“Ahmad Ahmadeen!”
“Yes! He travelled home as Ahmadeen—the only time he ever used a disguise. Oh! the thing is accursed!” she cried. “I begged him, implored him, to abandon his attempts upon it. Day and night we were watched by those ghastly yellow men! But it was all in vain. He knew, had known for a long time, where Hassan of Aleppo was in hiding!”
And I reflected that the best men at New Scotland Yard had failed to pick up the slightest clue!
“The Hashishin, of whom that dreadful man is leader, are rich, or have supporters who are rich. The plan was to make them pay for the slipper.”
“My God! it was playing with fire!”
She sat silent awhile. Emotion threatened to get the upper hand. Then—
“Two days ago,” she almost whispered, “he set out—to ... get the slipper!”
“To steal it?”
“To steal it!”
“From Hassan of Aleppo?”