morning. In the corner office the telephone rang often and
imperatively, several times erect figures in khaki and broad
"Texas" hats flashed by the doorway, the drone of earnest
conference sounded a few minutes, and the figures flashed as
suddenly out again into the world. In the inner office I glanced
once more in review through the "Rules and Regulations." The Zone,
too, was now familiar ground, and as for the third requirement for
a policeman--to know the Zone residents by sight--a strange face
brought me a start of surprise, unless it beamed above the garb
that shouted "tourist." Now all I needed was a few hours of
conference and explanation on the duties, rights, and privileges
of policemen; and that of course would come as soon as leisure
again settled down over headquarters.

Musing which I was suddenly startled to my feet by "the Captain"
appearing in the doorway.

"Catch the next train to Balboa;" he said. "You've got four
minutes. You'll find Lieutenant Long on board. Here are the people
to look out for."

He thrust into my hands a slip of paper, from another direction
there was tossed at me a new brass-check and "First-Class Private"
police badge No. 88, and I was racing down through Ancon. In the
meadow below the Tivoli I risked time to glance at the slip of
paper. On it were the names of an ex-president and two ministers
of a frowsy little South American republic during whose rule a
former president and his henchmen had been brutally murdered by a
popular uprising in the very capital itself.