“You know your job,” said Bob when the search was over. “I used to be a store detective,” replied the other, with not a little pride in his voice, “and if I do say it myself, I was one of the best in Washington.” It was only a few blocks to the hotel at which Bob had decided to take up temporary quarters, and he walked the short distance at a brisk pace. He registered, asking for a quiet, inside room, but the clerk looked dubious when Bob informed him he had no baggage, but would arrange to have his clothes sent down in the morning. “You’ll have to pay in advance,” he said. Bob delved into his pockets in search of money and to his embarrassment found that he had less than a dollar. The clerk appeared skeptical. It was late and after the fight in the street Bob’s clothes were in none too good condition. “Perhaps you’d better try another hotel,” he suggested. By that time Bob longed for nothing more than a comfortable bed and a few hours of sleep and his feet were heavy. They wouldn’t have carried him another block. Reaching inside his coat he pulled out the billfold and drew out the identification badge which had been given to him by the federal chief. “I guess this will identify me, even though I’m temporarily short of funds,” said Bob. “Now I want that room and I don’t want to be disturbed unless there is something really important. Understand?” The clerk stared at the identification card and his whole manner changed into one of the utmost courtesy. In less than ten minutes Bob was in bed, to drop into a sleep that was to be disturbed hours later by the strident ringing of the telephone on the stand beside his bed. It was broad daylight when Bob rubbed the sleep from his eyes and answered the telephone. “Yes, this is Bob Houston speaking,” he said. The words which came over the wire caught and held his attention. “Yes, I understand. Of course, come right over. I’ll be dressed and ready to go over the entire affair.” Bob hung up the receiver, reached the bathroom in one long jump, and in another had the shower on and was under it. After a brisk shower, he rubbed his body down thoroughly, feeling ready for what he knew was to be a busy day. The caller was Lieutenant Frederick Gibbons of the intelligence unit of the War Department, who had been assigned to help on the case. He had promised Bob information of vital importance and almost before Bob had finished dressing there was a knock. When Bob opened the door a trim, soldierly figure was standing in the hall. “Lieutenant Gibbons?” asked Bob. “Right. I take it you’re Bob Houston?” Bob nodded. “How about breakfast?” asked the intelligence officer. “I’m ready now and hungry,” grinned Bob. “Then we’ll eat and talk. The coffee shop downstairs is excellent.” After they had placed their orders for breakfast, Lieutenant Gibbons leaned toward Bob. “How long have you been asleep?” he asked. “It must have been nearly three o’clock before I went to bed here,” was the reply.