CHAPTER VI
BARON TREGAR
Lilac and wistaria flowered royally. Carpenter, wheelwright and painterdeparted. The trim green wagon, picked out gayly in white, windowed andcurtained and splendidly equipped for the fortunes of the road, creakedbriskly away upon its pilgrimage, behind a pair of big-boned piebaldhorses from the Westfall stables, with Johnny at the reins. On the seatbeside him Diane radiantly waved adieu to her aunt, who promptlycollapsed in a chair on the porch and dabbed violently at her eyes.
"I shall never get over it," sniffed Aunt Agatha tragically. "Carl maysay what he will, I never shall. But now that I've come up here to seeher off, I've done my duty, I have indeed. And I do hope Carl hasn't anywild ideas for the summer--I couldn't stand it. Allan, as long as MissDiane is camping within reasonable distance of the farm, you'd bettertake the run-about each night and find her and see if she's allright--and brush the snakes and bugs and things out of camp. Ifeverything wild in the forest collected around the camp fire, like as notshe wouldn't see them until they bit her."
The boy shifted a slim, bare leg and sniggered.
"Miss Westfall," he said, "Miss Diane she says she's a-goin' to a spot bythe river and camp a week an'--an' if she finds anybody a-follerin' orspyin' on her from the farm, she'll skin him alive an'--an' them blackeyes o' her'n snapped fire when she said it. An' Johnny, he's gotweepons 'nough with him to fight pirutes."
Aunt Agatha groaned and rocking dolorously back and forth upon the porchreviewed the calamitous possibilities of the journey.
But the restless young nomad on the road ahead, sniffing the rare, sweetair of early summer, had already relegated the memory of herlong-suffering aunt to the forgotten things of civilization. For thesummer world, sweet with the scent of wild flowers, was very young, withyoung leaves, young grass and flowering, sun-warm hedges, and beyond theSherrill place on the wooded hill, the sun flamed yellow through thehemlocks.
"Oh, Johnny Jutes! Oh, Johnny Jutes!" sang the girl happily, with thecolor of the wild rose in her sun-brown cheeks. "It's good--it's good tobe alive!"
With a chuckle of enthusiasm Johnny cracked his whip and opined that itwas.
Now even as the great green van rolled forth upon the country roads,bound for an idyllic spot by the river where Diane had planned to camp aweek, two men appeared upon the wide, white-pillared Sherrill porch,smoking and idly admiring the bluish hills and the rolling meadowlandsbelow bright with morning sunlight. To the east lay the silver glimmerof a tree-fringed lake; beyond, a church spire among the trees and awinding country road traveled by the solitary van of green and white.
"A singular conveyance, is it not, Poynter?" inquired the older man, hiscareful articulation blurred by a pronounced foreign accent. Staringintently at the sunlit road, he added: "Is it a common mode oftravel--here in America?"
The younger man, a lean, sinewy chap with singularly fine eyes of blueabove lean, tanned cheeks, frowned thoughtfully.
"By no means," said he pleasantly. "Indeed it's quite new to me. Seemsto have blowy white things at the sides like window curtains, doesn't it?"
"A nomadic young woman, I am told," shrugged the older man carelessly.He stood watching the dusty trail of the nomad with narrowed, thoughtfuleyes, unaware that his companion's eyes had wandered somewhat expectantlyto the Westfall lake.
"Baron Tregar!" whispered Ann Sherrill in a remote corner of the verandato a girl she had brought up to the farm with her late the night before."Has a _real_ air of distinction, hasn't he, Susanne? And such deep,dark, _compelling_ eyes. Rather Arabic, I think, but mother says Magyar.Dick says he's immensely interested in the war possibilities ofaeroplanes and fearfully patriotic. Touring the States, I believe. Dadpicked him up in Washington. Philip's teaching him to fly. Philip wasup once before, you know, in the spring and Dad urged him to come upagain and bring the Baron along to learn aeroplaning. Philip _Poynter_,of course, the Baron's secretary!" in scandalized italics. "Didn't youknow, _really_? . . . _The_ Philip Poynter. . . . And I say it'sabsolutely _sinful_ for a man to be so good-looking as long as theworld's monogamous."
"Quarreled with his father or something, didn't he?" asked Susannevaguely.
