Sabin answered.
"The Duchess send any word home at all?" Mr. Skinner asked.
Mr. Sabin produced a worn telegraph form. It was handed in at Fifth
Avenue, New York, at six o'clock on Friday. It contained the single
word 'Good-bye.'
"H'm," Mr. Skinner remarked. "We'll find all you want to know by
to-morrow sure."
"What do you make of the two letters which I received?" Mr. Sabin
asked.
"Bunkum!" Mr. Skinner replied confidently.
Mr. Sabin nodded his head.
"You have no secret societies over here, I suppose?" he said.
Mr. Skinner laughed loudly and derisively.
"I guess not," he answered. "They keep that sort of rubbish on the
other side of the pond."
"Ah!"
Mr. Sabin was thoughtful for a moment. "You expect to find, then,"
he remarked, "some other cause for my wife's disappearance?"
"There don't seem much room for doubt concerning that, sir," Mr.
Skinner said; "but I never speculate. I will bring you the facts
to-night between eight and eleven. Now as to the business side of
it."
Mr. Sabin was for a moment puzzled.
"What's the job worth to you?" Mr. Skinner asked. "I am willing to
pay," Mr. Sabin answered, "according to your demands."
"It's a simple case," Mr. Skinner admitted, "but our man at the
Waldorf is expensive. If you get all your facts, I guess five
hundred dollars will about see you through.
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