They worked cautiously, revealing nothing to a possible prying eye. When the task was completed, Johnny stooped to pick up the hilt of the broken blade. He turned it over and over in his hand, regarding it curiously.
“Oriental, all right,” he murmured. “I wonder if those little rascals could have beaten us here.”
“Come on,” exclaimed the doctor impatiently, “this is no place for wondering. I’m for a safe place inside somewhere.”
A few turns brought them to Red Cross headquarters, and to one of the big surprises of Johnny’s rather adventurous life. He had hardly crossed the threshold when his lips framed the word:
“Mazie!”
Could he believe his eyes? Yes, there she was, the girl chum of his boyhood days, the girl who had played tennis and baseball with him, who had hiked miles upon miles with him, who swam the sweeping Ohio river with him. The girl who, in Chicago, having tried to locate him, had come near to losing her life in a submarine.
“Mazie! Mazie!” he whispered. Then, “How did you come here?”
“By boat, of course,” smiled Mazie. “How’d you think?” She took both his hands in hers.
“But, Mazie, this is a man’s place. It’s dangerous. Besides, what—”
“What’s my business? Well, you see, I’m your agent. I’m going to spend all that splendid gold you’ve been digging to help the orphans. I’m ‘M.’ It was I who did all that frantic wireless stuff. Did you get it?”