On this intimacy he based almost his sole hope of a satisfactory outcome to the affair. Those people who assert that the functions of an ambassador have been superseded by the cable and the long-distance telephone, and argue that those highly ornate offices should be abolished forthwith, fail to take into account the mellowing effects of personal intercourse. Men who have met daily on friendly terms can usually smooth over causes of irritation as they arise and prevent them from developing into crises, and can often even suppress a crisis itself after it has developed--unless, of course, one or the other country is determined to quarrel. The _Chargé_ believed that the Baron would not quarrel with him unless it could not be avoided. So he sprang to his feet. “Ah, Baron! Glad to see you,” he cried. “Sit down. What can I do for you?” He glanced expectantly at the tall old gentleman and the handsome girl who stood waiting close behind. The Baron chuckled. “Much, my dear fellow, much,” he cried. “But first let me present my friends. This is Professor Shishkin, so called, for whom you have been inquiring so anxiously for several days. I believe you have not met!” The _Chargé_ grasped the Professor’s hand. “What!” he cried. “Really! Why, Professor, you don’t know how glad I am to see you. We’ve been----” “And this,” the Baron interrupted; “this is the lady who for twenty years has been known as Miss Olga Shishkin, and who has passed as daughter of Professor Shishkin.” The _Chargé_ bowed. Officially, he had heard of Florence’s flight only as a disappearance, and was supposed to know nothing of the peculiar circumstances attending it. Actually, he knew a good deal more than had appeared on the surface, and the conjunction of his three visitors staggered him. And what was this talk about a “supposed” daughter? “I’m glad to see you,” he muttered half-heartedly. “How did you----” Again the Baron broke in. “Professor Shishkin,” he announced, “will tell you that he was knocked overboard during the outrageous attack by robbers on the _Sea Spume_! He was held prisoner for several days and was finally rescued by my men and brought here. Miss Shishkin, so-called----” The door opened and Bristow bounced in, with Olga at his heels. “We came right over,” he began, “the moment we----” He stopped, with distended eyes. It takes something to surprise a veteran newspaper man, but the presence of Demidroff, Shishkin, and Florence together in that place did it. “I beg your pardon,” he boggled. “I thought you were alone. I’ll----” But Olga had seen the Professor, and her one thought was to get at him. With shining eyes, she thrust by her husband and rushed forward, hands outstretched. As she passed, Bristow realized the situation. “Olga!” he cried sharply. “Olga!” The tones reached the girl’s inner consciousness and she stopped, hesitating.