write the column of advice to the
Yanks in the _Standard_, don't you?"

I got it then. This wraith thought I was the Soldier's Friend. That's
why he was spilling himself to me.

He continued. "You know all the angles of the various branches of the
Service, and I hoped you'd be able to recommend some branch that could
use me. I'm willing to do anything or go anywhere. If you'll help me
I'll put myself completely in your hands."

"Now just a minute," I said. "You've got the wrong idea. The guy you
want to see--"

I closed my big mouth with a snap. What was wrong with me? Were my
brains on a permanent vacation? Here was opportunity hammering and
banging at my door and I was too deaf to hear a sound.

This hard-to-see young man was a natural for show business. I already
had an act lined up that he would fit as neatly as five fingers in a
glove. And he was practically begging me to take him under my wing.

"Young man," I said. "You impress me as being sincere and earnest. And
for that reason I am going to try and help you."

"Oh, gosh, thanks."

"It's the least I can do," I said. "But," I added sternly, "you've got
to put yourself completely in my hands. You mustn't question a thing I
tell you to do. You see, this isn't going to be easy. I'll have to go
about it in a rather roundabout way. And it may take a little while."

"Oh, I don't care," the young man said happily. "Anything you say is
all right with me."

"Fine." I glanced at my watch. "We've got to go now. You follow me."

"Sure, Mr.--"

"Flannigan," I said automatically.

"But, Mr. Flannigan, that isn't the name you use on your column."

"Naturally," I said. "Very sharp of you to catch that. I might get you
into Intelligence, even if only as a decoy. The name I use on the
column is a pseudonym."

"Oh!"

"Now come along with me."

I hurriedly got my young phantom out of the Soldier's Friend office
before anyone could butt in and ruin everything. When we were safely
ensconced in my own office, I waved the young man to a chair.

"What's your name?" I asked.

"Horatio Heely," he replied.

* * * * *

I was becoming more enthused every minute. Looking at him, or _trying_
to look at him, seated in a chair, convinced me of his enormous
potentialities. The chair was brown leather and, at first glance, the
only thing that indicated that it was occupied, was a slight
indentation in the seat and back of the chair. Horati