I recall that as we rode a little out of our way past the Army Building, merely to see if there was any excitement, we found it a blaze of lights.  Something was plainly afoot even at this usually dull period of the year.  There was treachery of some kind and some trusted employee was involved, I felt instinctively.  As for Craig he merely glanced at the insensible figure between us and remarked sententiously that to his knowledge there was only one nation that made a practice of carrying out its diplomatic and other coups in the hot weather, a remark which I understood to mean that our mission was more than commonly important.

The man had not recovered when we arrived within several blocks of our destination, nor did he show signs of recovery from his profound stupor.  Kennedy stopped the cab in a side street, pressed a bill into the cabman’s hand, and bade him wait until we returned.

We had turned the corner of Z Street and were approaching the house when a man walking in the opposite direction eyed us suspiciously, turned, and followed us a step or two.

“Kennedy!” he exclaimed.

If a fourteen-inch gun had exploded behind us I could not have been more startled.  Here, in spite of all our haste and secrecy we were followed, watched, and beaten.

Craig wheeled about suddenly.  Then he took the man by the arm.  “Come,” he said quickly, and we three dove into the shadow of an alley.

As we paused, Kennedy was the first to speak.  “By Jove, Walter, it’s Burke of the Secret Service,” he exclaimed.

“Good,” repeated the man with some satisfaction.  “I see that you still have that memory for faces.”  He was evidently referring to our experiences together some months before with the portrait parle and identification in the counterfeiting case which Craig cleared up for him.

For a moment or two Burke and Kennedy spoke in whispers.  Under the dim light from the street I could see Kennedy’s face intent and working with excitement.

“No wonder the War Department is a blaze of lights,” he exclaimed as we moved out of the shadow again, leaving the Secret Service man.  “Burke, I had no idea when I took up this case that I should be doing my country a service also.  We must succeed at any hazard.  The moment you hear a pistol shot, Burke, we shall need you.  Force the door if it is not already open.  You were right as to the street but not the number.  It is that house over there.  Come on, Walter.”

We mounted the low steps of the house and a negress answered the bell.  “Is Mr. Gonzales in?” asked Kennedy.

The hallway into which we were admitted was dark but it opened into a sitting-room, where a dim light was burning behind the thick portieres.  Without a word the negress ushered us into this room, which was otherwise empty.

“Tell him Mr. Montez is here,” added Craig as we sat down.

The negress disappeared upstairs, and in a few minutes returned with the message that he would be down directly.