“A giant, with brown hair!  Man, where is he now?”

“How can I say?” said the Italian.

Kaffar held down his head for a minute, and then said hastily, “And his message?”

“Something to your advantage, sir.”

“My advantage?  Can it be he?  Did he give his name?”

“Herod Voltaire!”

“Voltaire!  Never!  He dare not come near me; I’m his master for many reasons—­he dare not come!  But—­”

He checked himself, as if he were telling the Italian too much.  The host then left the room, while Kaffar went on with his supper.

I opened the door noiselessly and went into the room, and said distinctly, “Good evening, Mr. Kaffar.”

He looked up and saw me.  Never, I think, did I see so much terror, astonishment, mingled with hate, expressed on a human face before.

He made a leap for the door.  I caught him, and held him fast.

“No, Mr. Kaffar, you must not escape,” I said, leading him back to his chair.

“You cannot—­kill me—­here!” he gasped.  “I mean no wrong—­to you.  I—­Ah, you’ve followed me for revenge.”

For an answer I went to the door and locked it.

“Have mercy!” he said.  “Don’t kill me.  I—­you don’t know all!  Voltaire’s your enemy, not I.”

“You knew I was following you, did you?” I said.

“Yes.  Voltaire said you were mad for my life; that you swore to be revenged; that you would pull me limb from limb!  Ah, you do not know.”

Surely I had found out the man’s nature.  He was a coward, and stood in deadly fear of me.  He had been Voltaire’s tool, who had frightened him to do his every bidding.  Now I must use his fear of me to make him do my will.

“Well, I have found you out,” I said.  “You thought you would master me, didn’t you?”

“Well, I’m master of you both.  Voltaire’s influence over me is gone, and now he is in my power; while you—­”

“Ah, Mr. Blake, have mercy,” he whined.  “I only did what he told me, and he has treated me like a dog.”

“Yes; he intended me to kill you, while both of you tried to ruin me.”

“Curse him!  I know he did.  Oh, I am not his friend now.  Mr. Blake, forgive me.  Ah, say—­”

I felt that if I allowed this man to think my welfare depended on his doing my will, he would defy me.  I must use means suitable to the man.

“Kaffar,” I said, “had I a heart like you Egyptians, you know what I should do; but—­well, I will be merciful on one condition.”

“Oh, what-what?”

“That you will come back to England with me at once.”

“I cannot; I dare not.  He has promised to take my life-blood if I do.”

“No harm shall happen to you, I promise.”

“You will not allow him to touch me?”

“He shall not.”

“Then I will go.”

My point was gained.  The man had promised to accompany me willingly, while I had expected a difficult matter in getting him to England.