Something of the urgency in my voice communicated itself to her and I could feel her reverse her original impulse to refuse the invitation. "Why yes, Mr. Tompkins," she agreed. "I'd be glad to join you, for cocktails, that is. Shall we say about half past five?" "Splendid! I'll meet you in the south lobby. I'm sure to recognize you, Frank gave me such a good description of you. If there's any slip-up, have one of the bellboys page me." "Thank you," she said. "I'll be there." As I laid down the telephone, my pulse was racing and my throat was dry. How in God's name should I act with her? Half-past five crawled around. I filled in some of the time by phoning the F.B.I. and telling Lamb's secretary I was registered at the Willard under the name of R. L. Grant. I phoned Bedford Hills and told Jimmie that I was in Washington and wanted her to join me at the Willard. She was a little slow about getting the R. L. Grant angle but allowed that she could register as Mrs. Grant or Mrs. John Doe if necessary and when was all this nonsense going to stop? In spite of my assurance, I almost failed to recognize Dorothy. She looked younger, smarter and infinitely more self-possessed, and the tanned and muscular young man in uniform who accompanied her was obviously not animated by brotherly sentiments toward her. "Mrs. Jacklin?" I asked. "I'm Tompkins. And--" I turned eloquently to her escort. "Oh, this is Major Demarest," she said. "Thanks, Tony, for escorting me. I'll see you later?" "Half-past sixish?" Demarest asked. "Say seven," Dorothy told him. "I'll meet you here, by the desk." So I was neatly bracketed. While Dorothy and I were talking, her escort would be waiting--impatiently. There was no chance of a prolonged operation. I must keep things moving. I took her to the rather garish cocktail lounge on the east side of the hotel and ordered her a Bourbon old-fashioned and a Scotch-and-soda for myself. "Frank told me that's what you like," I remarked, before she could raise her eyebrows after I told the waiter to bring a sliver of lemon peel to go with the old-fashioned. "Where did you know him?" she asked. I leaned confidently across the table. "Mrs. Jacklin," I told her, "I'm in intelligence. Tompkins is my name but I don't use it much. I've seen quite a bit of your husband during the past few years--here at Washington and out in the Pacific. In fact," I added, "I might say that I'm his closest friend. We were at school together, many years ago. I'm surprised he never mentioned me." "How _is_ he?" she asked. "I know too much to ask _where_ he is." I looked gravely at her. "We don't know where he is," I replied. "His ship hasn't been reported for nearly two weeks. He was on a special mission. That's why I've looked you up. Frank made me promise that I would if--I mean--he thought--" Dorothy drained her glass and gave me a long, strange look. "Are you trying to tell me that he's dead?" she asked.