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Page 48
"Then you think," I said, "that the English phase of the slipper's
history is closed? You think that Dexter, minus his right hand,
has eluded British law--that Hassan and Company have evaded
retribution?"
"I do!" said Bristol grimly, "and although that means the biggest
failure in my professional career, I am glad--damned glad!"
Shortly afterward he took his departure; and I leaned from the
window, watching him pass along the court below and out under the
arch into Fleet Street. He was a man whose opinions I valued, and
in all sincerity I prayed now that he might be right; that the
surcease of horror which we had recently experienced after the
ghastly tragedies which had clustered thick about the haunted
slipper, might mean what he surmised it to mean.
The heat to-night was very oppressive. A sort of steaming mist
seemed to rise from the court, and no cooling breeze entered my
opened windows. The clamour of the traffic in Fleet Street came
to me but remotely. Big Ben began to strike midnight. So far
as I could see, residents on the other stairs were all abed and
a velvet shadow carpet lay unbroken across three parts of the
court. The sky was tropically perfect, cloudless, and jewelled
lavishly. Indeed, we were in the midst of an Indian summer; it
seemed that the uncanny visitants had brought, together with an
atmosphere of black Eastern deviltry, something, too, of the
Eastern climate.
The last stroke of the Cathedral bell died away. Other more
distant bells still were sounding dimly, but save for the
ceaseless hum of the traffic, no unusual sound now disturbed the
archaic peace of the court.
I returned to my table, for during the time that had passed I had
badly neglected my work and now must often labour far into the
night. I was just reseated when there came a very soft rapping
at the outer door!
No doubt my mood was in part responsible, but I found myself
thinking of Poe's weird poem, "The Raven"; and like the character
therein I found myself hesitating.
I stole quietly into the passage. It was in darkness. How odd it
is that in moments of doubt instinctively one shuns the dark and
seeks the light. I pressed the switch lighting the hall lamp, and
stood looking at the closed door.
Why should this late visitor have rapped in so uncanny a fashion
in preference to ringing the bell?
I stepped back to my table and slipped a revolver into my pocket.
The muffled rapping was repeated. As I stood in the study doorway
I saw the flap of the letter-box slowly raised!
Instantly I extinguished both lights. You may brand me as
childishly timid, but incidents were fresh in my memory which
justified all my fears.
A faintly luminous slit in the door showed me that the flap was now
fully raised. It was the dim light on the stairway shining through.
Then quite silently the flap was lowered. Came the soft rapping
again.
"Who's there?" I cried.
No one answered.
Wondering if I were unduly alarming myself, yet, I confess, strung
up tensely in anticipation that this was some device of the phantom
enemy, I stood in doubt.
The silence remained unbroken for thirty seconds or more. Then yet
again it was disturbed by that ghostly, muffled rapping.
I advanced a step nearer to the door.
"Who's there?" I cried loudly. "What do you want?"
The flap of the letter box began to move, and I formed a sudden
determination. Making no sound in my heelless Turkish slippers
I crept close up to the door and dropped upon my knees.
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