“Hello, Johnny!” the Colonel greeted him. “What’s troubling you? Lost last week’s game? Well, you can’t win ’em all. You’ll win next time.”
“We sure will,” Johnny agreed, “but it’s not that.
“Colonel—” Johnny was sitting on the edge of his chair. “Colonel Chamberlain, what is an industrial spy?”
“An industrial spy?” The Colonel sat up. “He’s a man paid by one nation to steal industrial secrets from another nation—new inventions, new processes, new chemical inventions.
“But,” he added quickly, “if you think our J., the one you call ‘Prince,’ is an industrial spy, think again. He’s not!”
“I—I’m glad.” Johnny settled back in his place.
“But see here!” He was on his feet now. “Look at this, and this, and this.” He was dragging things from a paper bag.
“What’s it all about?” The Colonel smiled.
“I’ll tell—tell you all about it.” Johnny seemed out of breath.
When he got going, however, the things he said, the proof he gave for all the things he believed, left the good Colonel staring.