CHAPTER III
"HASSAN OF ALEPPO"
Professor Deeping's number was in the telephone directory,therefore, on returning to my room, where there still lingered thefaint perfume of my late visitor's presence, I asked for his number.He proved to be at home.
"Strange you should ring me up, Cavanagh," he said; "for I wasabout to ring you up."
"First," I replied, "listen to the contents of an anonymous letterwhich I have received."
(I remembered, and only just in time, my promise to the veiledmessenger.)
"To me," I added, having read him the note, "it seems to meannothing. I take it that you understand better than I do."
"I understand very well, Cavanagh!" he replied. "You will recallmy story of the scimitar which flashed before me in the darknessof my stateroom on the Mandalay? Well, I have seen it again! Iam not an imaginative man: I had always believed myself to possessthe scientific mind; but I can no longer doubt that I am the objectof a pursuit which commenced in Mecca! The happenings on thesteamer prepared me for this, in a degree. When the man lost hishand at Port Said I doubted. I had supposed the days of such thingspast. The attempt to break into my stateroom even left me stilluncertain. But the outrage upon the steward at the docks removedall further doubt. I perceived that the contents of a certain brownleather case were the objective of the crimes."
I listened in growing wonder.
"It was not necessary in order to further the plan of stealing thebag that the hands were severed," resumed the Professor. "In fact,as was rendered evident by the case of the steward, this was apenalty visited upon any one who touched it! You are thinking ofmy own immunity?"
"I am!"
"This is attributable to two things. Those who sought to recoverwhat I had in the case feared that my death en route might resultin its being lost to them for ever. They awaited a suitableopportunity. They had designed to take it at Port Said certainly,I think; but the bag was too large to be readily concealed, and,after the outrage, might have led to the discovery of the culprit.In the second place, they are uncertain of my faith. I have longpassed for a true Believer in the East! As a Moslem I visitedMecca--"
"You visited Mecca!"
"I had just returned from the hadj when I joined the Mandalay atPort Said! My death, however, has been determined upon, whetherI be Moslem or Christian!"
"Why?"
"Because," came the Professor's harsh voice over the telephone, "ofthe contents of the brown leather case! I will not divulge to younow the nature of these contents; to know might endanger you. Butthe case is locked in my safe here, and the key, together with afull statement of the true facts of the matter, is hidden behindthe first edition copy of my book 'Assyrian Mythology,' in thesmaller bookcase--"
"Why do you tell me all this?" I interrupted.
He laughed harshly.
"The identity of my pursuer has just dawned upon me," he said. "Iknow that my life is in real danger. I would give up what isdemanded of me, but I believe its possession to be my strongestsafeguard."
Mystery upon mystery! I seemed to be getting no nearer to the heartof this maze. What in heaven's name did it all mean? Suddenly anidea struck me.
"Is our late fellow passenger, Mr. Ahmadeen, connected with thematter?" I asked.
"In no way," replied Deeping earnestly. "Mr. Ahmadeen is, Ibelieve, a person of some consequence in the Moslem world; but Ihave nothing to fear from him."
"What steps have you taken to protect yourself?"
Again the short laugh reached my ears.
"I'm afraid long residence in the East has rendered me something ofa fatalist, Cavanagh! Beyond keeping my door locked, I have takenno steps whatever. I fear I am quite accessible!"
A while longer we talked; and with every word the conviction wasmore strongly borne in upon me that some uncanny menace threatenedthe peace, perhaps the life, of Professor Deeping.
I had hung up the receiver scarce a moment when, acting upon asudden determination, I called up New Scotland Yard, and asked forDetective-Inspector Bristol, whom I knew well. A few words weresufficient keenly to arouse his curiosity, and he announced hisintention of calling upon me immediately. He was in charge of thecase of the severed hand.
I made no attempt to resume work in the interval preceding hisarrival. I had not long to wait, however, ere Bristol was ringingmy bell; and I hurried to the door, only too glad to confide in oneso well equipped to analyze my doubts and fears. For Bristol is noordinary policeman, but a trained observer, who, when I first madehis acquaintance, completely upset my ideas upon the mentallimitations of the official detective force.
In appearance Bristol suggests an Anglo-Indian officer, and at thetime of which I write he had recently returned from Jamaica and hisface was as bronzed as a sailor's. One would never take Bristolfor a detective. As he seated himself in the armchair, withoutpreamble I plunged into my story. He listened gravely.
"What sort of house is Professor Deeping's?" he asked suddenly.
"I have no idea," I replied, "beyond the fact that it is somewherein Dulwich."
"May I use your telephone?"
"Certainly."
Very quickly Bristol got into communication with the superintendentof P Division. A brief delay, and the man came to the telephonewhose beat included the road wherein Professor Deeping's house wassituated.
"Why!" said Bristol, hanging up the receiver after making a numberof inquiries, "it's a sort of rambling cottage in extensive grounds.There's only one servant, a manservant, and he sleeps in a detachedlodge. If the Professor is really in danger of attack he could notwell have chosen a more likely residence for the purpose!"
"What shall you do? What do you make of it all?"
"As I see the case," he said slowly, "it stands something like this:Professor Deeping has..."
The telephone bell began to ring.
I took up the receiver.
"Hullo! Hullo."
"Cavanagh!--is that Cavanagh?"
"Yes! yes! who is that?"
"Deeping! I have rung up the police, and they are sending someone. But I wish..."
His voice trailed off. The sound of a confused and singular uproarcame to me.
"Hullo!" I cried. "Hullo!"
A shriek--a deathful, horrifying cry--and a distant babbling aloneanswered me. There was a crash. Clearly, Deeping had dropped thereceiver. I suppose my face blanched.
"What is it?" asked Bristol anxiously.
"God knows what it is!" I said. "Deeping has met with somemishap--"
When, over the wires--
"Hassan of Aleppo!" came a dying whisper. "Hassan ... ofAleppo..."