Hilton, I learned, was living the simple life at "Uplands." The place was not yet decorated and was only partly furnished. But with his man, Soar, he had been in solitary occupation for a week.
"Feel better now?" he asked anxiously.
I reached for my tumbler and blew a cloud of smoke into the air. I could hear Soar's footsteps as he made the round of bolts and bars, testing each anxiously.
"Thanks, Hilton," I said. "I'm quite all right. You are naturally wondering what the devil it all means? Well, then, I wired you from Euston that I was coming by the 6:55."
"H— Post Office shuts at 7. I shall get your wire in the morning!"
"That explains your failing to meet me. Now for my explanation!"
"Surrounding this house at the present moment," I continued, "are members of an Eastern organization — the Hashishin, founded in Khorassan in the eleventh century and flourishing to-day!"
"Do you mean it, Cavanagh?"
"I do! One Hassan of Aleppo is the present Sheikh of the order, and he has come to England, bringing a fiendish company in his train, in pursuit of the sacred slipper of Mohammed, which was stolen by the late Professor Deeping—"
"Surely I have read something about this?"