to where Ispahan, looking like a city of mushrooms from which tulip-like minarets shot up, slumbered under a velvet sky, and, left, to the silver river. Then, my attention was diverted.
A dark shape lay almost at my feet, half hidden in shadow. I drew back sharply, looking down; and:
“Damned unfortunate, Greville,” said Nayland Smith rapidly.
He was standing near the door out of which I had come, a tall, angular figure, flooded by moonlight on the right, but a mere silhouette on the left. He wore a loose black gibbeh which I thought I recognized as the property of Ali Mahmoud. The angularity of his features was accentuated, and the one eye which was visible shone like polished steel. He glanced down.
“I used an extemporised sandbag from behind,” he explained, “and I’m afraid I hit too hard. I’m not masquerading, Greville—” indicating his black robe. “I borrowed this to help me to hide in the shadows. Is the other Negro dead?”
“Yes, he dashed his brains out against the wall of the mosque.”
“Damnably unfortunate!” Nayland Smith jerked. “I have no personal regrets, but either would have been an invaluable witness. There was a third on the roof of the mosque. His job was to keep a lookout. I missed him twice, but hit him the third time. He managed to get away, nevertheless. But I’m hoping he can’t escape from the building.”
Dimly, from far below, rose a murmuring of approaching steps and voices. Nayland Smith’s shots had awakened the neighbourhood.
“Damn it!” he rapped. “If a crowd gathers, it may ruin everything.”
He stooped and removed a loop of that strange tenuous line from a projection of the ornamental stonework decorating the railing of the balcony.
“Look!” he said, and held it up in the moonlight. “It doesn’t seem strong enough to support a kitten. Yet the black murderer and the iron box were swung from window to window upon a carefully judged length of it.” He thrust the line into his pocket. “I came prepared for wire,” he added grimly, and exhibited an implement which I recognized as part of Sir Lionel’s kit: a steel wire cutter.
“For heaven’s sake, what is it?” I asked.
Even now, I found difficulty in believing that a line no stouter than sewing thread could carry a man’s weight.
“I haven’t the slightest idea, Greville. But it’s tremendously tough. It took a mighty grip to cut through it. Suspended from this balcony, you see, its length carefully estimated, it enabled one of these acrobatic devils to swing from a window of the mosque right onto a corresponding window of the house opposite. It also enabled him to swing the iron box across. But there’s work for us!”
He pushed me before him in his impetuous fashion; and:
“There was a fourth in the game, Greville,” he added… “perhaps a fifth. He, or they, were stationed behind the window of the mosque. The controlling influence—the man we’re looking for—was there!”
I started down at the wooden stair, Nayland Smith following hard behind me; until:
“One moment!” he called.
I paused and turned, directing the ray of my torch upward. He was fumbling in a sort of little cupboard at the head of the steps, and from it he presently extracted his shoes, and proceeded to put them on, talking rapidly the while.
“It was touch and go when that black devil came up, Greville. I also was black from head to feet; black robe, black socks, and a black head cover, made roughly from a piece of this old gibbeh , with holes cut for eyes and mouth! He didn’t see me, and he couldn’t hear me. I dodged him all round the gallery like a boy dodging around the trunk of a tree! When he made fast the line, on the end of which I could see two large iron hooks, and lowered it, I recognized the method.”
He had both his shoes on now and was busily engaged in lacing them.
“It confirmed my worst suspicions—but this can be discussed later. Having lowered it to its approved length,
A dark shape lay almost at my feet, half hidden in shadow. I drew back sharply, looking down; and:
“Damned unfortunate, Greville,” said Nayland Smith rapidly.
He was standing near the door out of which I had come, a tall, angular figure, flooded by moonlight on the right, but a mere silhouette on the left. He wore a loose black gibbeh which I thought I recognized as the property of Ali Mahmoud. The angularity of his features was accentuated, and the one eye which was visible shone like polished steel. He glanced down.
“I used an extemporised sandbag from behind,” he explained, “and I’m afraid I hit too hard. I’m not masquerading, Greville—” indicating his black robe. “I borrowed this to help me to hide in the shadows. Is the other Negro dead?”
“Yes, he dashed his brains out against the wall of the mosque.”
“Damnably unfortunate!” Nayland Smith jerked. “I have no personal regrets, but either would have been an invaluable witness. There was a third on the roof of the mosque. His job was to keep a lookout. I missed him twice, but hit him the third time. He managed to get away, nevertheless. But I’m hoping he can’t escape from the building.”
Dimly, from far below, rose a murmuring of approaching steps and voices. Nayland Smith’s shots had awakened the neighbourhood.
“Damn it!” he rapped. “If a crowd gathers, it may ruin everything.”
He stooped and removed a loop of that strange tenuous line from a projection of the ornamental stonework decorating the railing of the balcony.
“Look!” he said, and held it up in the moonlight. “It doesn’t seem strong enough to support a kitten. Yet the black murderer and the iron box were swung from window to window upon a carefully judged length of it.” He thrust the line into his pocket. “I came prepared for wire,” he added grimly, and exhibited an implement which I recognized as part of Sir Lionel’s kit: a steel wire cutter.
“For heaven’s sake, what is it?” I asked.
Even now, I found difficulty in believing that a line no stouter than sewing thread could carry a man’s weight.
“I haven’t the slightest idea, Greville. But it’s tremendously tough. It took a mighty grip to cut through it. Suspended from this balcony, you see, its length carefully estimated, it enabled one of these acrobatic devils to swing from a window of the mosque right onto a corresponding window of the house opposite. It also enabled him to swing the iron box across. But there’s work for us!”
He pushed me before him in his impetuous fashion; and:
“There was a fourth in the game, Greville,” he added… “perhaps a fifth. He, or they, were stationed behind the window of the mosque. The controlling influence—the man we’re looking for—was there!”
I started down at the wooden stair, Nayland Smith following hard behind me; until:
“One moment!” he called.
I paused and turned, directing the ray of my torch upward. He was fumbling in a sort of little cupboard at the head of the steps, and from it he presently extracted his shoes, and proceeded to put them on, talking rapidly the while.
“It was touch and go when that black devil came up, Greville. I also was black from head to feet; black robe, black socks, and a black head cover, made roughly from a piece of this old gibbeh , with holes cut for eyes and mouth! He didn’t see me, and he couldn’t hear me. I dodged him all round the gallery like a boy dodging around the trunk of a tree! When he made fast the line, on the end of which I could see two large iron hooks, and lowered it, I recognized the method.”
He had both his shoes on now and was busily engaged in lacing them.
“It confirmed my worst suspicions—but this can be discussed later. Having lowered it to its approved length,
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