The Weapons of Mystery by Joseph Hocking (i am reading a book TXT) 📕

there seemed a certain amount of intelligence displayed—at any rate, it seemed so to me.

"I see lots of people, all dim like," said Simon, slowly; "but I can't tell no faces. They all seem to be covered wi' a kind o' mist."

"Look again," said the professor. "You can see more clearly now."

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."

"Wait a few minutes," said the professor, "and then we'll try him again."

Presently he spoke again. "Now," he said, "what do you see?"

But Simon did not reply. He appeared in a deep sleep.

"I thought as much," said the little man. "His nature has not been sufficiently prepared for such work. I suppose you had breakfast before you came here?"

I assured him that Simon had breakfasted on kidneys and bacon; after which he had made considerable inroads into a cold chicken, with perchance half a pound of cold ham to keep it company. Besides which, he had taken three large breakfast cups of chocolate.

"Ah, that explains somewhat. Still, I think we have done a fair morning's work. We've seen that our man is alive."

"But do you think there is any hope of finding him?"

"I'm sure there is, only be patient."

"But what must I do?"

"Well, take this man to see some of the sights of London until three o'clock, then come home to dinner. After dinner he'll be sleepy. Let him sleep, if he will, until nine o'clock; then bring him here again; but let him have no supper until after I have done with him."

"Nine o'clock to-night! Why, do you know, that takes away another day?
There will only want eight clear days to Christmas Eve."

"I can't help that, sir," said the little professor, testily; "you should have come before. But that is the way. Our science, which is really the queen of sciences, is disregarded; only one here and there comes to us, and then we are treated as no other scientific man would be treated. Never mind, our day will come. One day all the sciences shall bow the knee to us, for we are the real interpreters of the mysteries of nature."

I apologized for my impatience, which he gravely accepted, and then woke
Simon from his sleep.

"Where am I?" cried Simon. "Where've I been?"

"I can't tell," said the professor; "I wish I could, for then our work would be accomplished."

"Have you bin a-waccinatin' me?" said Simon.

The little man looked to me for explanation.

"He calls everything mysterious by that name," I said.

"'Cause," continued Simon, "I thought as how you waccinators, or mesmerists, made passes, as they call 'em, and waved your hands about, and like that."

"Did that Mr. Voltaire, I think you call him, make passes?" asked the professor.

"He!" said Simon. "He ain't no ordinary man. He's got dealin's with old Nick, he hev. He didn't come near me, nor touch me, and I wur sleepin' afore I could think of my grandmother."

"Just so; he is no ordinary man. He's a real student of psychology, he is. He has gone beyond the elements of our profession. I despise the foolish things which these quacks of mesmerism make Billy people do in order to please a gaping-mouthed audience. It is true I call myself a professor of mesmerism and clairvoyance, but it would be more correct to call me a practical psychologist. You'll attend to my wishes with regard to our friend, won't you? Good-morning."

I will not try to describe how I passed the day. It would be wearisome to the reader to tell him how often I looked at my watch and thought of the precious hours that were flying; neither will I speak of my hopes and fears with regard to this idea of finding Kaffar's whereabouts by means of clairvoyance. Suffice it to say I was in a state of feverish anxiety when we drove up to the professor's door that night, about half-past nine.

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. Simon heaved a deep sigh, and peered wearily around, while the professor kept his eye steadily upon him.

"Do you see Kaffar, the Egyptian?" repeated he.

"Yes, I see him," said Simon at length.

"Where?"

"That's what I'm trying to find out," said Simon. "The place is strange; the people talk in a strange tongue. I can't make 'em out."

"What do you see now?" said the professor, touching his forehead.

"Oh, ah, I see now," said Simon. "It's a railway station, and I see that 'ere willain there, jest as cunnin' as ever. He's a gettin' in the train, he is."

"Can you see the name of the station?"

"No, I can't. It's a biggish place it is, and I can't see no name. Stay a minute, though. I see now."

"Well, what's the name?"

"It's a name as I never see or heard tell on before. B-O-L-O—ah, that's it; BOLOGNA, that's it. It is a queer name though, ain't it?"

"Well, what now?"

