Three of the mysterious missiles fell amongst us, but miraculously no one was struck. Amid the mighty booming of the thunder we reentered the houses and got the door barred. In the hall we laid down the unconscious man and stood, a strangely met company, peering at one another in the dim lamplight.
"We've got to bury the hatchet, Mr. Cavanagh!" said Dexter. "It's a case of the common enemy. I've brought you your bag!" and he pointed to the brown grip upon the floor.
"My bag!" I cried. "My bag is upstairs in my room."
"Wrong, sir!" snapped The Stetson Man. "They are like as two peas in a pod, I'll grant you, but the bag you snatched off the platform at New Street was mine! That's what I'm after; I ought to be on the way to Liverpool. That's what Hassan's after!"
"The bag!"
"You don't need to ask what's in the bag?" suggested Dexter.
"What is in the bag?" ask Hilton hoarsely.
"The slipper of the Prophet, sir!" was the reply.