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Updated: May 31, 2025
"Were you at the booking-office on the day after New Year's Day?" I asked. "Yes, sir," replied the clerk. "Do you remember a man coming for a ticket that night who struck you as peculiar?" "What kind of a man, sir?" "A foreigner. Small, dark, and wiry, speaking with an accent something like this," I said, trying to imitate Kaffar. "No, sir, I don't remember such a person.
My faculties were rapidly returning to me, yet I stood as one in a dream. "You say, Mr. Justin Blake, that you do not know where Kaffar is, yet you hold in your hand his knife, which is red with blood. Here is his scarf, which has evidently been strained, and on it are spots of blood, while all around are marks indicating a struggle. I say you do know what this means, and you must tell us."
Then I began to think what the Egyptian would be likely to do, and after weighing the whole matter in my mind I came to this conclusion: either he was in London with Voltaire, or he had gone back to Egypt. The first was not likely. If Kaffar were seen in London, Voltaire's plans would be upset, and I did not think my enemy would allow that.
"Mad, am I?" he shrieked. "Yes, and you are a liar, a coward, a villain! You are engaged in a fiendish plot; you are deceiving an innocent lady. Ah, I spurn you, spit upon you." "Mr. Kaffar," said Tom Temple, "really this cannot be allowed. You must remember you are among gentlemen and ladies. Please act accordingly."
Simon peered again and again, and then said, "Yes, I can see him; but he looks all strange. He's a-shaved off his whiskers, and hev got a sort o' red cap, like a baisin, on his head." My heart gave a great bound. Kaffar was not dead. Thank God for that! "Where is he?" "I am tryin' to see, but I can't. Everything is misty. There's a black fog a-comin' up."
"She is jest gwine to bed," he said; "she's a bit ov a cold in 'er chest, and housekeeper is gwine to take some warmin' stuff to her." "I'll know if this is true to-morrow," said Miss Forrest, and then relapsed into silence. Meanwhile question after question was asked and answered, while Voltaire and Kaffar stood side by side, each with a terrible glitter in his eyes.
The lodging-house keeper had kept his word, and Kaffar would be safe. It was become intensely real, intensely exciting! Five hours to wait five hours! Only those who have felt as I did can know what they meant. At twelve o'clock I sent Simon to the station, while I went to the lodging-house to await Kaffar's arrival. "Mr. Kaffar will have supper, I suppose?" I said to the proprietor of the house.
The lodgers are bad men, and they are bad people." She said this evidently in earnest, while the little girl behind the counter hoped I should not go among those thieves. I was not displeased at this. I did not think Kaffar would be very particular as to his society, and he would be more likely to stay at this disreputable place than in a respectable lodging-house.
"After all," remarked Simon, slowly, "it shows us how a feller can live away from his body, don't it, then? We are fearfully and terribly made, as Solomon said to the people on Mount Sinai." I did not reply to Simon's philosophy, nor to his wonderful scriptural quotations. I was too anxious to get to this hotel, where I hoped Kaffar would be staying.
I should be leaving the woman I was each day loving more and more, to the man who knew no honour, no mercy, no manliness. During these days I was entirely free from Voltaire's influence, as free as I was before I saw him. He always spoke to me politely, and to a casual observer his demeanour towards me was very friendly. Kaffar, on the other hand, treated me very rudely.
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