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Instead of taking him to the back room of the Bacchus, Hanlon found when the blindfold was finally removed that he was in a stone-walled room that he sensed was a sort of cellar in some huge building. It was bare of furniture except for two chairs and the glo-lights, one of which was on a standard like a spotlight.
The next morning during first class, the door opened and Admiral Rogers entered the classroom. "'Ten-shun!" the teacher called, springing to his feet. "As you were. I want to borrow one of your young gentlemen for the day, Major. A VIP is in town, and we want to give him an aide." He looked about the room, as though to pick out a likely-looking candidate. "How about Cadet Hanlon?
His present duty done, he started forth on his own tour of investigation. He went to a small boarding house, in an inconspicuous street, the address of which had been given him by Mr. Barton, and asked for Mr. Hanlon. "He ain't home," declared the frowning landlady who opened the door. "I know it," returned Fibsy, nonchalantly, "but I gotta go up to his room a minute. He sent me."
"Met on the doorstep," said Hendricks as he came in. "Mr. Hanlon is a little stage-struck, so it's lucky I happened along." Willy Hanlon, as he was called in the papers, came shyly forward and Eunice, with her ready tact, proceeded to put him at once at his ease. "You came just at the right minute to help me out," she said, smiling at him. "They are saying women are no good at describing a scene!
"Perhaps just perhaps, you understand, and nothing definite as yet we may have a little job for you before long. On another planet. You have no objections to travel?" "Not if there's a bundle of the stuff at the end of the trip, no," Hanlon grinned avariciously. But his mind was seeking answers. Why did they want to send him away? Was this a bona-fide job, or a trap?
Admiral Hawarden explained further that the grand fleet was being assembled, and would cope with the problem within days. "Good. Good. Call on us for whatever assistance we can give." They talked over many details for some time, then the admiral rose as though to take his leave. But Hanlon wasn't yet ready. He wanted to pick up that matter he had let lie some minutes ago.
There's Jimmy Beatty, an' he lay three weeks of fright from seein' a ghost, an' it turned out when all was known, that the ghost was nothing more or less than Tom Martin's white-faced cow ha! ha! ha!" "At any rate, let us change the subject," said Hanlon; "you heard yourself the last night we wor here, what I'll never forget."
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.
Hanlon signalled, and his new-found acquaintance came to his table. Their orders given and the waiter on his way, Hanlon opened up. "Look, Pard, I don't want to butt into your business, but if you want this Abrams out of your way, I'll be glad to take a crack at it for you." The Simonidean looked at him scornfully. "Think you're that good, eh? Better'n me at bumping off a man, huh? Better'n me?"
As Hanlon entered his dormitory room, his roommate looked up from his studies. "What'd the Big Brass Bull want, Han?" "Huh?" Hanlon snapped out of his abstraction and grinned. "Nothing important. You'll be up soon. Just about our first assignments after graduation." He was thinking swiftly. "... Uh, I get some extra instruction in piloting, and a chance at the controls."
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