e elevator, through the
halls and out the front door to the waiting, marine-filled trucks.
Willing hands hauled him aboard the lead truck, and he threw the pigeon
into the air.

"Follow that bird!" he commanded, and the incredulous driver did so,
wondering secretly if the Old Man had suddenly gone bats.

When he saw beyond doubt the bird's destination, Admiral Hawarden
gasped, but he was too old a campaigner to be stopped now. There was
something here that needed himself and his men, and he would go through
with it, no matter where it led.

He knew the calibre of the men of the Secret Service, and while he could
not know how it was possible for one of them to train a bird in such a
manner, he knew his job was to back up whatever that high-powered
individual was doing.

As the trucks skidded to a halt at the entrance of the Prime Minister's
ornate palace, he issued swift commands. His men, disregarding the
indignant cries of the palace guards, who swarmed out to stop this
unbelievable invasion of their rights, deployed to their designated
positions, weapons at the ready.

To the officer of the guard who tried to bar his way, the admiral
snapped, "I'll apologize later. Now get out of my way!" Then, with a
squad of husky marines at his heels, he followed the fluttering pigeon
through the opened door, along a hall, and down some stairs.

But here the bird seemed at a loss, fluttering from door to door,
seeking that certain room.

As Hanlon had so shrewdly guessed, Admiral Hawarden was no fool, but
quick on the up-take. "Open all these doors!" his voice rang out
commandingly.

As fast as doors were opened--whether locked or not made no difference
to the marines--the pigeon darted forward and glanced into each one
before flying on the next. Then it disappeared through one of the
doorways, and the admiral, who had kept as close to it as possible,
yelled "Here!" and ran into the room, his men streaming after him.

"Welcome to out cozy nest, Mister," a voice from the depths of a big
chair called, and the officer ran forward to where he could see. "You
certainly made time, and am I happy to see you soldiers. Get me out of
these things," and Hanlon rattled his chains.

At the admiral's gesture the marines made short work of the manacles,
and Hanlon stood up, tottered a moment and would have fallen but for the
quickly extended friendly arm of the admiral. He was still groggy, even
though the serum was wearing off. But