"Quarreled!" exclaimed Ann righteously. "Well, I should say he did. Mydear, the young man's temper simply splintered into a million pieces andhe hasn't found them yet. Flatly refused to take a _cent_ of hisfather's money because he'd discovered it was made dishonestly. _Think_of it! And Dad says it's true. Old Poynter is a pirate, anunscrupulous, money-mad, villainous old pirate and he did something orother most unpleasant to Dad in Wall Street. And would you _believe_ it,Susanne, Philip went fuming off huffily to some ridiculous littlemountain kingdom in Europe that he was awfully keen about--Houdania--andrented himself out as a secretary to Baron Tregar. Just _imagine_! Dicksays he organized an aviation department there and won some kind of aprize for an improved model and in the midst of it all, Susanne, Philip'sgrandfather up and died, after quarreling for years and _years_ with thewhole family, and left Philip _all_ his money! _I_ think Philip'squarrel with his father pleased him. But the very queerest part is thatPhilip actually _likes_ to work and dabble in foreign politics and heflatly refused to give up his job! Isn't it romantic? Philip was_always_ keen for adventure. Dick says you never could put your fingeron a spot on the map and say comfortably, 'Philip Poynter's here!' formost likely Philip Poynter was bolting furiously somewhere else!"
Unaware of Susanne's furtive interest in his career, Philip scanned thecalm, unruffled waters of the Westfall lake and sighing turned back tohis 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 aroom which Mrs. Sherrill had hospitably insisted upon regarding as aprivate 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 eyeslingered intently upon Philip's face. "It concerns the singularconveyance 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, BaronTregar?"
"No," said the Baron.
Philip stared.
"Your Excellency is pleased to jest," he said politely.
"On the contrary," said the Baron, "I am at a loss for suitable words inwhich to express my singular request. I am assured of your interest,Poynter?"
"Of my interest, assuredly!" admitted Philip. "My compliance," he addedfairly, "depends, of course, upon the nature of the mission."
"It is absurdly simple," said the Houdanian suavely. "Merely to discoverwhether or not the nomadic lady feels any exceptional interest--inHoudania. For the information to be acquired in a careless,disinterested manner without arousing undue interest, requires, I think,an American of brains and breeding, a compatriot of the nomad. It hasoccurred to me that you are equipped by a habit of courtesy and tactto--arrive accidentally in the path of the caravan--"
"I thank you!" said Philip dryly. "I prefer," he added stiffly, "toconfine my diplomatic activities to more conventional channels."
"When I assure you," purred the Baron with his maddening precision ofspeech, "that this information is of peculiar value to me and withoutimmediate significance to the lady herself, I am sure that you will notfeel bound to withhold your--hum--your cooeperation in so slight apersonal inconvenience, singular as it may all seem to you, I am right?"
Philip reddened uncomfortably.
"I am to understand that I would undertake this peculiar mission equippedwith no further information than you have offered?"
"Exactly so," said the Baron. "I must beg of you to undertake it withoutquestion."
"Pray believe," flashed Philip, "that I am not inclined to question.That fact," he added coldly, "is in itself a handicap.
"
"The lady's name," explained the Baron quietly, "is Westfall--DianeWestfall."
"Impossible!" exclaimed Philip and savagely bit his lip.
"Ah, then you know the lady!" said the Baron softly.
"I regret," said Philip formally, "that I have not had the honor ofmeeting Miss Westfall." But he saw vividly again a girl straight andslender as a silver birch, with firm, wind-bright skin and dark, mockingeyes. There were hemlocks and a dog--and Dick Sherrill had beentalkative over billiards the night before.
"Miss Westfall," added Philip guilelessly, "is the owner of the GladeFarm below here in the valley."
"Ah, yes," nodded Tregar. "It is so I have heard." His glance lingeredstill upon Philip's face in subtle inquiry. Bending its Circean head,Temptation laughed lightly in Philip Poynter's eyes. The girl in thecaravan was winding away by dusty roads--out of his life perhaps. Andsingular as the mission was, its aim was harmless.
"Our lady," said the Baron smoothly, "camps by night. From an aeroplaneone may see much--a camp--a curl of smoke--a caravan. Later one may walkand, walking, one may lose his way--to find it again with perfect ease bymeans of a forest camp fire."
Somehow on the Baron's tongue the escapade became insidious duplicity.Philip flushed, acutely conscious of a significant stirring of hisconscience.
"I may fly with Sherrill this afternoon," he said with marked reluctance.
"And at sunset?"
"I may walk," said Philip, shrugging.
"Permit me," said the Baron gratefully as he rose, "to thank you. Theservice is--ah--invaluable."
Uncomfortably Philip accepted his release and went lightly up the stairs.
"I am a fool," said Philip. "But surely Walt Whitman must haveunderstood for he said it all in verse. 'I am to wait, I do not doubt, Iam to meet you again,'" quoted Philip under his breath; "'I am to see toit that I do not lose you!'"
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