Quest of the Sacred Slipper, The

<SPAN name="chap24"></SPAN> <h3> CHAPTER XXIV </h3> <h3> I KEEP THE APPOINTMENT </h3> <p>That moment was pungent with drama. In the intense hush of the next five seconds I could fancy that the world had slipped away from me and that I was become an unsubstantial thing of dreams. I was in no sense master of myself; the effect of the presence of this white-bearded fanatic was of a kind which I am entirely unable to describe. About Hassan of Aleppo was an aroma of evil, yet of majesty, which marked him strangely different from other men&mdash;from any other that I have ever known. In his venerable presence, remembering how he was Sheikh of the Assassins, and recalling his bloody history, I was always conscious of a weakness, physical and mental. He appalled me; and now, with my back to the door, I stood watching him and watching the ominous black tube which he held in his hand. It was a weapon unknown to Europe and therefore more fearful than the most up-to-date of death-dealing instruments.</p> <p>Hassan of Aleppo pointed it toward me.</p> <p>"The keys, effendim," he said; "hand me the keys!"</p> <p>He advanced a step; his manner was imperious. The black tube was less than a foot removed from my face. That I had my revolver in my pocket could avail me nothing, for in my pocket it must remain, since I dared to make no move to reach it under cover of that unfamiliar, terrible weapon.</p> <p>The black eyes of Hassan glared insanely into mine.</p> <p>"You will have placed them in your pocketcase," he said. "Take it out; hand it to me!"</p> <p>I obeyed, for what else could I do? Taking the case from my pocket, I placed it in his lean brown hand.</p> <p>An expression of wild exultation crossed his features; the eagle eyes seemed to be burning into my brain. A puff of hot vapour struck me in the face&mdash;something which was expelled from the mysterious black tube. And with memories crowding to my mind of similar experiences at the hands of the Hashishin, I fell back, clutching at my throat, fighting for my life against the deadly, vaporous thing that like a palpable cloud surrounded me. I tried to cry out, but the words died upon my tongue. Hassan of Aleppo seemed to grow huge before my eyes like some ginn of Eastern lore. Then a curtain of darkness descended. I experienced a violent blow upon the forehead (I suppose I had pitched forward), and for the time resigned my part in the drama of the sacred slipper.</p> <br/><br/><br/> <div style="break-after:column;"></div><br />