"
"Who blundered?" thundered his chief.
"I. Granberry, I thought, was to go to his cousin's camp," panted
Themar quaking. "I heard Sherrill telephone--later he told some men--"
"You took the car--" prompted the Baron icily.
"I--I did not know it was Poynter until he fell," urged Themar
trembling. "Granberry and he are similar in build."
"Who attempted to kill Miss Westfall?" blazed the Baron, shaking his
valet into chattering subjection.
"Excellency, I know not!" protested Themar swallowing painfully.
"There was still another man--he dashed ahead and stole the car."
After all, reflected the Baron wryly, in this damnable muddle he must
still use Themar. To antagonize him now would be foolhardy.
Wherefore, with a civil expression of regret at his loss of temper and
certain curt instructions, he dismissed Themar, sullen and chastened,
and betook himself to an open window, where he sat smoking thoughtfully
until the house grew quiet and one by one the lights in the valley
faded out. In the web which had engulfed one by one, himself, Themar,
Granberry, Miss Westfall and Poynter, a murderous stranger was
floundering. Who and what he was, it behooved His Excellency to
discover.
"It would seem," reflected the Baron with grim humor as he thought of
his car and his secretary, "that I am paying heavily for my part in a
task not greatly to my liking.
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