At length, having smoked his cigar quite to the end, he went up to his room and summoned Themar.
"Ah, Themar!" said he softly, and laughed with peculiar relish.
Themar shifted restlessly.
"Excellency," he began, uncomfortably aware of unpleasant mockery in his chief's keen eyes.
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." "Excellency knows," reminded Themar glibly, "that the car was stolen from the Sherrill garage." "I have merely supposed so," corrected the Baron coldly.

And rising he inspected the curious scars upon his valet's throat with interest.
"Odd!" he purred, "that an aeroplane may simulate the marks of tearing fingers." Swept by a sudden gust of terrible anger, he gripped Themar's shoulders and shook him until the valet's face was dark with fear.
"Why," hissed the Baron, "did you lie?
Why did you go to the Westfall camp and attack Poynter?
Why did you swear these scars came from a disastrous flight in a stolen aeroplane?
Why have you been spying upon Miss Westfall when I expressly forbade it ?" "Excellency," choked Themar, horrified by the Baron's unprecedented display of passion, "there was a blunder--I dared not tell." "Who blundered ?" thundered his chief.
"I.

Granberry, I thought, was to go to his cousin's camp," panted Themar quaking.

"I heard Sherrill telephone--later he told some men--" "You took the car--" prompted the Baron icily.
"I--I did not know it was Poynter until he fell," urged Themar trembling.