The Weapons of Mystery Part 31

"Not a penny until your work is accomplished," replied the little man, with dignity.

"That is not fair," I said. "I don't know what may happen, and you must not be defrauded. Anyhow, here's something on account;" and I put a twenty-pound note in his hand.

He smiled as he looked at it, while I took my hat, and stated my intention to start for Turin at once.

"Beggin' yer pardon," said Simon, "but this 'ere waccination business is awfully wearyin', and I should like to--that is--"

"The very thing," I replied, antic.i.p.ating his request. "You shall go with me."

Half-an-hour later, we were at Gower Street, making preparations for our journey to Turin--Simon calm and collected, I feverish and excited.

CHAPTER XVIII

NEARING THE END

There were, as I said, eight days in which to find Kaffar and bring him to London, counting the day on which we started our journey. It was Wednesday; by the following Wednesday, at midnight, I must prove to Gertrude that Voltaire was a villain and a liar. It should be done easily. It was but little more than a thirty hours' ride to Turin--that is, providing everything went smoothly. To put it at the outside, it was only a forty-eight hours' journey, allowing time for a sleep on the way.

Thus four days would suffice for travelling, and I should have more than three days in which to find Kaffar. It was true Turin was a large town, but in three days I was sure I could find him. In that time I thought I could hunt every lodging-house and hotel in the city.

I shall say little of the journey. Mostly it was cold and wearisome enough. From Dover to Paris it was fairly comfortable, but from Paris to the Italian border we were travelling through a snowstorm, and thus, when we came to this our last stopping-place before going through the famous Mont Cenis Tunnel, we were four hours late. It was terribly cold there. Everything was ice-bound. Brooklets, waterfalls, rivers, all were held fast by the ice-king. Simon was much impressed by the scenery. The great giant mountains towering up on every hand were a revelation to him, and he stood open-mouthed, gazing at what is perhaps among the grandest sights in France.

We swept through Mont Cenis Tunnel, and then, with a cry of gladness, we entered the sunny land of Italy. What a change it was! Here the warm sun, which had been hidden on the other side by the high mountain range, had melted the snow, and so bright streams of water came rushing down the mountain sides, laughing as if in glee. The cottagers sat outside their doors, singing in the sun. The vine-covered hills, although not yet clothed with their green garment, were still beautiful, while away in the distance spread a broad Italian plain, dotted with villages, out of whose midst a modest church spire ever lifted its head.

I had seen all this before, but to Simon it was a marvel of beauty. In England the streets were muddy, and a yellow fog hung over London, and yet in forty-eight hours we were beneath sunny skies, we were breathing a comparatively humid air.

But I must not stay to write about this, for my story is not about Italian scenery, or beautiful sights of any sort. It is my work now to tell about my search after Kaffar.

We arrived in Turin on Friday evening, about fifty-one hours from the time we started from London. We had spent some little time in Paris, or we could have done it more quickly. We found Turin lit up with a pure bright light, and, as Simon declared, "looking one of the most purtiest places like, as ever he'd clapped his eyes on."

We stayed at Hotel Trombetta. We had several reasons for doing this.

First, it was a good hotel. I had stayed there before, and so I knew. It was also near the station, and fairly near the place where, according to Simon's sketch, Kaffar was staying. We got into the hotel just in time for dinner. Simon declared that he "dar'n't go into the dining-room amo'

the swells like; it would take away his appet.i.te jist like waccination did;" but as I insisted, he gave way, and certainly did not draw any one's attention by his awkwardness. I had got him a perfectly fitting suit of clothes in Paris, in which he looked a respectable member of society.

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? Was all this mesmerism so much hocus-pocus and nonsense to deceive me, a credulous fool? And yet I was sure Simon would not be a party in deceiving me. But might not I have been deceived by the professor? Could he not make my friend say, not what really existed, but what existed in his own mind?

And yet the little man seemed honest! Anyhow, I could do no more, and it was my only hope. There could be no harm in trying. If I failed, well, I could not help it; I had done my best. I would go back and face Voltaire and Miss Forrest, and--well--I knew not what--! But if I found the Egyptian! Ah, it was too good to be true. I dared not dwell upon the thought. It was not for me to build castles in the air, and weave bright fancies; but to work, until I had accomplished the work I had set out to do.

And so I went quietly to bed, and, much to my astonishment, slept long and soundly. The sun was shining in at my window when I awoke, and this Italian city looked wondrously beautiful as it lay there this clear December morning, in the light of the bright sun.

We wasted no time after breakfast before setting out--I with beating heart, Simon still calm and collected, looking with critical eyes on the sketch he had drawn in his mesmeric sleep.

"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.

We came to the great square in which stood the palace of the king, but I paid no heed to the imposing building nor to the magnificently carved monuments that stood around in the square. I was too anxious to turn down the street in which my hopes lay.

I went slowly down, till I came to the bottom of it, where a narrow road branched off, leading to a kind of observatory; but I saw nothing of an hotel.

My heart became like lead.

Simon's sketch of the streets had not been a false one. If any of my readers have been to Turin, they will remember the long street leading from the station; they will also recognize the two squares which Simon indicated in his plan. True, he had sketched them out of proportion, while the street was far more straight than he had drawn it. Still, it bore a close resemblance to that particular part of the city.

But there was no hotel, nor sign of one in the street.

We walked up and down again and again, with no success. Could it be that I had come all these weary miles again only for a bitter and terrible disappointment? The thought almost drove me mad.

I would not give up, however! There might be no hotel, but it was possible Kaffar stayed in a lodging-house, or even in a private house. I would knock at every house in the street, and make inquiries, before I would give up.

The Italian language was not altogether strange to me. I could not by any means speak it fluently, but I knew it enough to enter into an ordinary conversation. So, seeing a soldier pa.s.s up the street, I saluted him and asked him whether he knew a lodging-house or private boarding establishment in the street?

No, the soldier said, he did not know any at all in that street, or, indeed, in that part of the town; but if I would go with him, he would direct me to a splendid place, marvellously convenient, marvellously clean, and marvellously cheap, and, best of all, kept by his mother's sister.

I cannot say I felt either elated or depressed by this answer. Evidently this was a keen youth, trying to get a suitable customer for his relations.

Another youth came up to me soon after, offering to sell me photographs of some of the princ.i.p.al sights in Turin. Could he tell me of any boarding or lodging establishment in the street?

Yes, he knew of three or four. For a franc he would give me their history and lead me to them.

Was there one about the middle of the street?

Yes, there were two close together. Should he take me?

I closed with the youth's offer, and accordingly we walked down the street together. He entered a tobacconist's shop, a.s.suring me that this was a lodging-house.

A young Italian girl stood behind the counter, as if waiting for an order; so I asked to see the proprietor of the place.

She immediately went out of the shop and gave a shout, and a minute after a matronly woman entered, about fifty years of age, and who, from her close resemblance to the dark-eyed girl, was probably her mother.

Was she the proprietor of this establishment?

She was.

Did she keep a boarding-house?

She did--for well-behaved people.

She had no husband?

The Blessed Virgin had taken him home.

And a man did not conduct her business?

Certainly not. She was a capable woman, able to attend to the wants of her guests, while her daughter was a universal favourite because of politeness to customers and the good tobacco she sold. Should she have the pleasure of selling me some?