ilding, and within a minute the four men were inside it, Stopford at
the wheel, and racing in the direction of the White House. A nod to
the guard at the gate, and they were inside the grounds. At the
entrance a single guard, in place of the four who should have been
posted there, challenged sharply, and attempted to bar the way, not
recognizing Dick or Stopford in their civilian clothes.

"Where's your officer?" demanded Stopford sharply.

Half-cowed by the Colonel's manner, the young recruit hesitated, and
the four swept him out of the way and hurried on. The scene outside
the main entrance to the White House was one of indescribable
confusion. Soldiers were swarming in confused groups, some trying to
force an entrance, others pouring out. Every moment civilians,
streaming over the lawn, added to the number. Discipline seemed almost
abandoned. From inside the building came outbursts of screams and
cursing, the scuffling of a mob.

"Roscoe! Roscoe!" shouted Stopford. "Where's the President's
secretary? Who's seen him? Let us pass immediately!"

No one paid the least attention to him. But a short, bare-headed
civilian, who was struggling in the crowd, heard, and shouted in
answer, waved his arms, and began to force his way toward the four. It
was Roscoe, the secretary of President Hargreaves. The President was a
childless widower, and Roscoe lived in the White House with him and
was intimately in his confidence.

Roscoe gained Stopford's side. "Say--they've got him!" he panted.
"They've got him somewhere--inside the building. They're trying to get
him out! We've got to save him--but we can't see them--or him. They've
made him invisible too, curse them! I heard him crying, 'Help me,
Roscoe!' He saw me, I tell you--and I didn't know where he was!"

* * * * *

The little secretary was almost incoherent with fear and anger. The
five men, forming a wedge, hurled themselves forward. Out of the White
House entrance appeared a tall officer, revolver in hand. It was
Colonel Simpson, of the President's staff. Half beside himself, he
swept the weapon menacingly about him, shouting incoherently, and
clearing a passage, into which the five hurled themselves.

Stopford seized his revolver hand, and after a brief struggle Simpson
recognized him.

"He's in the building!" he shouted wildly. "Somewhere upstairs! I'm
trying to form a cordon, but this damned mob's in the way. Kick those
civilians o