sought through all the chambers for him. He was nowhere to be seen. The
negro informed me with an affectionate and anxious tremor in the voice
that his master had left the rooms some hours before, but had said
nothing to him. I ordered the man to descend and look into the sacristy
of the small chapel wherein I had deposited my _calèche_, and in the
field behind, where my horse should be. He returned with the news that
both had disappeared. Zaleski, I then concluded, had undoubtedly
departed on a journey.

I was deeply touched by the demeanour of Ham as the hours went by. He
wandered stealthily about the rooms like a lost being. It was like
matter sighing after, weeping over, spirit. Prince Zaleski had never
before withdrawn himself from the _surveillance_ of this sturdy
watchman, and his disappearance now was like a convulsion in their
little cosmos. Ham implored me repeatedly, if I could, to throw some
light on the meaning of this catastrophe. But I too was in the dark.
The Titanic frame of the Ethiopian trembled with emotion as in broken,
childish words he told me that he felt instinctively the approach of
some great danger to the person of his master. So a day passed away,
and then another. On the next he roused me from sleep to hand me a
letter which, on opening, I found to be from Zaleski. It was hastily
scribbled in pencil, dated 'London, Nov. 14th,' and ran thus:

'For my body--should I not return by Friday night--you will, no doubt,
be good enough to make search. _Descend_ the river, keeping constantly
to the left; consult the papyrus; and stop at the _Descensus Aesopi._
Seek diligently, and you will find. For the rest, you know my fancy for
cremation: take me, if you will, to the crematorium of _Père-Lachaise._
My whole fortune I decree to Ham, the Lybian.'