I spent a sleepless night, harassed by a thousand doubts and fears. There, in the quiet of my room, all this mesmerism and clairvoyance seemed only so much hocus-pocus, which no sensible and well-educated man should have anything to do with. Still, it was my only hope, and it only wanted eight days to Christmas Eve. Only one little week and a day, that was all, and then, if I did not produce Kaffar, all was lost. It would be no use to go to Miss Forrest's house in Kensington and tell her that Simon Slowden had, while in a mesmeric sleep, seen Kaffar in Italy. No, no; that would never do. I must produce him, nothing else would suffice. We were early at the professor's the following morning, and found him waiting and almost as anxious as we were. Again Simon submitted to the influence of the little man, and soon answered his questions far more readily than he had hitherto done. Did he see Kaffar? "Yes," was the reply. "Where is he now?" He was in a beautiful town. The houses were white, the streets were white; the town was full of squares, and in these squares were many statues. Such was Simon's information. "Do you know what country the town is in?" "No," said Simon, shaking his head. "Could you not by any means find out? There's a railway station in the town; can you not see the name there?" "Yes, there's a railway station, a fine one. Ah, I see the name now. T-O-R-I-N-O. TORINO, that's it." "Torino!" I cried, "Turin! That's a town in Italy, some distance beyond the French border." The professor beckoned me to be quiet. "Kaffar is at Torino, is he?" said the professor. "That's it--yes." "What is he doing?" "Talkin' with a man who keeps an hotel." "What does he say?" "It's in a foreign language, and I can't tell." "Can you repeat what he said?" "It sounded like this--'_Je restey ici pour kelka jour_;' but I can't make out what it means." The professor turned to me. "He's speaking French. I did not know Kaffar knew French; perhaps he's learned it lately. The words mean that he will stay there for some days." "Can you describe the street in which this hotel is?" continued Von Virchow. Simon began to describe, but we could make nothing of it. "We can't understand," replied the professor. "Can you draw a sketch of the road to it from the railway station?" and he put a piece of paper and pencil in Simon's hand. Without hesitating, Simon drew a sketch, a facsimile of which is given on the opposite page. I had been to Turin, and remembered some of the places the sketch indicated. It might be far from perfect, but it was sufficient for me. It would be child's play to find Kaffar there. "That will do," I said to the professor. "I'll start at once. Thank you so much." "Ah, that will do, will it?" he said, with a smile. "Then I'll wake up this man." Simon woke up as usual, rubbing his eyes, and asked whether any good had been done.