oc with my nerves,
and I laughed dryly to note that my hand was not quite steady as I
turned the key, opened my door, and slipped into the dim hallway.

As I closed it behind me, something, probably a slight noise, but
possibly something more subtle--an instinct--made me turn rapidly.

There facing me stood Hassan of Aleppo.

CHAPTER XXIV

I KEEP THE APPOINTMENT

That moment was pungent with drama. In the intense hush of the
next five seconds I could fancy that the world had slipped away
from me and that I was become an unsubstantial thing of dreams.
I was in no sense master of myself; the effect of the presence of
this white-bearded fanatic was of a kind which I am entirely unable
to describe. About Hassan of Aleppo was an aroma of evil, yet of
majesty, which marked him strangely different from other men--from
any other that I have ever known. In his venerable presence,
remembering how he was Sheikh of the Assassins, and recalling his
bloody history, I was always conscious of a weakness, physical and
mental. He appalled me; and now, with my back to the door, I stood
watching him and watching the ominous black tube which he held in
his hand. It was a weapon unknown to Europe and therefore more
fearful 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 was
less than a foot removed from my face. That I had my revolver in
my 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 that
unfamiliar, terrible weapon.

The black eyes of Hassan glared insanely into mine.

"You will have placed them in your pocketcase," he said. "Take it
out; 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 eagle
eyes seemed to be burning into my brain. A puff of hot vapour
struck me in the face--something which was expelled from the
mysterious black tube. And with memories crowding to my mind of
similar 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 tried
to cry out, but the words died upon my tongue. Hassan of Aleppo
seemed to g