"You will excuse me," he said meekly. He must see Abbott.
"A moment," interposed the Barone coldly. "If it is to seek another apology, it will be useless. I refuse to accept. Mr. Abbott will fight, or I will publicly brand him, the first opportunity, as a coward."
Courtlandt bit his mustache. "In that case, I shall go at once to Colonel Caxley-Webster."
"Thank you. I shall be in my room at the villa the greater part of the day." The Barone bowed.
Courtlandt caught the colonel as he was entering his motor-boat.
"Very well; I can talk here better than anywhere else."
When the motor began its racket, Courtlandt pulled the colonel over to him.
"Yes. Knowing that Abbott would have no earthly chance against the Italian, I went to him and forced him to write an apology. And you have blown the whole thing higher than a kite."
The colonel's eyes bulged. "Dem it, why didn't the young fool tell me?"
"Your hurry probably rattled him. But what are we going to do? I'm not going to have the boy hurt. I love him as a brother; though, just now, he regards me as a mortal enemy. Perhaps I am," moodily. "I have deceived him, and somehow--blindly it is true--he knows it. I am as full of deceit as a pomegranate is of seeds."
"The Barone is thoroughly enraged. He would refuse to accept it, and said so."
"Well, dem me for a well-meaning meddler!"
"With pleasure, but that will not stop the row. There is a way out, but it appeals to me as damnably low."
"Oh, Abbott will not run. He isn't that kind."
"No, he'll not run. But if you will agree with me, honor may be satisfied without either of them getting hurt."
"Women beat the devil, don't they? What's your plan?"
The colonel frowned. "That doesn't sound like you. Beastly trick."
"We'll lunch first. It will take a few pegs to get that idea through this bally head of mine."
When Abbott came over later that day, he was subdued in manner. He laughed occasionally, smoked a few cigars, but declined stimulants. He even played a game of tennis creditably. And after dinner he shot a hundred billiards. The colonel watched his hands keenly. There was not the slightest indication of nerves.
"Hang the boy!" he muttered. "I ought to be ashamed of myself. There isn't a bit of funk in his whole make-up."