"No, he is no countryman of mine, nor do I even know that he came to Naples; but I was told by some one in England, from whom I made inquiries, that if I came here and asked for one Angelotti, a public letter-writer, I should, in all probability, be able to learn his whereabouts." As if convinced of the importance of the part he was to play in the affair, the old man laid his pen carefully down upon the table, and then stood before me with his hands placed together, finger-tip to finger-tip. "If your Excellency would condescend to mention the individual's name," he said softly, "it is just possible I might be able to give him the information he seeks." "The name of the person I want to find is Pharos," I replied. "He is sometimes called Pharos the Egyptian." Had I stated that I was in search of the Author of all Evil, the placid Angelotti could scarcely have betrayed more surprise. He took a step from me and for a moment gazed at me in amazement. Then the expression gradually faded from his face, leaving it as devoid of emotion as before. "Pharos?" he repeated. "For the moment it does not strike me that I know the individual." I should have believed that he really had not the power to help me had I not noticed the look which had come into his face when I mentioned that fatal name. "You do not know him?" I said. "Surely you must be making some mistake. Think again, Signor Angelotti. See, here is the card I spoke of. It has your name and address upon it, and it was given me by Sir George Legrath, the head of the Egyptian Museum in London, of whom I think you must at least have heard." He shook his head after he had examined the card. "It is my name, sure enough," he said, handing it back to me, "but I can not understand why you should have supposed that I know anything of the person you are seeking. However, if you will write your name and address upon the card, and will leave it with me, I will make inquiries, and, should I discover anything, will at once communicate with your Excellency. I can do no more." I saw then that my suppositions were correct, and that the old fellow was not as ignorant as he desired me to believe. I accordingly wrote my name, with that of the hotel at which I was staying, at the top of the card, and handed it to him, and then, seeing that there was nothing further to be done, bade him good-morning, and left the shop. Fortunately, the road home was easier to find than I had expected it would be, and it was not very long before I was once more in the Piazza S. Ferdinando.