The walkie-talkies had only two communication bands, and they couldn’t be picked up by any radio or walkie-talkie except one tuned to the same channels. The only such radios, aside from the three that lay on the bed now, were in the American Embassy where Bert Young was.

He had flown with them from Los Angeles to New York, and all the way had talked to them earnestly. Among other things he had said that he would never be too far away from them, and would expect them to communicate with him by camera walkie-talkie every night. Sooner, if something important happened.

“Now understand me, fellows,” he had said, “maybe everything will go smoothly and Prince Djaro will be crowned according to schedule. But I think there’s trouble brewing and I hope you can help us spot it.

“Don’t ask questions — as I told you, the Varanians don’t want anyone prying into their business. Just wander around and take pictures of the scenery, and keep your eyes and ears open. You’ll be reporting to me regularly on the camera-radios. I’ll have a listening post, probably at the American Embassy.

“That’s all for now. After you get on the plane for Paris you’re on your own, except for radio contact. I’ll get to Varania on a different plane and be ready for you. Any further plans we’ll have to make as things develop. For code purposes when you report, you’ll be First, Second, and Records. Got it?”

With that Bert Young had wiped his brow, and they had felt like wiping theirs. It was a rather frightening assignment. To all intents and purposes they were secret agents working for the U.S. government.

Now, remembering all Bert Young had told them, they felt rather subdued. Pete was the first to break the silence. He picked up his camera and opened the leather case in which it was carried. In the bottom of the leather case was still another gadget — a very tiny transistorized tape recorder that could pick up conversation from across a room.