teaching him to fly.  Philip was up once before, you know, in the spring and Dad urged him to come up again and bring the Baron along to learn aeroplaning.  Philip Poynter, of course, the Baron’s secretary!” in scandalized italics.  “Didn’t you know, really? . . . The Philip Poynter. . . .  And I say it’s absolutely sinful for a man to be so good-looking as long as the world’s monogamous.”

“Quarreled with his father or something, didn’t he?” asked Susanne vaguely.

“Quarreled!” exclaimed Ann righteously.  “Well, I should say he did.  My dear, the young man’s temper simply splintered into a million pieces and he hasn’t found them yet.  Flatly refused to take a cent of his father’s money because he’d discovered it was made dishonestly. Think of it!  And Dad says it’s true.  Old Poynter is a pirate, an unscrupulous, money-mad, villainous old pirate and he did something or other most unpleasant to Dad in Wall Street.  And would you believe it, Susanne, Philip went fuming off huffily to some ridiculous little mountain kingdom in Europe that he was awfully keen about—­Houdania—­and rented himself out as a secretary to Baron Tregar.  Just imagine!  Dick says he organized an aviation department there and won some kind of a prize for an improved model and in the midst of it all, Susanne, Philip’s grandfather up and died, after quarreling for years and years with the whole family, and left Philip all his money! I think Philip’s quarrel with his father pleased him.  But the very queerest part is that Philip actually likes to work and dabble in foreign politics and he flatly refused to give up his job!  Isn’t it romantic?  Philip was always keen for adventure.  Dick says you never could put your finger on a spot on the map and say comfortably, ‘Philip Poynter’s here!’ for most likely Philip Poynter was bolting furiously somewhere else!”

Unaware of Susanne’s furtive interest in his career, Philip scanned the calm, unruffled waters of the Westfall lake and sighing turned back to his chief.  There was a tempting drone of motors back among the hangars.

“We fly this morning?” he inquired smiling.

“Unfortunately not,” regretted the Baron, and led the way indoors to a room which Mrs. Sherrill had hospitably insisted upon regarding as a private den of work and consultation for the Baron and his secretary.

“There is a mission of exceeding delicacy,” began Baron Tregar slowly, “which I feel I must inflict upon you.”  His deep, penetrating eyes lingered intently upon Philip’s face.  “It concerns the singular conveyance of green and white and the lady within it.”

Philip looked frankly astonished.

“I take it then,” he suggested, “that you know the nomadic lady, Baron Tregar?”

“No,” said the Baron.

Philip stared.

“Your Excellency is pleased to jest,” he said politely.