“My dear young lady!” he protested. “Why suppose such a thing? I was flattering myself that my conversation and deportment were, under the circumstances, perfectly rational.”
“But you are talking nonsense,” Philippa insisted. “You say that you saw Major Felstead fifty-six hours ago. You cannot mean us to believe that fifty-six hours ago you were at Wittenberg.”
“That is precisely what I have been trying to tell you,” he agreed.
“But it isn't possible!” Helen gasped.
“Quite, I assure you,” he continued; “in fact, we should have been here before but for a little uncertainty as to your armaments along the coast. There was a gun, we were told, somewhere near here, which we were credibly informed had once been fired without the slightest accident.”
Philippa's eyes seemed to grow larger and rounder.
“He's raving!” she decided.
“He isn't!” Helen cried, with sudden divination. “Is that your hat?” she asked, pointing to the table where Nora had left her trophy.
“It is,” he admitted with a smile, “but I do not think that I will claim it.”
“You were in the observation car of that Zeppelin!”