
solicitor as one of the slippers worn by the Prophet Mohammed, but
gives us no further particulars. I myself cannot quite place the
relic."
"Nor I," interrupted one of the group. "It is not mentioned by
any of the Arabian historians to my knowledge--that is, if it
comes 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
--perhaps from the mysterious inner passage of the baldaquin where
the treasures of the place lie. But I can assure you that what
little we do know of its history is sufficiently unsavoury."
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