Hashishin, the religious murderers of whose existence he had been
so skeptical. To the Chief of the Order, the terrible Sheikh Hassan
of Aleppo, he referred as a "fabled being"; yet it was at the hands
of this "fabled being" that he had met his end! How incredible it
all seemed. But I knew full well how worthy of credence it was.

Then upon my gloomy musings a sound intruded--the ringing of my door
bell. I rose from my chair with a weary sigh, went to the door,
and opened it. An aged Oriental stood without. He was tall and
straight, had a snow-white beard and clear-cut, handsome features.
He wore well-cut European garments and a green turban. As I stood
staring he saluted me gravely.

"Mr. Cavanagh?" he asked, speaking in faultless English.

"I am he."

"I learn that the services of a Moslem workman are required."

"Quite correct, sir; but you should apply at the offices of Messrs.
Rawson & Rawson, Chancery Lane."

The old man bowed, smiling.

"Many thanks; I understood so much. But, my position being a
peculiar one, I wished to speak with you--as a friend of the late
Professor."

I hesitated. The old man looked harmless enough, but there was an
air of mystery about the matter which put me on my guard.