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for me my arrangements fitted in exactly, so that at one thirty P. M., on the seventh day after my fatal meeting with Dr. Nikola in the West of England express, I had crossed the continent and stood looking out on the blue waters of Naples Bay. To my right rose the hill of San Martino, behind me was that of Capo di Monte, and in the distance, to the southward, the cloud-tipped summit of Vesuvius.

The journey from London is generally considered, I believe, a long and wearisome one; it certainly proved so to me, for it must be remembered that my mind was impatient of every delay, while my bodily health was not as yet recovered from the severe strain that had been put upon it.

The first thing to be done on arrival at the terminus was to discover a quiet hotel; one where I could rest and recoup during the heat of the day, and what was perhaps more important, a place where I should run no risk of meeting with Dr. Nikola or his satellites. I had originally intended calling at the office of the steamship company in order to explain the reason of my not joining the boat in Plymouth, planning afterwards to cast about me, among the various hotels, for the Marquis of Beckenham and Mr. Baxter. But, on