Evening star., 1917-09-16

conjectures. There was something mag
netic about the accursed slipper, for
without knowing by what route l had
arrived there. l found myself in Grea1
Orchard street and close under the
walls of the British Antiquarian Mu-
scum. Then l was effectually aroused
from my reverie-
Two men, both tall, stood in the
shadow of a doorway on the opposite
side of the street. staring intently VI
at the museum windows. No one else
Mas in Orchard street-that odd little
backwater-at the time. and they stood
gazing upward intently and gave me
not even passing glance.
But 1 knew one for the oriental Wis
itor of the morning. and. despite broad
MONDAY and the hum of busy London
about me. my blood seemed to turn to
water. / stood rooted TO the spot, held
there by most surprising horror.
For the graybearded figure of the
other watcher was one l could never
forget. 1t was Hassan of Aleppo,
II he saw me, If either OF them saw
me. l cannot say. What ! should have
done. what l might have done. IT is use
less to speak of here-for did nothing.
eerie, dreadful being, ! watched them
leave the shadow of the doorway and
pace slowly on with their dignitied
eastern gait.
That night the deviltry began. MT
Mostyn found himself wholly unable to
sleep. Many relics have curious his
tories, and the experienced archeolo-
gist becomes callous to that uncanni-
ness which seems to attach to some
gruesome curios. But the slipper OF
the prophet was different. No mere
chost1y menace threatened its holders:
an avenging scimitar followed those
who came in contact with it: gruesome
tragedies. mutilstions. murders, had
marked is progress throughout.
The night was still-as still a Lon
don niaht can be: for there Is always
vague murmurirg in the metropolis a 8
though the sleeping city breathed gent
ly and sometimes stirred in its sleep.
Then. distinct and amid these usual
nocturnal noises, rose another. unac-
countable sound: muffied crash fol-
lowed by a musical tinkling.
Mostyn sprang up in bed. drew on a
dressing gown and took from the small
safe a. his bed-head the museum keys
end a loaded revolver. A somewhat
disheve1ed figure. pale and wild-eyed.
he made his way through the private
door and into the ghostly precincts of
the ASsyrian gallery.
Along its "hostly aisles he passed.
nd before the door which gave admit
lance to the Burton room paused fun
bling moment for the key
Inside the room something was NOV
ing.
one side of the room lay in blackest
darkness; through the furt hermost
window of the other a faint yellow ed
luninance (the moonlight through the
hlindp spread upon the polished parquet
nooring.' But that which held the
curator spellbound was a beam of cold
light which poured it's effulgence fully
upon the case containing the prophets
slipper, Where the other exhibits lay
either I'm utter darkness or semi rk-
ness this one, it seemed. was super
naturally picked out by this lunar
searchlight.
1t was ehoStly-unnerying the
first dread of it passed Mostyn recalled
how during the day a hole ineNplicably
Fad been cut in that blind: he recalled
that il had not been mended. but that
the GaTaged blind had merely been
rolled up again.
And dawning perception of the
truth came to him. as falterinely he
advanced a step toward the mystic
beam. he saw that one side of the case
had been shattered-he saw the broken
glass upon the floor. and in the dense
shadow behind and under the beam of
light vaguely he saw a dull red object
1t moved-it seemed to live. 1t moved
away from the case and in the direc-
tion of the eastern windows!
my God" WHISPERED Mostyn; 'ft's
the prophets slipper.
And wildly. blindly, he fired down
the room Later he knew that he had
fired in panic: for nothing human was
or could be in the place: yet his shot
was not without effect. In the instant
of its fash something struck sharply
against the dimly-seen blind of one of
the east windows; he heard the crash
% Troop ~'as<
He leaocd to TIC sw:.c:. I'D flooded