"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: