you'll hurt my feelings. I'll understand. After all, a couple of fellows on leave have their rights, you know."

"Yeah, sure, of course," Dawson mumbled absently, not quite sure if he was in the middle of a dream or not. "Sure, sure it's okay by Freddy and me. But—but look, sir. I mean, what's all the big idea? Why should the F.B.I. want to follow us around? I don't get it."

"To be perfectly frank, neither do I," Agent Carter made the amazing reply. "All I know is that two days ago we were given orders to come up from Washington, register at your hotel, and keep an eye on you two."

"But for what?" Freddy Farmer asked. "You mean you were to guard us from harm, or some such silly rot?"

"I wouldn't exactly call it silly rot, Captain," the F.B.I. man said gravely. "After all, you two are marked men, in a way. I mean by that, you've been thorns in the side of Axis Intelligence more than once since this Second World War started. Not that personal revenge by enemy agents in this country is to be expected. Yet, on the other hand, there's no sense in regarding it as impossible."

"Well, I'll be darned!" Dawson gulped. "But that's just plain screwy. Why, I can name several dozen famous soldiers in this war that the Axis would love to get a million times more than they'd want to get us. Do you mean that everybody who's got in a few pokes at the Axis has an F.B.I. escort when he goes on leave?"

"Hardly," Agent Carter said with a smile. "Let's say that you two happen to be special cases. Why, you can search me. Lots of times we're given orders, and we have no idea what's behind them. Let's go over and meet my partner. Or is my suggestion of a moment ago out?"

"No," Dawson replied. "I told you it was okay by us. Besides, maybe your partner can tell us things."

"If he can, he won't," Agent Carter said. "You can count on that, I'm afraid. His name is Hickson, and it so happens that he's a rabid Ranger fan. He comes from this town. Let's go over."

Still not quite sure that he wasn't being made the goat of some crazy gag, Dawson walked with Agent Carter and Freddy Farmer across the lobby to where a thin, almost sickly-looking man of uncertain years was seated in a chair reading a newspaper. He put down his paper and smiled as the trio approached. It was then Dawson had a vague feeling he had seen that thin face somewhere quite recently. Then as Agent Carter made the introductions, it came to Dawson. Agent Hickson had been the man next in line behind him when he had bought tickets for the hockey game. As he shook hands and mumbled some pleasantry, Dave realized he had seen that thin face other places, too, during the day.

"Did I give you as much trouble, Agent Hickson," he asked, "as Farmer seems to have given Agent Carter?"

"No, Captain," the other replied with a twinkle in his eye. "And don't ever go in for crime. You'd be a cinch."

"With those big flat feet, it would be obvious!" Freddy Farmer chuckled, as the red climbed into Dawson's face.

"Okay, okay!" Dave growled and grinned at the same time. "I'm not like you, with things on your conscience! So naturally I wouldn't even give it a thought that anybody was following me. But look, Agent Hickson, can you add anything to what Agent Carter has told us? Which was absolutely nothing."

"I'm afraid I can't, Captain." Hickson smiled, and shook his head. "Carter and I are just a couple of slaves who do what we're told and ask no questions."

"But you do know something, only you won't tell us, what?" Freddy Farmer pressed the issue.

The F.B.I. man shook his head again and made a little cross mark over his heart.

"I honestly don't know a thing," he said, "except that I like this particular job. I'm from New York, you know. And I'm a hockey fan, in case Carter hasn't told you."

"He has," Dawson grinned, and glanced at his wrist watch. "And I sort of go for the game, myself. It's hours, though, before game time. Anybody have any suggestions what to do until then? Listen, Freddy! Eating is strictly out, at least for a couple of hours!"

"You don't have to shout, old thing; I hear you," the English youth replied. "Yes, I have a suggestion. I've been meaning to see that United Nations display they have at Radio City. What say we go back to the hotel and clean up a bit? These blasted American shoes I bought yesterday are killing me."

Dawson started to shake his head, but instantly checked the movement. A gleam leaped into his eyes.

"Fair enough," he said. "I could do with a clean shirt myself. Come on. We'll take a cab."

During the cab ride across town to the hotel, they talked of this and that and nothing in particular. When the cab pulled up in front of the hotel, Dawson opened the door, let the two F.B.I. men get out ahead of him, and got out quickly himself, leaving Freddy Farmer the last to alight. Without so much as a look over his shoulder, Dawson linked arms with the two F.B.I. men and hurried them up the steps into the hotel.

"Dave!" he heard Freddy Farmer call out. "Oh, I say, Dave!"

The two F.B.I. men wanted to stop, but Dawson practically pushed them through the doors.

"It's okay," he chuckled. "Just his turn to be left holding the bag. He'll be right in. You'll see."

That was exactly the case. A moment later Freddy came hurrying inside, flush-faced, with a very hard-eyed taxicab driver right at his heels.

"I say, Dave!" the English youth panted. "You know I haven't a bean on me. Let me have—"

"We're all broke!" Dawson said coldly. "You were last out, anyway. Go over to the desk, borrow the fare, and have it put on your bill. I'll see if there's any mail for us. Meet you upstairs in our room."

Freddy Farmer glared and pursed his lips as though he were striving to hold back the blistering words that rose in his throat.

The cab driver looked at him and scowled darkly. "How's about it, General?" he growled. "I can't keep my hack out front all afternoon!"

"Oh yes, quite," Freddy said. "Come along!"

After giving a look that should have raised third-degree burns on the Yank pilot's face, Freddy went over to the lobby desk and spoke to the clerk. Bursting with inner laughter, Dawson watched Freddy's face grow redder and redder as the desk clerk gave him the fishy eye. Then the clerk went into the manager's office. He came right out, though, yanked open a desk drawer, and handed a bill to Freddy.

"Now I have got to watch my step, and how!" Dawson chuckled, and walked over to the mail window.

There was something in the box. It was a telegram addressed to them both. Dave ripped it open and was reading the message just as Freddy Farmer came over. The wire read:

"And so what?" Dave asked, looking at Freddy Farmer.

"So leave it over, I fancy," the English youth murmured with a frown. "I wonder what now?"

"You do the guessing; I'm stumped," Dawson said, glancing up quickly as Agents Carter and Hickson came over.

There was a telegram in Agent Carter's hand. Agent Hickson looked as though he had just lost his last friend.

"So we all take an airplane ride instead, eh?" Agent Carter said, and nodded at the wire in Dawson's hand.

"You too?" Dave questioned.

"Right," Agent Carter replied. "There are four reservations waiting for us at La Guardia."

"Wouldn't you know!" Agent Hickson groaned and shook his head