A week more slipped by. There were only seventeen days left now. I was sitting in my room, anxiously waiting for the Continental mail, and any telegrams which might arrive. I heard the postman's knock, and in a minute more letters were brought in. Eagerly I opened those which came from the detectives, and feverishly read them. "Still in the dark; nothing discovered"--that summed up the long reports they sent me. I read the other letters; there was nothing in them to help me. Still another week went by. Only ten days were wanting to Christmas Eve, and I knew no more of Kaffar's whereabouts than I did on the day when I defied Voltaire and started on my search. Again reports from the detectives came, and still no news. No doubt, by this, Voltaire was gloating over his victory, while I was nearly mad with despair. Only ten days! I must do something. It was my duty, at all hazards, to free Gertrude Forrest from Voltaire. That was plain. I could not find the Egyptian, and thus it was probable I had killed him as had been said. What must I do? This, and this only. I must go to Scotland Yard, and relate to the authorities my whole story. I must tell them of Voltaire's influence over me, and that it was probable I had, while held under a mesmerist's spell, killed the man I had been trying to find. This was all. It _might_ bring this villain under suspicion, and, if so, it would hinder him from exacting the fulfilment of Gertrude Forrest's promise. It was at best but an uncertain venture, but it was all I could do. I owed it to the woman I loved. It was my duty to make this sacrifice. I would do it. I wasted no time; I put on my overcoat and walked to Scotland Yard. I put my hand upon the door of the room which I knew belonged to one of the officials, to whom I determined to report my case. I thought of the words I should say, when-- "STOP!" I am sure I heard that word, clear and distinct. Where it came from I knew not; but it was plain to me. An idea flashed into my mind! Mad, mad, I must have been, never to have thought of it before. Ten days! Only ten days! But much might be done even yet. I rushed away, and got into St. James's Park, and there, in comparative quietness, I began to think. The clouds began to dispel, the difficulties began to move away. Surely I had hit upon a plan at last, a plan on which I should have thought at the outset. I walked on towards Westminster Abbey, still working out my newly conceived idea, and when there jumped into a cab. Yes, I remembered the address, for I had seen it only the day before, so I told the cabman to drive to ---- Street, Chelsea. I was right. There on the door was the name of the man I had hoped to find--Professor Von Virchow. I paid the cabman, and knocked at the door with a beating heart. A sallow-faced girl opened the door, and asked my business. Was Professor Virchow at home?