“Well,” he said, at last, “have you got anything to say?”

“Nothing,” said Philip.  “It’s beyond me, Greggy.  For Heaven’s sake give me an explanation!”

There was nothing womanish in the hard lines of Gregson’s face now.  He spoke with the suggestion of a sneer.

“You knew—­all the time,” he said, coldly.  “You knew that Miss Brokaw and the girl whom I drew were one and the same person.  What was the object of your little sensation?”

Philip ignored his question.  He stepped quickly up to Gregson and seized him by the arm.

“It is impossible!” he cried, in a low voice.  “They cannot be the same person.  That ship out there has not touched land since she left Halifax.  Until she hove in sight off Churchill she hasn’t been within two hundred miles of a coast this side of Hudson’s Strait.  Miss Brokaw is as new to this country as you.  It is beyond all reason to suppose anything else.”

“Nevertheless,” said Gregson, quietly, “it was Miss Brokaw whom I saw the other day, and that is Miss Brokaw’s picture.”

He pointed to the sketch, and freed his arm to light another cigarette.  There was a peculiar tone of finality in his voice which warned Philip that no amount of logic or arguing on his part would change his friend’s belief.  Gregson looked at him over his lighted match.

“It was Miss Brokaw,” he said again.  “Perhaps it is within reason to suppose that she came to Churchill in a balloon, dropped into town for luncheon, and departed in a balloon, descending by some miraculous chance aboard the ship that was bringing her father.  However it may have happened, she was in Churchill a few days ago.  On that hypothesis I am going to work, and as a consequence I am going to ask you for the indefinite loan of the Lord Fitzhugh letter.  Will you give me your word to say nothing of that letter—­ for a few days?”

“It is almost necessary to show it to Brokaw,” hesitated Philip.

“Almost—­but not quite,” Gregson caught him up.  “Brokaw knows the seriousness of the situation without that letter.  See here, Phil—­ you go out and fight, and let me handle this end of the business.  Don’t reveal me to the Brokaws.  I don’t want to meet—­her—­yet, though God knows if it wasn’t for my confounded friendship for you I’d go over there with you this minute.  She was even more beautiful than when I saw her—­before.”

“Then there is a difference,” laughed Philip, meaningly.

“Not a difference, but a little better view,” corrected the artist.

“Now, if we could only find the other girl, what a mess you’d be in, Greggy!  By George, but this is beginning to have its humorous as well as its tragic side.  I’d give a thousand dollars to have this other golden-haired beauty appear upon the scene!”

“I’ll give a thousand if you produce her,” retorted Gregson.

“Good!” laughed Philip, holding out a hand.  “I’ll report again this afternoon or to-night.”