This Perkins before the war had been an “operative” for a private detective agency—what the workers contemptuously referred to as a “sleuth”. The government, having found itself in sudden need of much “sleuthing”, had been forced to take what help it could get, without too close scrutiny. So now Perkins was a sergeant in the secret service; and just as the carpenters were hammering nails as at home, and the surgeons were cutting flesh as at home, so Perkins was “sleuthing” as at home.
“Well, sergeant?” said the lieutenant. “What have you got?”
“I think I’ve got the story, sir.”
You could see the relief in Gannet’s face; and Jimmie’s heart went down into his boots.
“There’s just one or two details I want to make sure about,” continued Perkins. “I suppose you won’t mind if I question thi
