by Sax Rohmer
CHAPTER XXIV
I KEEP THE APPOINTMENT
That moment was pungent with drama. In the intense hush of thenext five seconds I could fancy that the world had slipped awayfrom me and that I was become an unsubstantial thing of dreams.I was in no sense master of myself; the effect of the presence ofthis white-bearded fanatic was of a kind which I am entirely unableto describe. About Hassan of Aleppo was an aroma of evil, yet ofmajesty, which marked him strangely different from other men--fromany other that I have ever known. In his venerable presence,remembering how he was Sheikh of the Assassins, and recalling hisbloody history, I was always conscious of a weakness, physical andmental. He appalled me; and now, with my back to the door, I stoodwatching him and watching the ominous black tube which he held inhis hand. It was a weapon unknown to Europe and therefore morefearful than the most up-to-date of death-dealing instruments.
Hassan of Aleppo pointed it toward me.
"The keys, effendim," he said; "hand me the keys!"
He advanced a step; his manner was imperious. The black tube wasless than a foot removed from my face. That I had my revolver inmy pocket could avail me nothing, for in my pocket it must remain,since I dared to make no move to reach it under cover of thatunfamiliar, terrible weapon.
The black eyes of Hassan glared insanely into mine.
"You will have placed them in your pocketcase," he said. "Take itout; hand it to me!"
I obeyed, for what else could I do? Taking the case from my pocket,I placed it in his lean brown hand.
An expression of wild exultation crossed his features; the eagleeyes seemed to be burning into my brain. A puff of hot vapourstruck me in the face--something which was expelled from themysterious black tube. And with memories crowding to my mind ofsimilar experiences at the hands of the Hashishin, I fell back,clutching at my throat, fighting for my life against the deadly,vaporous thing that like a palpable cloud surrounded me. I triedto cry out, but the words died upon my tongue. Hassan of Alepposeemed to grow huge before my eyes like some ginn of Eastern lore.Then a curtain of darkness descended. I experienced a violent blowupon the forehead (I suppose I had pitched forward), and for thetime resigned my part in the drama of the sacred slipper.