In a
moment he put the telltale sheets away.
"European fingerprints," he said, quietly, "and European footprints out
there. It is not Chinamen that we have to look out for."
"What the Old Harry--"
Jimmie checked himself as a figure darkened the doorway. Ned stepped
forward to greet the newcomer.
The visitor was a youngish man with black hair, growing well down on a
narrow forehead, small black eyes, a straight-lipped mouth, and hard
lines about his deep-set eyes. His manner and carriage was that of a
man trained to military service.
"You are Mr. Nestor?" he asked, extending his hand as Ned approached
him. "I have come a long distance to meet you," he added, before Ned
could answer the question.
"From Washington?" asked Ned.
The visitor nodded; glanced sharply about the apartment, where the
motorcycles were still lying, and then squatted on one of the burlap
bags. Jimmie shook his fist behind the newcomer's back. It was evident
that the boy did not like his appearance.
"I am Lieutenant Rae, of the Secret Service," he said, in a moment. "I
have been delayed on my way here. You were about to start on without
your final instructions?" he asked, lifting a pair of eyebrows which
seemed to make his little black eyes smaller and more inscrutable than
ever.
Ned looked at the man, now lolling back on the burlap, and for a moment
made no reply. Then he lied deliberately--in the interest of Uncle Sam
and human life, as he afterwards explained!
"No," he said, "we were merely overhauling the machines.
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