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Page 58
"They haven't overlooked him this time, Mr. Cavanagh," he said.
"Acepulos has been found dead in his room, nearly decapitated!"
I shuddered involuntarily. Even there, amid the chatter and laughter
of those light-hearted tourists, the shadow of Hassan of Aleppo was
falling upon me.
Bristol started immediately for Soho and I parted from him in the
Strand, he proceeding west and I eastward, for I had occasion that
morning to call at my bank. It was the time of the year when London
is full of foreigners, and as I proceeded in the direction of Fleet
Street I encountered more than one Oriental. To my excited
imagination they all seemed to glance at me furtively, with menacing
eyes, but in any event I knew that I had little to fear whilst I
contrived to keep to the crowded thoroughfares. Solitude I dreaded
and with good reason.
Then at the door of the bank I found fresh matter for reflection.
The assistant manager, Mr. Colby, was escorting a lady to the door.
As I stood aside, he walked with her to a handsome car which waited,
and handed her in with marks of great deference. She was heavily
veiled and I had no more than a glimpse of her, but she appeared to
be of middle age and had gray hair and a very stately manner.
I told myself that I was unduly suspicious, suspicious of everyone
and of everything; yet as I entered the bank I found myself wondering
where I had seen that dignified, grayhaired figure before. I even
thought of asking the manager the name of his distinguished customer,
but did not do so, for in the circumstances such an inquiry must
have appeared impertinent.
My business transacted, I came out again by the side entrance which
opens on the little courtyard, for this branch of the London County
and Provincial Bank occupies a corner site.
A ragged urchin who was apparently waiting for me handed me a note.
I looked at him inquiringly.
"For me?" I said.
"Yes, sir. A dark gentleman pointed you out as you was goin' into
the bank."
The note was written upon a half sheet of paper and, doubting if it
was really intended for me, I unfolded it and read the following--
Mr. Cavanagh, take the keys of the case containing the holy slipper
to your hotel this evening without fail.
HASSAN.
"Who gave you this, boy?" I asked sharply.
"A foreign gentleman, sir, very dark--like an Indian."
"Where is he?"
"He went off in a cab, sir, after he give me the note."
I handed the boy sixpence and slowly pursued my way. An idea was
forming in my mind to trap the enemy by seeming acquiescent. I
wondered if my movements were being watched at that moment. Since
it was more than probable, I returned to the bank, entered, and
made some trivial inquiry of a cashier, and then came out again and
walked on as far as the Report office.
I had not been in the office more than five minutes before I
received a telegram from Inspector Bristol. It had been handed in
at Soho, and the message was an odd one.
CAVANAGH, Report, London.
Plot afoot to steal keys. Get them from bank and join me 11 o'clock
at Astoria. Have planned trap.
BRISTOL.
This was very mysterious in view of the note so recently received by
me, but I concluded that Bristol had hit upon a similar plan to that
which was forming in my own mind. It seemed unnecessarily hazardous,
though, actually to withdraw the keys from their place of safety.
Pondering deeply upon the perplexities of this maddening case, I
shortly afterward found myself again at the bank. With the manager
I descended to the strong-room, and the safe was unlocked which
contained the much-sought-for keys of the case at the Antiquarian
Museum.
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