I KEEP THE APPOINTMENT
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—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.
Hassan of Aleppo pointed it toward me.
“The keys, effendim,” he said; “hand me the keys!”
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.
The black eyes of Hassan glared insanely into mine.
“You will have placed them in your pocketcase,” he said. “Take it out;
hand it to me!”
I obeyed, for what else could I do? Taking the case from my pocket, I
placed it in his lean brown hand.
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—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.