Off the train popped Joe Kennedy, face red as ever, to race through the echoing grand concourse of Washington's Union Station. His Mayfair chums would have been horrified, for it was breakfast time and spectacled Mr. Kennedy was still wearing last night's evening clothes.
Unimportant to Joe Kennedy was his garb: Important was the bulging briefcase he clutched in one freckled hand the fruit of a year's diplomatic ferreting in London's Whitehall by the U. S. Ambassador to the Court of St. James's. After a quick change Mr. Kennedy zipped to...
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