led, her
effort to prove her instincts true had come to nothing, and Arthur
Dillon had at last put his foot down and extinguished her and Sonia
together. Free to snarl and spit if they chose, the two cats could never
plot seriously against him more. Curran triumphed in the end. Tracking
Arthur Dillon through California had all the features of a chase through
the clouds after a bird. The scene changed with every step, and the
ground just gone over faded like a dream.

They found Dillons, a few named Arthur, some coincidences, several
mysteries, and nothing beyond. The police still had the photographs sent
out by Anne Dillon, and a record that the man sought for had been found
and returned to his mother. The town where the search ended had only a
ruined tavern and one inhabitant, who vaguely remembered the close of
the incident. Edith surrendered the search in a violent temper, and all
but scratched out the eyes of her devoted slave. To Sonia the detective
put the net result very sensibly.

"Arthur Dillon did not live in California under his own name," said he,
"and things have so changed there in five years that his tracks have
been wiped out as if by rain. All that has been done so far proves this
man to be just what he appears. We never had a worse case, and never
took up a more foolish pursuit. We have proved just one sure thing: that
if this man be Horace, then he can't be found. He is too clever to be
caught, until he is willing to reveal himself. If you pursue him to the
point which might result in his capture, there'll be murder or worse
waiting for you at that point. It might be better for you two not to
find him."

This suggestion, clever and terrifying, Sonia could not understand as
clearly as Curran. She thought the soft nature of Horace quite
manageable, and if murder were to be done her knife should do it. Oh, to
seize his throat with her beautiful hands, to press and squeeze and dig
until the blood gorged his face, and to see him die by inches, gasping!
He had lied like a coward! Nothing easier to destroy than such a wretch!

"Don't give up, Sonia," was Edith's comment on the wise words of Curran.
"Get a good lawyer, and by some trick drag Dillon and his mother and the
priest to court, put them on oath as to who the man is; they won't
perjure themselves, I'll wager."

"That is my thought," said Sonia tenderly nursing the idea. "There seems
to be nothing more to do. I have thought the matter over very c