"Why, he's in the train, and it's started, it is."

"Do you know where he's going?"

"No."

"But he has a ticket; can't you see it?"

"Course I can't. It's in his pocket, and I can't see through the cloth,
I can't."

"And what's he doing now?"

"Why, he's in for makin' hisself comfortable, he is. He's got a piller, and he's stretchin' hisself on the seat and layin' his head on the piller. There, he's closed his eyes—he's off to sleep."

The professor turned to me. "I am afraid we can do no more to-night," he said. "Evidently he is on a journey, and we must wait until he arrives at his destination."

"But can't Slowden remain as he is and watch him?"

"The thing would be at once cruel and preposterous, sir. No, you must come again in the morning; then, perchance, he will have finished his journey;" and accordingly he proceeded to awake Simon.

After all, it did not matter so much. It was now ten o'clock, and I could do nothing that night, in any case.

"I do not know but that I am glad that things are as they are," continued the professor. "This second sleep will enable him to see more clearly to-morrow. Meanwhile, consider yourself fortunate. If the Egyptian stops anywhere in Italy, it will be possible for you to reach him and bring him back within the time you mention. Take heart, my friend. Good-bye for the time. I shall expect you early to-morrow."

No sooner were we in the street than Simon began to ask me what he had told me, for I found that he was entirely ignorant of the things he had said.

"Who'd 'a thought it?" he said musingly, when I had told him. "Who'd 'a thought as 'ow I should hassist in a waccinatin' business like this 'ere! Tell 'ee, yer 'onour, I shall believe in ghosts and sperrits again soon. Fancy me a-seein' things in Italy and tellin' 'em to you without knowin' anything about it! Well, but 'twill be grand if we can find 'im, yer honour, won't it then?"

I spent a sleepless night, harassed by a thousand doubts and fears. There, in the quiet of my room, all this mesmerism and clairvoyance seemed only so much hocus-pocus, which no sensible and well-educated man should have anything to do with. Still, it was my only hope, and it only wanted eight days to Christmas Eve. Only one little week and a day, that was all, and then, if I did not produce Kaffar, all was lost. It would be no use to go to Miss Forrest's house in Kensington and tell her that Simon Slowden had, while in a mesmeric sleep, seen Kaffar in Italy. No, no; that would never do. I must produce him, nothing else would suffice.

We were early at the professor's the following morning, and found him waiting and almost as anxious as we were. 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.

"Do you know what country the town is in?"

"No," said Simon, shaking his head.

"Could you not by any means find out? There's a railway station in the town; can you not see the name there?"

"Yes, there's a railway station, a fine one. Ah, I see the name now.
T-O-R-I-N-O. TORINO, that's it."

"Torino!" I cried, "Turin! That's a town in Italy, some distance beyond the French border."

The professor beckoned me to be quiet.

"Kaffar is at Torino, is he?" said the professor.

"That's it—yes."

"What is he doing?"

"Talkin' with a man who keeps an hotel."

"What does he say?"

"It's in a foreign language, and I can't tell."

"Can you repeat what he said?"

"It sounded like this—'Je restey ici pour kelka jour;' but I can't make out what it means."

The professor turned to me.

"He's speaking French. I did not know Kaffar knew French; perhaps he's learned it lately. The words mean that he will stay there for some days."

"Can you describe the street in which this hotel is?" continued Von
Virchow.

Simon began to describe, but we could make nothing of it.

"We can't understand," replied the professor. "Can you draw a sketch of the road to it from the railway station?" and he put a piece of paper and pencil in Simon's hand.

Without hesitating, Simon drew a sketch, a facsimile of which is given on the opposite page.

I had been to Turin, and remembered some of the places the sketch indicated. It might be far from perfect, but it was sufficient for me. It would be child's play to find Kaffar there.

"That will do," I said to the professor. "I'll start at once. Thank you so much."

"Ah, that will do, will it?" he said, with a smile. "Then I'll wake up this man."

Simon woke up as usual, rubbing his eyes, and asked whether any good had been done.

"Everything's been done," cried I. "Come, professor, allow me to write you a cheque. How much shall it be?"

"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, anticipating 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