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.