"Say, my friend," said Hallowell earnestly, "do you think I'm a reporter for the Scientific American or a newspaper?"
All three rose. The operator was busy crashing away at his Leyden jars.
"What next?" asked Jack.
"That depends on two things."
"Whether or not McCarthy takes the Celtic," interposed Hallowell quickly.
"And whether Monsieur X will be satisfied with his mere disappearance, if he does not take the Celtic," supplemented Darrow. "In any case, we've got to find him. He's unbalanced; he possesses an immense and disconcerting and a dangerous power; he is becoming possessed of a manie des grandeurs. You remember the phrasing of his last message? 'I am your lord and master, and my wrath shall be visited on you. Begone!' That is the language of exaltation. Exaltation is not far short of irresponsible raving."
"What possible clue—" began Jack Warford blankly.
"When a man is somewhere out in the ether there is no clue," replied
Darrow.
"Then how on earth can you hope to find him?"
"By the exercise of pure reason," said Darrow calmly.