Each had anywhere from one to half a dozen decorations, whether the Congressional Medal, the V.C., the Croix de Guerre, the Order of the Rising Sun, or what-not.
Not one was in uniform.

That would have made their arrival far too conspicuous.

Dressed as they were, in mufti, even had anyone noted their coming, it could not have been interpreted as anything but an ordinary social affair.
Twenty-nine men, all told, gathered in the observatory, clearly illuminated by the hidden lights.

All were true blue, all loyal to the core, all rusting with ennui, all drawn thither by the lure of the word that had been passed them in club and office, on the golf links, in the street.

All had been pledged, whether they went further or not, to keep this matter secret as the grave.
Some were already known to each other.