“Didn’t he know that you were expecting instructions from Washington while on the way to Peking?” asked the officer.

“I did not know, myself, that I was to receive instructions while on the way until I met you,” Ned replied.  “If Hans is indeed here, he has either blundered into his present position or gained pretty accurate information from some one unknown to me.”

“If he is here?” repeated Jimmie.  “Of course he is here.  I’m goin’ out in the court an’ give him the call of the pack!”

“What does he mean by that?” asked the officer of Ned.  “Call of the pack?”

“The call of the Wolf pack,” answered Ned.  “We both belong to the Wolf Patrol, of New York.”

“And you think Hans, if it is he, will understand?”

“Of course!” scorned Jimmie.

The little fellow was about to step out of the low window to the floor of the court when a mist of light appeared at one of the glazed windows on the opposite side.  The three watched the illumination with absorbing interest for a moment.

“Hans must be up there,” Ned, muttered, “although I would almost as soon expect to find him up in a balloon.”

“I reckon you’ll find an owl with wise eyes and feathers up there, if you wait,” said the officer, with a smile.  “The boy you refer to never could have traveled here alone.”

“You just wait,” advised Jimmie.

Presently the mist of light centered down to three small flames, apparently coming from three narrow twists of paper, burning in a row in front of a window on the second floor.  Jimmie grasped Ned’s arm as the three tiny columns of flame showed for an instant and then vanished.

“There!” he said.  “Do you know what that means?”

“It is a warning of danger,” Ned muttered.

“Say that again,” exclaimed the officer.  “What kind of a game is this?”

“It is a Boy Scout warning,” Ned replied.  “In the forest three columns of smoke express the warning.  How did this German boy learn all this?” he continued, turning to Jimmie.

“Don’t you ever think the Philadelphia Boy Scouts are slow!” answered the boy.  “Hans has been out in the forest with them, and knows all about woods work, an’ signs, an’ signals.  Give it up, now?”

“Yes,” replied the officer, “I give it up.  You boys must have a wonderful organization.”

“We certainly have,” Ned replied.

The three waited for a moment, but no more signals came from the window.  Instead a heavy footfall sounded outside the door and a man they had not seen before stepped into the room.

He was a heavily built man, with broad shoulders, black hair and eyes, and a wicked mouth.  His face looked hard and repulsive, like the face of a reckless, intolerant, whisky-drinking captain of police in a graft-ridden district.  He closed the door with his back as he entered.

“You are Ned Nestor?” he asked of the officer.  The latter pointed toward Ned.