“Great Scott!” came from his lips, in an excited whisper. “What does the Baroness Latour want with a wireless telephone? Who is she talking to? The only thing I can see in line with her is the yacht. Is it possible that she is having a conversation with somebody on board? If so, why? That’s the question--why?” He settled himself to gaze through his glasses more at his ease, as well as to make sure he was right as to the nature of the box on the baroness’ window sill. “It strikes me, my charming friend, that you may be here for some other purpose than to play golf and take part in the evening ‘hops’ in the hotel. Your actions at the window are unusual enough to make me curious, at all events. I’ll telegraph to New York for my own wireless telephone. Signor Marconi may be just as useful to me as to you, with this new and wonderful invention of his. Meanwhile, since we have already made acquaintance with each other, I shall venture to ask you to dine with me this evening. If you decline--well, I must hit on something else.” The baroness removed the machine from her window at this instant, and pulled down the sash. Nick Carter got to his feet, and strolled thoughtfully back to the hotel. CHAPTER IV. A DINNER WITH NICK CARTER. The Baroness Latour sat at a little writing table behind the lace curtains in her sitting room, making notes in a dainty memorandum book. Occasionally she peered through the fine web of the curtain at the handsome white yacht gently rising and falling on the swell in the bay. A knock at the door, and her maid took a note from a bell boy and handed it to the baroness. “The boy is waiting for an answer,” said the maid. “Very well, Florine. I’ll see what it is.” The baroness started with uncontrollable astonishment when she found that the letter was a respectful request from Colonel Pearson that she would give him the pleasure of dining at his table that evening. “Well, who would have thought this?” she murmured. “Colonel Pearson, eh? Indeed, I’ll dine with him.” She wrote a note of acceptance in a firm, but entirely feminine hand, and sealed the envelope with golden wax, stamped with a large “L.” “I rather think that ‘L’ is convincing,” she said to herself, with a smile, as she handed the letter to Florine, to give to the waiting bell boy. “Keep the doors closed, Florine,” she ordered. “You can stay in the room. Give me that telephone instrument.” With Florine’s assistance, she placed the wireless-telephone apparatus again on the sill, and, after a few moments of ineffective endeavor, got a ticking that told her she was in communication with the yacht which had awakened so much curiosity in Nick Carter. Her conversation was very brief, but she contrived to give orders in a few words, which, under certain conditions, would carry out some very important work.