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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 crème de menthe upon the table.
Simultaneously Themar and Philip wheeled. The Baron stood in the doorway. Philip smiled and bowed. "Excellency," said he, "Themar in an over-zealous desire to rearrange your private papers has acquired your private key and I have taken the liberty of confiscating it, knowing that you prize its possession. Permit me to return it now."
The broken-hearted old man down South had carried the child of his son away, fiercely denied the Indian blood, and pledged Aunt Agatha to the keeping of the secret. And this was the net that had driven Carl to the verge of insanity and sent Themar to his death in a Florida swamp! There was no princess no child of the exiled Theodomir.
On and on they went, stumbling and flying through the moonlit wood to the towpath. But Philip was much the better runner and soon caught the fleeing cyclist by the collar with a grip of steel. "Poynter!" panted Themar, staring. "At your service!" Mr.
Themar stared sullenly at the river, gray now with the coming dawn. His dark face was drawn and haggard. And again Mr. Poynter shot a volley of questions and awaited the answers with dangerous quiet. Shaking, Themar refused again to answer. With even more quietness and courtesy Philip obligingly gave him a final opportunity and finding Themar white and inexorable, smiled.
"If I may crave still further hospitality and indulgence," he begged regretfully. "There is already much excitement at the Sherrill place owing to the officious act of my man, Themar, and his accident. Another invalid my secretary one flounders in a dragnet of unfortunate circumstances. And I am sensitive in the disturbance of my host's guests "
With a bound, the startled American was on his feet, stealing rapidly toward the man by the tree. To the spying, the mystery, the infernal trickery and masquerading which dogged his lady's trail, Themar held the key, wherefore Cursing, Philip forged ahead. The carpet of dry twigs beneath him had betrayed his approach and Themar was running wildly through the forest.
"Thank you, Poynter!" said the Baron and glanced keenly at Themar. "It is but now that I had missed it." "Excellency," burst forth Themar desperately, "I found it this morning on the rug." "But," purred the Baron, "why seek a keyhole?" Themar's dark face was ashen. Philip, with a wholesome distaste for scenes, slipped away.
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