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Updated: May 31, 2025
In the light of the moon I saw a knife red with blood, and my hand, too, was also discoloured. "What does this mean?" cried Voltaire. "I do not know. I am dazed bewildered." "But that is Kaffar's knife. I know he had it this very evening. Where is Kaffar now?" "Is it true?" I remember saying. "Have we been together?" "That's his knife, at any rate. And what is this?"
I saw Voltaire and Kaffar exchanging glances, and I felt sure that I heard the former say in Arabic, "Not yet." After this the two arranged to give us some manifestations of their power. While they were conversing I went across the room and spoke to Miss Forrest; but she was very reserved, and I thought her face looked very pale. "This is becoming interesting," I said.
We did not wait a minute before operations were commenced. Simon was again in a mesmeric sleep, or whatever the reader may be pleased to call it, in a few seconds after he had sat down. Von Virchow began by asking the same question he had asked in the morning: "Do you see Kaffar, the Egyptian?" I waited in breathless silence for the answer.
"When will Mr. Kaffar be back?" "He said he might be back on Monday night on Tuesday morning at latest." "I daren't come and play till he comes," I said. "Will he let you know when he is coming back?" "Yes; he said he'd telegraph." "Would you mind letting me know the train? I am staying at the Hotel Trombetta."
"'The same, gentle lady. "'And then? "'When we came there we found Mr. Blake in a reclining position, with a bloody knife in his hand. I recognized it as belonging to Kaffar. I saw something lying on the ground, and, on picking it up, found it to be a scarf which Kaffar had been wearing this very night. It was twisted and soiled, and on it were spots of blood.
To sit on deck and gaze at the smooth sea, which reflected in its deep waters the bright starry heavens, while the splash of the waters made music on the vessel's side, was to experience something not easily forgotten. Arrived in Alexandria, I again set inquiries on foot, but with far less chance of success. Kaffar was not a marked man here.
Directly after dinner I went out, to try to find Kaffar's whereabouts; but although Turin is beautifully built, and the streets very straight, I found I had to put off my search until the morning. Every hour of waiting was, as the reader may imagine, of great anxiety to me. I was now making my great move. If I missed in this, all was lost. Was Kaffar in Turin? Was he or had he been there?
This must be left to the imagination of my readers. Let them remember the circumstances of the story as I have related them, let them think of how much depended on my discovery of Kaffar, let them also try to fancy something of my feelings, and then they will be able to guess at my weary nights and anxious days, they will know how feverishly I hurried from port to port and from town to town.
Again Simon submitted to the influence of the little man, and soon answered his questions far more readily than he had hitherto done. Did he see Kaffar? "Yes," was the reply. "Where is he now?" He was in a beautiful town. The houses were white, the streets were white; the town was full of squares, and in these squares were many statues. Such was Simon's information.
"Oh, I can assure you no harm's done. There, you see, he's coming to." I felt something cold at my temples, then a strange shivering sensation passed over me, and I was awake. Voltaire, Kaffar, Tom Temple, and Simon Slowden were in the room. "How do you feel, Mr. Blake?" asked Voltaire, blandly. I lifted my eyes to his, and felt held by a strange power.
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