indisi, and to
him one name was pretty much like another. He called them all "Howajja,"
and remembered nothing more. He did not keep an hotel register.

Little and poor as this evidence was, I determined to go to Egypt. It
was now June, and terribly hot, even at Brindisi; I knew the heat must
be worse in Cairo, but that was nothing. If I could find this man, I
should be rewarded a thousandfold.

Accordingly the next night, when an Austrian Lloyd steamer stopped at
this little old-fashioned seaport on its way to Alexandria, I secured a
berth and went on board. The voyage was not long, neither was it very
tedious; at night, especially, it was glorious. To sit on deck and gaze
at the smooth sea, which reflected in its deep waters the bright starry
heavens, while the splash of the waters made music on the vessel's side,
was to experience something not easily forgotten.

Arrived in Alexandria, I again set inquiries on foot, but with far less
chance of success. Kaffar was not a marked man here. In this town, where
almost every nationality was to be seen, no notice would be taken of
him. A thousand men answering to Kaffar's description might be seen
every day. Still I did all I could, and then hurried on to Cairo.

I have not tried to give any detailed account of my journeys, nor of the
alternate feelings of hope and despair that possessed me. This must be
left to the imagination of my readers. Let them remember the
circumstances of the story as I have related them, let them think of how
much depended on my discovery of Kaffar, let them also try to fancy
something of my feelings, and then they will be able to guess at my
weary nights and anxious days, they will know how feverishly I hurried
from port to port and from town to town. Anyhow, I will not try to
describe them, for I should miserably fail.

Cairo was comparatively empty. The heat had driven the tourists away to
colder climes. The waiters in the hotels lolled around, with little or
nothing to do. Only a few guests required their attendance. Everything
was very quiet. The burning sun fairly scorched the leaves of the acacia
trees, which grew everywhere. The Nile was exceedingly low, and water
was comparatively scarce. The older part of Cairo was simply unbearable;
the little Koptic community dwelling in the low huts, which reeked with
dirt and vermin, would, one would have thought, have been glad to have
died.

I had no success in Cairo. A dozen times I was buoye