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Updated: June 18, 2025
Wingate," he boomed, "is at the Sherrill farm. Themar officiously fancied he could fly and had a most distressing fall yesterday from the smaller biplane." His deep, compelling eyes lingered upon Philip's face. "Dr.
Still if he believed it, it left me, in the event of Miss Westfall's complete ignorance of all this hubbub, the sole remaining obstacle." But Themar had not heard. He was shaking again in the clutch of a heavy chill.
"But, Excellency," reminded Themar glibly, "there is still the girl " Deep, compelling, Tregar's eyes burned steadily into menace. "Must I repeat " "Excellency," stammered Themar blanching. "You may go!" said the Baron curtly. There had been no word of the scribbled cuff, Themar remembered. And surely one may steal away one's own. The sun had set.
The Baron matched the tips of his powerful fingers and studied them intently. "Themar," said he acidly, "within a fortnight I have lost a car whose burned remains were found several miles from here, and a secretary whose friendship and invaluable service I prize more highly than your life. I feel that you can to some extent explain both of these disasters."
Its light, showering softly through the trees as the night wind swayed the branches, fell presently upon the camp and the face of the cyclist. It was Themar. Now as Philip watched, Themar crouched suddenly and fell to staring at the muffled figure by the camp fire. For an interval he crouched motionless; then with infinite caution he moved to the right.
Still there was storm in the warm, sweet air to-night and back yonder over the hills to the north, the sky brightened fitfully with lightning. Slipping his hand carelessly into his coat pocket for a pipe, Philip laughed. "My Lord!" said he lightly. "The hieroglyphical cuff! I should have given that to the Baron. . . . Themar," added Philip, packing his pipe, "is an infernal bounder!"
Philip's fingers slipped viselike along the other's wrists and Philip's voice grew more acidly polite. "My dear Themar," he regretted, falling unconsciously into the language of his chief, "I must spoil the symmetry of your wardrobe. The hieroglyphical cuff, if you please." Themar's snarl was unintelligible. Smiling, Philip unbuttoned the stiff band of linen and drew it slowly off.
"Yes," said Themar. "Under oath I was to obey Ronador's commands without question. But he did not even trust me with the cipher message of instruction. That was mailed to the Baron's Washington address written in an ink that only turned dark with the heat of a fire. I too was sent to Washington. Ronador knew nothing of the Baron's trip to Connecticut."
"Why did you serve in my cousin's house without the knowledge of the Baron?" "If if the secret was harmful to Houdania," blurted Themar desperately, spurred to confession by the clank of the metal in Carl's hand, "I I could sell the paper to Galituria!" The nature of the admission was totally unexpected. Carl whistled softly. "Ah!" said he, raising expressive eyebrows.
Poynter assured him and politely begged instant and accurate knowledge of a number of things, of a knife and a bullet, of Themar's spying, of a cuff, of the man by the fire who read Herodotus, of a motorcyclist seeking for days to overtake a nomad. "I I dare not tell," faltered Themar, moistening his lips. "I I am bound by an oath " "To spy and steal and murder!"
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