We stayed at Hotel Trombetta.  We had several reasons for doing this.  First, it was a good hotel.  I had stayed there before, and so I knew.  It was also near the station, and fairly near the place where, according to Simon’s sketch, Kaffar was staying.  We got into the hotel just in time for dinner.  Simon declared that he “dar’n’t go into the dining-room amo’ the swells like; it would take away his appetite jist like waccination did;” but as I insisted, he gave way, and certainly did not draw any one’s attention by his awkwardness.  I had got him a perfectly fitting suit of clothes in Paris, in which he looked a respectable member of society.

Directly after dinner I went out, to try to find Kaffar’s whereabouts; but although Turin is beautifully built, and the streets very straight, I found I had to put off my search until the morning.

Every hour of waiting was, as the reader may imagine, of great anxiety to me.  I was now making my great move.  If I missed in this, all was lost.  Was Kaffar in Turin?  Was he or had he been there?  Was all this mesmerism so much hocus-pocus and nonsense to deceive me, a credulous fool?  And yet I was sure Simon would not be a party in deceiving me.  But might not I have been deceived by the professor?  Could he not make my friend say, not what really existed, but what existed in his own mind?  And yet the little man seemed honest!  Anyhow, I could do no more, and it was my only hope.  There could be no harm in trying.  If I failed, well, I could not help it; I had done my best.  I would go back and face Voltaire and Miss Forrest, and—­well—­I knew not what—!  But if I found the Egyptian!  Ah, it was too good to be true.  I dared not dwell upon the thought.  It was not for me to build castles in the air, and weave bright fancies; but to work, until I had accomplished the work I had set out to do.

And so I went quietly to bed, and, much to my astonishment, slept long and soundly.  The sun was shining in at my window when I awoke, and this Italian city looked wondrously beautiful as it lay there this clear December morning, in the light of the bright sun.

We wasted no time after breakfast before setting out—­I with beating heart, Simon still calm and collected, looking with critical eyes on the sketch he had drawn in his mesmeric sleep.

“After all,” remarked Simon, slowly, “it shows us how a feller can live away from his body, don’t it, then?  We are fearfully and terribly made, as Solomon said to the people on Mount Sinai.”

I did not reply to Simon’s philosophy, nor to his wonderful scriptural quotations.  I was too anxious to get to this hotel, where I hoped Kaffar would be staying.

We came to the great square in which stood the palace of the king, but I paid no heed to the imposing building nor to the magnificently carved monuments that stood around in the square.  I was too anxious to turn down the street in which my hopes lay.