Then at the door of the bank I found fresh matter for reflection. The assistant manager, Mr. Colby, was escorting a lady to the door. As I stood aside, he walked with her to a handsome car which waited, and handed her in with marks of great deference. She was heavily veiled and I had no more than a glimpse of her, but she appeared to be of middle age and had gray hair and a very stately manner.
I told myself that I was unduly suspicious, suspicious of everyone and of everything; yet as I entered the bank I found myself wondering where I had seen that dignified, grayhaired figure before. I even thought of asking the manager the name of his distinguished customer, but did not do so, for in the circumstances such an inquiry must have appeared impertinent.
My business transacted, I came out again by the side entrance which opens on the little courtyard, for this branch of the London County and Provincial Bank occupies a corner site.
A ragged urchin who was apparently waiting for me handed me a note. I looked at him inquiringly.
"For me?" I said.
"Yes, sir. A dark gentleman pointed you out as you was goin' into the bank."
The note was written upon a half sheet of paper and, doubting if it was really intended for me, I unfolded it and read the following—
Mr. Cavanagh, take the keys of the case containing the holy slipper to your hotel this evening without fail. HASSAN.
"Who gave you this, boy?" I asked sharply.
"A foreign gentleman, sir, very dark — like an Indian."