fore the secret service has them behind bars. But here comes back a regular 'old master,' I say; looks like he's a quarter million passed already; and he's Janvier, if he did lose his sight two years ago. Cantrell doesn't think so; he thinks it's a new hand."
"Who's Cantrell?" I asked.
"He's a secret service expert working here on this particular job."
It was about ten minutes after this, while I was still there, looking and listening, that a girl, who proved to be Wally's private secretary, broke the monotony of the clerks bringing in bad twenties and fifties.
"Hello, Miss Lane," said Wally. "What have you?"
"Doctor Lathrom, sir," reported Miss Lane, glancing at a card in her hand.
"Lathrom, the big eye surgeon, Steve," whispered Wally to me. "I've had Miss Lane calling on the eye people since yesterday noon. Go on, Miss Lane."
"He operated in August of last year on a short, stocky man, French or Austrian, of about sixty-five, he thought, who gave the name of Gans and who was almost totally blind from double cataract which had been previously op-
