By nine that night Diane was asleep in the van. Philip, with whom she had indignantly crossed swords a little earlier, lay thoughtfully by the fire watching the snowy curtains of the van windows billowing lazily in the warm night wind. He felt restless and perturbed and presently sought his tent, where he lit the bottled candle to look for the predecessor of his insatiable wildwood pipe, but halted suddenly with a peculiar whistle. The silk shirt he had worn from Sherrill's lay conspicuously upon the bed, washed and ironed and beautifully mended up the slashed sleeve and along the shoulder. As a laundress of parts, Johnny was a jewel, but he could not mend! Now oddly enough as Mr. Poynter stared at the shirt upon the bed, his appearance was that of a young man decidedly out of sorts. Presently with an ominous glint of temper in his fine eyes, he noiselessly rearranged his tent, viciously donned the offending shirt, whistled for Nero and leaving the camp of his lady as unexpectedly as he had entered it, set out for Sherrill's. Even the most equable of tempers, it would seem, may now and then prove crotchety. And who may say? Mr. Poynter was a young man of infinite resource. And there were other ways. CHAPTER XVII IN WHICH THE BARON PAYS "Excellency," said Philip politely, "I have returned." "Ah!" said the Baron cordially, marveling somewhat at the forbidding glint in the young man's eyes. He was to learn presently its portent. Within doors, a few men chatted in the billiard room. A girl was singing. 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 _creme de menthe_ upon the table. With his customary deliberation the Baron selected a glass, filled it with shaved ice, which he as carefully covered with green _creme de menthe_, and pushed the delectable result across the table to his secretary. Philip accepted with a formal expression of thanks. "I am delighted," rumbled the Baron, sipping his iced mint with keen appreciation, "to see that you are fully recovered." "And Themar?" inquired Philip coldly. "He was not injured so badly as I feared," admitted Tregar slowly. "His accident," commented Philip quietly, "was to say the least coincidental--and convenient." "Just what do you mean?" "Just why," begged Philip icily, "did you wish me to intrude further upon the hospitality of Miss Westfall?" "There was an errand," reminded the Baron blandly. "Having discharged it myself, Poynter, I might--er--trust to you to report its consequences. There are possibilities of confidences over a camp fire--" "You expected me to--spy upon Miss Westfall?" "Even so. "Pray believe," said Philip stiffly, "that any confidence of Miss Westfall's would have been to me--as your own." "I am to understand then," commented His Excellency suavely, "that you made absolutely no effort--"