s to tell."

As he looked at the films his face hardened and his eyes snapped. 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. We are in no
haste to be away."

"I see," grinned the other. "You are taking life easily? Well, that is
not so bad. However, you are to start on your journey early to-morrow
morning."

"I shall be ready," Ned replied. "You have just landed?"

For just a second Lieutenant Rae's eyes sought the ground, then he
lifted them boldly. Ned was watching his every movement.

"No," he said, then, "I came in three days ago, but I was obliged to
await the movements of others before reporting to you."

Jimmie caught Frank by the arm and drew him out of the house. Out in
the deserted garden--which was only a yard or two of hard-packed earth--
he whispered:

"That feller's a liar!"

"What makes you think so?" Frank asked.

"He's no Englishman," Jimmie insisted. "He's a Jap. You bet your last
round iron man that's the truth