"Yes; he said he'd telegraph."
"Would you mind letting me know the train? I am staying at the Hotel
Trombetta."
"Yes, yes, I shall be delighted; and then, when he comes, we'll—But what name shall I write on my message?"
"Herod Voltaire," I said.
I went away then, and began to think. I found the man, and yet I had not. Nothing was certain yet. It was now Saturday, and he would not return until Monday night or Tuesday morning, and I must be in London by Wednesday at midnight, or all was lost. Say he came back on Tuesday by noon, there would then be only thirty-six hours left in which to get to London. Thirty-six hours, and many hundreds of dreary, weary miles between! Or if he should not come at all! If the Italian were deceiving me!
I shall not try and relate what happened the next two days, except to say that I set Simon to watch every train that came into Turin station, while I did all I could to discover whether he were hiding in Turin.
Neither of us saw Kaffar, nor did we hear anything of him.
Monday night came. I had received no message from the lodging-house keeper, neither had I heard any news. The suspense was becoming terrible.
Six o'clock! Seven o'clock, and no news!
"Simon," I said, "go to that lodging-house and ask whether any message has been received."