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“I’m practically running now,” Warwick complained, hard pressed to keep up. “What’s the rush? Anything important coming up at tonight’s meeting?”

“We want to talk over that canoe trip to Minnesota. It was postponed when our gang went to Peru instead, but this time it’s all set.”

“I wouldn’t be too sure,” War said pessimistically. “Something may come up. I’ve got one of those dark brown feelings!”

“Oh, you and your feelings!” Jack retorted with a grin.

The pair arrived at the church only three minutes late. Willie Medaugh, a tow-headed youngster of 15, and Ken Dougherty, a serious high school senior, already were in the recreation room which had been fitted up for Scout use.

“Hi!” Jack greeted his friends. “Where’s Hap?” He referred to George (Happy) Livingston, a former FBI man who directed Scout activities in Belton City.

“Not here yet,” replied Ken. “He telephoned that he’d been held up. We’re to go ahead with the meeting. He’ll be along later.”

“See what came for him,” Willie said, pointing to a thick, slightly soiled envelope which had been placed conspicuously on the table. “Mail.”