“You fell into the trap—you and Carneta. By God! I didn’t know till it was all over! But two minutes later I was inside that place—and three minutes later I was away with the slipper! Oh, it wasn’t a duplicate; it was the goods! What then? Carneta had had a sickening of the business and she just invited me to say Yes or No. I said Yes; and I’m a straight man onward.”
“Then what were you doing on the train with the slipper?” asked Hilton sharply.
“I was going to Liverpool, sir!” snapped The Stetson Man, turning on him. “I was going to try to get aboard the Mauretania and then make terms for my life! What happened? I slipped out at Birmingham for a drink—grip in hand! I put it down beside me, and Mr. Cavanagh here, all in a hustle, must have rushed in behind me, snatched a whisky and snatched my grip and started for H—!”
A vivid flash of lightning flickered about the room. Then came the deafening boom of the thunder, right over the house it seemed.
“I knew from the weight of the grip it wasn’t mine,” said Dexter, “and I was the most surprised guy in Great Britain and Ireland when I found whose it was! I opened it, of course! And right on top was a waistcoat and right in the first pocket was a telegram. Here it is!”
He passed it to me. It was that which I had received from Hilton. I had packed the suit which I had been wearing that morning and must previously have thrust the telegram into the waistcoat pocket.
“Providence!” Dexter assured me. “Because I got on the station in time to see Hassan of Aleppo join the train for H—! I was too late, though. But I chartered a taxi out on Corporation Street and invited the man to race the local! He couldn’t do it, but we got here in time for the fireworks! Mr. Cavanagh, there are anything from six to ten Hashishin watching this house!”
“I know it!”
“They’re bareheaded; and in the dark their shaven skulls look like nothing human. They’re armed with those damned tubes, too. I’d give a thousand dollars—if I had it!—to know their mechanism. Well, gentlemen, deeds speak. What am I here for, when I might be on the way to Liverpool, and safety?”
“You’re here to try to make up for the past a bit!” said a soft, musical voice. “Mr. Cavanagh’s life is in danger.”