“Yes, Margarita, of course; but it seems so absurd.” He told her in outline what Sard had said, omitting anything which might frighten her. He made his tale as light as possible, but he saw that she became very grave.
“Why are you so solemn, Pearl?”
“I was thinking of what you said.”
“Do you think that it is anything but a rag?”
“Yes, I do, Hilary. The man who came here this evening was in earnest.”
“You did not see him.”
“Yes, I did. I saw him in the garden. I noticed him very particularly, because I thought for a moment that he was someone else, a Mr. Chisholm. The only thing which puzzles me is the lack of motive. Why should burglars come here? There is nothing to steal here.”
“It is that which makes me think it is all a rag.”
“There was a case in Greece last Christmas of English people being kidnapped and held to ransom. We might be the . . . the swag, in this case.”
“Mr. Harker thought that the people were not burglars nor bandits, but rum-runners from Santa Barbara. He said that they spoke as if they all knew about us and that a Mr. B., or Sagrado B., apparently their director, had a score to settle with me. I cannot think of anyone of that name or nickname.”