"Where is Sangoa?" inquired Beth.

"No one seems to know," confessed Uncle John. "There was plenty of money
in his pocket-book and he has a valuable watch, but no other jewelry.
His clothes were made by a Los Angeles tailor, but when they called him
up by telephone he knew nothing about his customer except that he had
ordered his suit and paid for it in advance. He called for it three days
ago, and carried it away with him, so we have no clue to the boy's
dwelling place."

"Isn't that a little strange--perhaps a little suspicious?" asked
Mrs. Montrose.

"I think not, ma'am," answered Mr. Merrick. "We made these
investigations at the time we still feared he would die, so as to
communicate with any friends or relatives he might have. But after he
passed the crisis so well and fell asleep, the hospital people stopped
worrying about him. He seems like any ordinary, well-to-do young
fellow, and a couple of days in the hospital ought to put him upon his
feet again."

"But Sangoa, Uncle; is that a town or a country?"

"Some out-of-the-way village, I suppose. People are here from every crack
and corner of America, you know."

"It sounds a bit Spanish," commented Arthur. "Maybe he is from Mexico."

"Maybe," agreed Uncle John. "Anyhow, Maud has saved his life, and if it's
worth anything to him he ought to be grateful."