First Lensman by E.E. Smith

Late that night -- or, rather, very early the following morning -- Senator Morgan and his Number One secretary were closeted in the former's doubly spy-ray-proofed office. Morgan's round, heavy, florid face had perhaps lost a little of its usual color; the fingers of his left hand drummed soundlessly upon the glass top of his desk. His shrewd gray eyes, however, were as keen and as calculating as ever.

"This thing smells, Herkimer. it _reeks_. but I can't figure any of the angles. That operation was _planned_. Sure fire, it _couldn't_ miss. Right up to the last split second it worked perfectly. Then -- blooie! A flat bust. The Patrol landed and everything was under control. There _must_ have been a leak somewhere -- but where in hell could it have been?"