“Quite impossible Kingsborough lady landed here during past fortnight. Paris Surete report the magician Hirsch committed suicide Monte Carlo, 1894.”
“Good God! then, what do you suppose?”
“That we may put aside this Santa Barbara theory as untenable. Let us waste no further time on it.”
“What other theory have you? Who would have taken my sister? What motive could anyone have?”
“I do not know who took your sister, Mr. Kingsborough, but I am working and hoping to find out. The motive is obvious to anyone who has had the honour to see your sister: she is a very beautiful woman. That was the motive, as I read the case.”
“And where do you suppose she is?”
“I hope to find out and restore her.”
“You mean that she has been shipped to some damned tolerated house?”
“Mr. Kingsborough, it is no good thinking thoughts like those: that way madness lies. I believe that we shall find your sister wherever she may be.”
“Well,” Hilary said, “I believe that she is in Santa Barbara, in spite of all your beliefs, and I shall go there to look for her. At least, if I go there, I shall be following the only clue there is. And I shall see that mate of the Pathfinder and get descriptions from him of those men at the boxing-match.”