EdwardDeeping.
“It is almost incredible!” I said hoarsely.
Bristol returned the letter to me without a word,
and turning to Lester, who had reentered carrying
a heavy pick-axe, he attacked the oblong box with
savage energy.
Through the house of death the sound of the blows
echoed and rang with a sort of sacrilegious mockery.
The box fell to pieces.
“My God! look, sir!”
Lester was the trembling speaker.
The box, I have said, was but three feet long by one
foot square, and had clearly defied poor Deeping’s
efforts to open it. But a crescent-shaped knife,
wet with blood, lay within!
THE OCCUPANT OF THE BOX
Dimly to my ears came the ceaseless murmur of London.
The night now was far advanced, and not a sound disturbed
the silence of the court below my windows.
Professor Deeping’s “Assyrian Mythology”
lay open before me, beside it my notebook. A
coal dropped from the fire, and I half started up
out of my chair. My nerves were all awry, and
I had more than my horrible memories of the murdered
man to thank for it. Let me explain what I mean.
When, after assisting, or endeavouring to assist,
Bristol at his elaborate inquiries, I had at last
returned to my chambers, I had become the victim of
a singular delusion—though one common enough
in the case of persons whose nerves are overwrought.
I had thought myself followed.
During the latter part of my journey I found myself
constantly looking from the little window at the rear
of the cab. I had an impression that some vehicle
was tracking us. Then, when I discharged the
man and walked up the narrow passage to the court,
it was fear of a skulking form that dodged from shadow
to shadow which obsessed me.
Finally, as I entered the hall and mounted the darkened
stair, from the first landing I glanced down into
the black well beneath. Blazing yellow eyes,
I thought, looked up at me!
I will confess that I leapt up the remaining flight
of stairs to my door, and, safely within, found myself
trembling as if with a palsy.
When I sat down to write (for sleep was an impossible
proposition) I placed my revolver upon the table beside
me. I cannot say why. It afforded me some
sense of protection, I suppose. My conclusions,
thus far, amounted to the following—
The apparition of the phantom scimitar was due to
the presence of someone who, by means of the moonlight,
or of artificial light, cast a reflection of such
a weapon as that found in the oblong chest upon the
wall of a darkened apartment—as, Deeping’s
stateroom on the Mandalay, his study, etc.
A group of highly efficient assassins, evidently Moslem
fanatics, who might or might not be of the ancient
order of the Hashishin, had pursued the stolen slipper
to England. They had severed any hand, other
than that of a Believer, which had touched the case
containing it. (The Coptic porter was a Christian.)
