by Sax Rohmer
CHAPTER XI
THE HOLE IN THE BLIND
I stepped over to the door, where a constable stood on duty.
"You observed a tall Eastern gentleman in the room a while ago,officer?"
"I did, sir."
"How long is he gone?"
The man started and began to peer about anxiously.
"That's a funny thing, sir," he said. "I was keeping my eyesspecially upon him. I noticed him hovering around while Mr.Mostyn was speaking; but although I could have sworn he hadn'tpassed out, he's gone!"
"You didn't notice his departure, then?"
"I'm sorry to say I didn't, sir."
The man clearly was perplexed, but I found small matter for wonderin the episode. I had more than suspected the stranger to be a spyof Hassan's, and members of that strange company were elusive aswill-o'-the-wisps.
Bristol, at the far end of the room, was signalling to me. Iwalked back and joined him.
"Come over here," he said, in a low voice, "and pretend to examinethese things."
He glanced significantly to his left. Following the glance, myeyes fell upon the lean American; he was peering into the receptaclewhich held the holy slipper.
Bristol led me across the room, and we both faced the wall and bentover a glass case. Some yellow newspaper cuttings describing itscontents hung above it, and these we pretended to read.
"Did you notice that man I glanced at?"
"Yes."
"Well, that's Earl Dexter, the first crook in America! Ssh! Onlygoes in on very big things. We had word at the Yard he was in town;but we can't touch him--we can only keep our eyes on him. Heusually travels openly and in his own name, but this time he seemsto have slipped over quietly. He always dresses the same and hasjust given me 'good day!' They call him The Stetson Man. We heardthis morning that he had booked two first-class sailings in theOceanic, leaving for New York three weeks hence. Now, Mr. Cavanagh,what is his game?"
"It has occurred to me before, Bristol," I replied, "and you mayremember that I mentioned the idea to you, that there might be athird party interested in the slipper. Why shouldn't Earl Dexterbe that third party?"
"Because he isn't a fool," rapped Bristol shortly. "Earl Dexterisn't a man to gather up trouble for himself. More likely if hisvisit has anything really to do with the slipper he's retained byHassan and Company. Museum-breaking may be a bit out of the lineof Hashishin!"
This latter suggestion dovetailed with my own ideas, and oddlyenough there was something positively wholesome in the notion ofthe straightforward crookedness of a mere swell cracksman.
Then happened a singular thing, and one that effectually concludedour whispered colloquy. From the top end of the room, beyond thecase containing the slipper, one of the yellow blinds came downwith a run.
Bristol turned in a flash. It was not a remarkable accident, andmight portend no more than a loose cord; but when, having walkedrapidly up the room, we stood before the lowered blind, itappeared that this was no accident at all.
Some four feet from the bottom of the blind (or five feet from thefloor) a piece of linen a foot square had been neatly slashed out!
I glanced around the room. Several fashionably dressed visitorswere looking idly in our direction, but I could fasten upon no oneof them as a likely perpetrator.
Bristol stared at me in perplexity.
"Who on earth did it," he muttered, "and what the blazes for?"