“In brief,” I said, “what do you
propose?”
“I propose that we endeavour to obtain admittance
to the house of Hassan of Aleppo—secretly,
of course, and all I ask of you in return for revealing
the secret of its situation is—”
“That I let Dexter go free?”
Almost inaudibly she whispered: “If he
lives!”
Surely no stranger proposition ever had been submitted
to a law-abiding citizen. I was asked to connive
in the escape of a notorious criminal, and at one
and the same time to embark upon an expedition patently
burglarious! As though this were not enough,
I was invited to beard Hassan of Aleppo, the most dreadful
being I had ever encountered East or West, in his
mysterious stronghold!
I wondered what my friend, Inspector Bristol, would
have thought of the project; I wondered if I should
ever live to see Hassan meet his just deserts as a
result of this enterprise, which I was forced to admit
a foolhardy one. But a man who has selected the
career of a war correspondent from amongst those which
Fleet Street offers, is the victim of a certain craving
for fresh experiences; I suppose, has in his character
something of an adventurous turn.
For a while I stood staring from the window, then
faced about and looked into the violet eyes of my
visitor.
“I agree, Carneta!” I said.
WE MEET MR. ISAACS
Quitting the wayside station, and walking down a short
lane, we came out upon Watling Street, white and dusty
beneath the afternoon sun. We were less than
an hour’s train journey from London but found
ourselves amid the Kentish hop gardens, amid a rural
peace unbroken. My companion carried a camera
case slung across her shoulder, but its contents were
less innocent than one might have supposed. In
fact, it contained a neat set of those instruments
of the burglar’s art with whose use she appeared
to be quite familiar.
“There is an inn,” she said, “about
a mile ahead, where we can obtain some vital information.
He last wrote to me from there.”
Side by side we tramped along the dusty road.
We both were silent, occupied with our own thoughts.
Respecting the nature of my companion’s I could
entertain little doubt, and my own turned upon the
foolhardy nature of the undertaking upon which I was
embarked. No other word passed between us then,
until upon rounding a bend and passing a cluster of
picturesque cottages, the yard of the Vinepole came
into view.
“Do they know you by sight here?” I asked
abruptly.
“No, of course not; we never made strategic
mistakes of that kind. If we have tea here, no
doubt we can learn all we require.”
I entered the little parlour of the inn, and suggested
that tea should be served in the pretty garden which
opened out of it upon the right.
The host, who himself laid the table, viewed the camera
case critically.
