“He’s very susceptible; but I am afraid he has not been under this influence a sufficient number of times for his vision to be clear.  Still, we’ll try.—­Simon!”

“That’s me,” said Simon, sleepily.

“Do you see Kaffar, the Egyptian?”

He looked around as if in doubt.  His eyes had a vacant look about them, and yet 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.