's.

Even the most equable of tempers, it would seem, may now and then prove
crotchety.

And who may say? Mr. Poynter was a young man of infinite resource.
And there were other ways.

CHAPTER XVII

IN WHICH THE BARON PAYS

"Excellency," said Philip politely, "I have returned."

"Ah!" said the Baron cordially, marveling somewhat at the forbidding
glint in the young man's eyes. He was to learn presently its portent.

Within doors, a few men chatted in the billiard room. A girl was
singing. The Baron, however, was the only occupant of the comfortable
porch-room with the green-shaded lamp, to which Philip had come,
passing Themar, who had left a tray of ice and _creme de menthe_ upon
the table.

With his customary deliberation the Baron selected a glass, filled it
with shaved ice, which he as carefully covered with green _creme de
menthe_, and pushed the delectable result across the table to his
secretary.

Philip accepted with a formal expression of thanks.

"I am delighted," rumbled the Baron, sipping his iced mint with keen
appreciation, "to see that you are fully recovered."

"And Themar?" inquired Philip coldly.

"He was not injured so badly as I feared," admitted Tregar slowly.
"His accident," commented Philip quietly, "was to say the least
coincidental--and convenient."

"Just what do you mean?"

"Just why," begged Philip icily, "did you wish me to intrude further
upon the hospitality of Miss Westfall?"

"There was an errand," reminded the Baron blandly. "Having discharged
it myself, Poynter, I might--er--trust to you to report its
consequences. There are possibilities of confidences over a camp
fire--"

"You expected me to--spy upon Miss Westfall?"

"Even so.

"Pray believe," said Philip stiffly, "that any confidence of Miss
Westfall's would have been to me--as your own."

"I am to understand then," commented His Excellency suavely, "that you
made absolutely no effort--"

"You are to understand just that," said Philip quietly. "Moreover," he
manfully met his chief's level glance with one of inexorable decision,
"I sincerely regret that hereafter I shall be unable to discharge my
duties as your secretary."

The Baron stirred.

"I may be honored by your reasons, Poynter?" he inquired quietly.

"The duties of a spy," flashed Philip, "are peculiarly offensive to me.
So is Themar."

"Themar!"

"Excellency," said Philip curtly, "to-night as I entered, the lamplight
fell fu