“Sure! But you and I have both got little scores up against Hassan, which it’s not in human nature to forget. But I’ve got it worked out that there’s only one way. It may nearly choke us to have to do it, I’ll allow. I’m working on the Moslem character. Mr. Hilton, make up a fire in the grate here!”
Hilton stared, not comprehending.
“Do as he asks,” I said. “Personally, I am resigned to mutilation, since I have touched the bag containing the slipper, but if Dexter has a plan—”
“Excuse me, sir,” Soar interrupted. “I believe there’s some coal in the coal-box, but I shall have to break up a packing-case for firewood—or go out into the yard!”
“Let it be the packing-case,” replied Hilton hastily.
Accordingly a fire was kindled, whilst we all stood about the room in a sort of fearful uncertainty; and before long a big blaze was roaring up the chimney. Dexter turned to me.
“Mr. Cavanagh,” said he, “I want you to go right upstairs, open a first-floor window—I would suggest that of your bedroom—and invite Hassan of Aleppo to come and discuss terms!”
Silence followed his words; we were all amazed. Then—
“Why do you ask me to do this?” I inquired.
“Because,” replied Dexter, “I happen to know that Hassan has some queer kind of respect for you—I don’t know why.”