“You are a professor of mesmerism and clairvoyance, I believe?” I began.

“That is my profession,” said the little man, “Then I am in hopes that you may be able to help me in my difficulty.”

“I shall be pleased to help you,” he said, still stiffly.

“Can you,” I went on, “tell the whereabouts of a man whom I may describe to you?”

“That is very vague,” was the reply.  “Your description may be incorrect, or a hundred men might answer to it.  I would promise nothing under such conditions.”

“Perhaps I had better tell my story,” I said.

“I think you had,” said the little professor, quietly.

“On the 2nd of January of the present year,” I said, “a man disappeared in the night from a place in Yorkshire.  He is an Egyptian, and easily distinguished.  A great deal depends on finding him at once.  Ever since May, endeavours have been made to track him, but without success.”

“Perhaps he is dead,” said the professor.

“Perhaps so; but even then it is important to know.  Can you help me to find out his whereabouts?”

“Undoubtedly I can; but I must have a good photograph of him.  Have you one?”

“I have not.”

“Could you obtain one?”

“I think not.”

“But this man has been seen by many people.  Could not some one you know, and who knows him, sketch a faithful likeness from memory?”

“I do not know of any one.”

“Then I could not guarantee to find him.  You see, I cannot work miracles.  I can only work through certain laws which I have been fortunate enough either to recognize or discover; but there must ever be some data upon which to go, and, you see, you give me none that is in the least satisfactory.”

“Perhaps you can,” I said, “if I relate to you all the circumstances connected with what is, I think, a somewhat remarkable story.”

I had determined to tell this little man every circumstance which might lead to Kaffar’s discovery, especially those which happened in Yorkshire.  It seemed my only resource, and I felt, that somehow something would come of it.

I therefore briefly related what I have written in this story.

“That man who mesmerized you is very clever,” said the professor quietly, when I had finished.  “It was very unfortunate for you that you should have matched yourself with such a one.  His plot was well worked out in every respect.  He only made a mistake in one thing.”

“And that?”

“He thought it impossible that you should ever be freed from his power without his consent.  Still it was a well-planned affair.  The story, the ghost, the quarrel—­it was all well done.”

“I fail to see what part the ghost had in the matter,” I said.

The professor smiled.  “No?” he said.  “Well, I should not think it was a vital part of his plan, but it was helpful.  He calculated upon the young lady’s superstitious fancies.  He knew what the particular form in which the ghost appeared portended, and it fitted in with his scheme of murder.  Evidently he wanted the young lady to believe in your guilt, and thus give him greater chance of success.  Ah, he is a clever man.”