Say he came back on Tuesday by noon, there would then be only thirty-six hours left in which to get to London.

Thirty-six hours, and many hundreds of dreary, weary miles between! Or if he should not come at all! If the Italian were deceiving me! I shall not try and relate what happened the next two days, except to say that I set Simon to watch every train that came into Turin station, while I did all I could to discover whether he were hiding in Turin.
Neither of us saw Kaffar, nor did we hear anything of him.
Monday night came.

I had received no message from the lodging-house keeper, neither had I heard any news.

The suspense was becoming terrible.
Six o'clock! Seven o'clock, and no news! "Simon," I said, "go to that lodging-house and ask whether any message has been received." The willing fellow, still with a smile on his face and a cheery look, started to do my bidding.

I do not know how I should have borne up during those two terrible days, but for my faithful friend.
He had not been gone above half a minute before he came bounding back to my room.
"A message jist 'a come, yer honour!" he cried.
Eagerly I snatched it, and read--"_Expect me home to-night by the midnight train .-- KAFFAR._" I caught up a time-table and anxiously scanned it.