I rung the bell as I spoke, and the servant appeared. "Show this gentleman out, Mary," I said. Never shall I forget the look of hatred that gleamed from his eyes as he left the room. If ever a man looked possessed of an evil spirit, it was he; but he did not speak. He walked down the stairs without a word, and then out into the street. I stood and watched him until he was out of sight, and then tried to collect my scattered thoughts. On the whole, I was not pleased with the interview. I had shown my hand. It would have been far better if I could have allowed him still to think I was in his power, but the temptation to show him my freedom was too strong. It would now be a trial of skill between us. If he could have believed that I was unable to do anything to free myself, I should have, perhaps, caught him unawares. Now he would be prepared for everything I could do; he would check my every move. If Kaffar were alive, he would have a thousand means of keeping him out of my way; if dead--well, then, I did not care much what happened. If the latter, however, I determined to give up my life for Miss Forrest, to put myself in the hands of the police authorities, and tell of the influence Voltaire had exerted over me. Meanwhile I must act, and that quickly; so I went straight to a private detective, a man I slightly knew. I refrained from going to Scotland Yard, as I thought Voltaire would be watching me. I gave this detective a description of Voltaire, told him his address, which I had ascertained through his letters to Temple Hall, and explained my wishes to him. He took up my points very quickly, saw what I wanted without any lengthened explanations, and expressed a willingness to serve me. So much pleased was I with this interview, that I had no fear that my enemy would not be well looked after. After that I took train for Dover, and prepared to track Kaffar, if possible, wherever he had gone, not realizing at the time the task I had proposed for myself. I thought I made a forward step at Dover, for, on inquiring at an hotel there, I found that a man answering to Kaffar's description had engaged a bedroom for one night, and had gone on to Calais by the midday boat, in time to catch the express for Paris. "Did this gentleman have any luggage?" I asked. The hotel proprietor did not think the gentleman carried any luggage, but he would inquire. On inquiry of the hotel porter, I found that he carried a Gladstone bag, rather small and new. This was particularly remembered--first, because the foreign gentleman seemed very particular about it, and, second, because there seemed to be nothing in it. So far so good. I determined to go on to Paris; it could do no harm, it might do good. I could speak the French language fairly, and might, by some means, find out the steps he had taken. Arrived at Paris, I was completely blocked. He was not remembered in the Custom House; he was not remembered at some twenty hotels at which I called.