forget that either Dawson or Farmer existed as he gave all his attention to the paper work on his desk.

It was almost ten minutes later when he signed his name to the last of the papers, collected them, and slipped them into one of the desk drawers which he locked with one of many keys he took from his pocket.

"Sorry it took so long, boys," he said, and reached for his service cap. "All done now, though. So let's go."

The colonel led the way outside, locked his office door, and touched Dawson on the arm as the Yank air ace started along the corridor toward the main stairway.

"No, not that way, Dawson," he said, and pointed a finger the other way. "We're still not taking any chances. Follow me, you two."

Dawson and Farmer did just that. They came out into the Washington night by a small rear door on the ground floor of the War Department Building. There was no guard there, and Colonel Welsh used another key from his bunch to unlock the door. From the door they followed him through a shadow-filled alley, down another one that crossed the first at right angles, and finally out onto a narrow, poorly lighted street, where a car was parked in the deep shadows of some overhanging tree branches.

"Jump in, you two," Colonel Welsh said, and opened the door. "I think we can all sit in front. I'll be your pilot this time. But on four rubber tires, instead of wings."

"What about our building passes, sir?" Freddy Farmer asked. "Won't the guard—"

"I'll take care of that," the colonel said. "You can explain to him, if you want, when you come back."

"Come back from where, sir?" Dawson asked before he could choke off the question.

"From a lot of places, Dawson," Colonel Welsh said with a chuckle. "From a lot of places. Now, hop in, and enjoy the ride."