His voice trailed off. The sound of a confused and singular uproar came to me.
“Hullo!” I cried. “Hullo!”
A shriek—a deathful, horrifying cry—and a distant babbling alone answered me. There was a crash. Clearly, Deeping had dropped the receiver. I suppose my face blanched.
“What is it?” asked Bristol anxiously.
“God knows what it is!” I said. “Deeping has met with some mishap—”
When, over the wires—
“Hassan of Aleppo!” came a dying whisper. “Hassan ... of Aleppo...”
CHAPTER IV
THE OBLONG BOX
“You had better wait for us,” said Bristol to the taxi-man.
“Very good, sir. But I shan’t be able to take you further back than the Brixton Garage. You can get another cab there, though.”