To find my beloved wife was now my sole aim. I thought naught of the startling mystery of Sussex Place, or of the strange identity of the false Professor. I had abandoned the inquiry in order to recover from peril the woman I loved so dearly. The young girl, my companion, was; beside herself with fear, dreading what had occurred; while I myself became more and more puzzled as to the motive for inveigling Mabel abroad. She had not the slightest connection with the secret tragedy; she was, indeed, in ignorance of it all. For what reason, therefore, was she being misled, and why, oh, why, did she allow this perfect stranger to pose as myself? I hardly slept at all that night, having searched all the published visitors' lists in vain, and as early as seven o'clock next morning I started upon a tour of the hotels to make personal inquiry. At the Russia, the Modern, the Continental, the Milan, and other well-known houses of that class I conned the names of the visitors for my own, but though I was occupied the whole day upon the task, snatching a hasty luncheon at a little _trattoria_ I knew just behind the Ministry of Posts and Telegraphs, all was, alas! in vain. Part of the time Mabel's sister was with me, until she grew tired, and returned alone to the hotel in a cab. Earlier in the day I had telegraphed to Pelham to inquire whether Mabel had sent me any message at home, but the reply came that neither telegram nor letter had been received. Though there seemed no connection whatever between the tragedy in Sussex Place and my wife's flight, yet I could not help suspecting that there was, and that my apparent abandonment was due to the subtle, satanic influence of my mysterious neighbour. I was now all the more anxious to condemn him to the police. The remains of the poor Professor had been cremated in his own furnace, and by the blackguardly hands of the assassin. Yet, before I could raise the finger of denunciation, I had to discover the fellow's whereabouts, and this seemed a task impossible to accomplish. I had kept my eye upon the _Times_ daily in the course of my quick journeys during that most eventful week, but no advertisement had appeared. Next day, and the next, I spent alternately searching the hotels and idling in the Corso, on the Pincian, among the tourists in the Forum, or in the broad Piazza Colonna, the hub of Roman life. Among the hosts of foreigners who walked and drove in the Corso at the hour of the _passeggiata_, my eyes, and those of my bright little companion, were ever eager to find my dear wife's handsome face. But we saw her not. She and the man posing as myself had entirely and completely disappeared. I sought counsel of the Questore, or chief of police, who, on hearing that I was in search of my wife, ordered the register of foreigners in Rome to be searched. But two days later he informed me with regret that the name of Holford did not appear.