Arrived at Paris, I was completely blocked. He was not remembered in the Custom House; he was not remembered at some twenty hotels at which I called.
Again I began to think what he was likely to do. I did not think he would possess very much money, and a man of his temperament would devise some means of getting some. How? Work would be a slow process, and not suited to his nature. Kaffar would get money by gambling. But that did not help me forward. To search out all the gambling-houses in Paris would be a hopeless task; besides, would he gamble in Paris, a city of which he knew nothing? I did not think so. Where, then?
Monte Carlo!
No doubt the reader will smile at my attempts as a private detective, but, realizing the circumstances by which I was surrounded, there may be some excuse for my unbusinesslike way of going to work. Besides, I was not sure that Kaffar was alive; I only had some vague grounds for thinking he was.
I went to Monte Carlo. I inquired at the hotels; I inquired at the Casino—without success. I learnt one great lesson there, however, and that was the evil of gambling. In spite of tinsel and gilt, in spite of gay attire and loud laughter, in spite of high-sounding titles and ancient names, never did I see so much real misery as I saw in the far-renowned gaming palace.
For days I tried to think what to do, without avail. Kaffar had not been at the Casino; he had not stayed at any of the hotels. Where was he, then?
I began to entertain the idea that he had gone to Egypt as he had said. I would do my best to find out. Accordingly, I went to all the seaports along the coast of France and Italy from which he would be likely to set sail for Egypt. I was unsuccessful until I came to Brindisi.
Here I found that inquiries could easily be made. There were only two hotels in the place, one of which was very small. At the smaller of the two, I found on inquiry that a man answering to my description had stayed there a day and a night, waiting for the boat for Alexandria. The hotel proprietor said he should not have remembered him, but that he had talked Arabic with him. This traveller had also told him he had come from England, the land of luxury and gold, and was going to Cairo.
He did not remember his name. Egyptians often came to Brindisi, and to him one name was pretty much like another. He called them all "Howajja," and remembered nothing more. He did not keep an hotel register.
Little and poor as this evidence was, I determined to go to Egypt. It was now June, and terribly hot, even at Brindisi; I knew the heat must be worse in Cairo, but that was nothing. If I could find this man, I should be rewarded a thousandfold.