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.)
Uncertain, possibly, of Deeping’s faith, or fearful of endangering the
success of their efforts by an outrage upon him en route, they had
refrained from this until his arrival at his house. He had been warned
of his impending end by Ahmad Ahmadeen.
Who was Ahmadeen? And who was his beautiful associate? I found myself
unable, at present, to answer either of those questions. In order to
gain access to Professor Deeping, who so carefully secluded himself, a
box had been sent to him by ordinary carrier. (As I sat at my table,
Scotland Yard was busy endeavouring to trace the sender.) Respecting
this box we had made an extraordinary discovery.
It was of the kind used by Eastern conjurors for what is generally
known as “the Box Trick.” That is to say, it could only be opened
(short of smashing it) from the inside! You will remember what we found
within it? Consider this with the new fact, above, and to what
conclusion do you come?
Something (it is not possible to speak of someone in connection with so
small a box) had been concealed inside, and had killed Professor
Deeping whilst he was actually engaged in endeavouring to force it
open. This inconceivable creature had then searched the study for the
slipper—or for the key of the safe. Interrupted and trapped by the
arrival of the police, the creature had returned to the box, re-closed
it, and had actually been there when the study was searched!
For a creature so small as the murderous thing in the box to slip out
during the confusion, and at some time prior to Bristol’s arrival, was
no difficult matter. The inspector and I were certain that these were
the facts.
But what was this creature?
I turned to the chapter in “Assyrian Mythology”—“The Tradition of the
Hashishin.”
The legends which the late Professor Deeping had collected relative to
this sect of religious murderers were truly extraordinary. Of the
cult’s extinction at the time of writing he was clearly certain, but he
referred to the popular belief, or Moslem legend, that, since Hassan of
Khorassan, there had always been a Sheikh-al-jebal, and that a dreadful
being known as Hassan of Aleppo was the present holder of the title.
He referred to the fact that De Sacy has shown the word Assassin to be
derived from Hashishin, and quoted El-Idrisi to the same end. The
Hashishin performed their murderous feats under the influence of
hashish, or Indian hemp; and during the state of ecstasy so induced,
according to Deeping, they acquired powers almost superhuman. I read
how they could scale sheer precipices, pass fearlessly along narrow
ledges which would scarce afford foothold for a rat, cast themselves
from great heights unscathed, and track one marked for death in such a
manner as to remain unseen not only by the victim but by others about
him. At this point of my studies I started, in a sudden nervous panic,
and laid my hand upon my revolver.
I thought of the eyes which had seemed to look up from the black well
of the staircase—I thought of the horrible end of this man whose book
lay upon the table ... and I thought I heard a faint sound outside my
study door!
The key of Deeping’s safe, and his letter to me, lay close by my hand.
I slipped them into a drawer and locked it. With every nerve, it
seemed, strung up almost to snapping point, I mechanically pursued my
reading.
“At the time of the Crusades,” wrote Deeping, “there was a story
current of this awful Order which I propose to recount. It is one of
the most persistent dealing with the Hashishin, and is related to-day
of the apparently mythical Hassan of Aleppo. I am disposed to believe
that at one time it had a solid foundation, for a similar practice was
common in Ancient Egypt and is mentioned by Georg Ebers.”
My door began very slowly to open!
Merciful God! What was coming into the room!
So very slowly, so gently, nay, all but imperceptibly, did it move,
that had my nerves been less keenly attuned I doubt not I should have
remained unaware of the happening. Frozen with horror, I sat and
watched. Yet my mental condition was a singular one.
My direct gaze never quitted the door, but in some strange fashion I
saw the words of the next paragraph upon the page before me!
“As making peculiarly efficient assassins, when under the influence of
the drug, and as being capable of concealing themselves where a normal
man could not fail to be detected—”
(At this moment I remembered that my bathroom window was open, and that
the waste-pipe passed down the exterior wall.)
“—the Sheikh-al-jebal took young boys of a certain desert tribe, and
for eight hours of every day, until their puberty, confined them in a
wooden frame—”
What looked like a reed was slowly inserted through the opening between
door and doorpost! It was brought gradually around ... until it pointed
directly toward me!
I seemed to put forth a mighty mental effort, shaking off the icy hand
of fear which held me inactive in my chair. A saving instinct warned
me—and I ducked my head.
Something whirred past me and struck the wall behind.
Revolver in hand, I leapt across the room, dashed the door open, and
fired blindly—again—and again—and again—down the passage.
And in the brief gleams I saw it!
I cannot call it man, but I saw the thing which, I doubt not, had
killed poor Deeping with the crescent-knife and had propelled a
poison-dart at me.
It was a tiny dwarf! Neither within nor without a freak exhibition had
I seen so small a human being! A kind of supernatural dread gripped me
by the throat at sight of it. As it turned with animal activity and
bounded into my bathroom, I caught a three-quarter view of the
creature’s swollen, incredible head—which was nearly as large as that
of a normal man!
Never while my mind serves me can I forget that yellow, grinning face
and those canine fangs—the tigerish, blazing eyes—set in the great,
misshapen head upon the tiny, agile body.
Wildly, I fired again. I hurled myself forward and dashed into the
room.
Like nothing so much as a cat, the gleaming body (the dwarf was but
scantily clothed) streaked through the open window!
Certain death, I thought, must be his lot upon the stones of the court
far below. I ran and looked down, shaking in every limb, my mind filled
with a loathing terror unlike anything I had ever known.
Brilliant moonlight flooded the pavement beneath; for twenty yards to
left and right every stone was visible.
The court was empty!
Human, homely London moved and wrought intimately about me; but there,
at sight of the empty court below, a great loneliness swept down like a
mantle—a clammy mantle of the fabric of dread. I stood remote from my
fellows, in an evil world peopled with the creatures of Hassan of
Aleppo.
Moved by some instinct, as that of a frightened child, I dropped to my
knees and buried my face in trembling hands.