always nerve-rasping wail of the air raid siren filled the night air outside. Freddy jumped across the room, and flipped off the light switch. Then the two went over to the window and pulled aside the black-out curtains. Far to the east the black sky was being stabbed by long pencils of white light that slowly swung back and forth from horizon to horizon. In a moment there came the dull pounding of distant anti-aircraft batteries. The sound grew louder and sharper as it drew near. Suddenly both boys jumped as a battery nearby went into savage, furious action. It was so close it seemed practically under their feet.

"Holy smokes!" Dave gulped, and backed away from the window. "I swear I saw those shells going right up past the end of my nose. Get back from that window, Freddy. Concussion might blow in that glass and do plenty to your face. Let's—"

Br-r-rump!

The sound of an exploding bomb a few blocks away cut Dave's words off short. He looked at Freddy, and they both grinned sheepishly.

"I guess you're right!" Dave exclaimed. "I'm not going to bed. Let's go borrow a couple of tin helmets from the manager, if he has any, and go up on the roof."

"The roof?" Freddy echoed, and his eyes widened suddenly. "What in the world?"

Wha-a-ang! Br-r-rump!

Two bombs let go in rapid succession. They seemed to explode almost right outside the window. Dave and Freddy threw themselves flat on the floor between the twin beds, and held their breath. The hotel rocked and shook violently, and there was the tinkle of glass as the shattered window spilled into the room. They waited until the echo of the explosions had died away, and then got slowly to their feet. There was just a hole now where the window had been—a hole that looked out on a world gone suddenly mad with roaring sound and flashing red, orange and yellow flame. Freddy groped for Dave's hand and shook it warmly.

"Thanks, very much," he said in a tight voice.

"Thanks?" Dave murmured. "For what?"

"For reminding me to keep away from windows during a bombing raid," Freddy said. "But just before that blighter scared ten years off my life, what were you saying? Oh, yes. You want to go up on the roof?"

"Sure," Dave said with a nod. "For a look. We'll be as safe there as any place. If one's coming, it'll come. Just standing here waiting gives me the creeps, anyway."

"Me, too," Freddy agreed. "Let's go, then. Bet the manager's in the raid shelter, though, and won't dig up tin helmets for us for love nor money."

"Well, we can try," Dave said. "And—Drop, Freddy! Here comes another!"

Dave's words of warning were just a waste of breath. The screaming whistle of that bomb hurtling downward cut through all sound. As Dave flung himself flat again, he had the crazy feeling of listening to some huge invisible giant tearing off the top of the world. Even the anti-aircraft battery close to the hotel was drowned out by the unearthly sound of that falling bomb. Then it struck, and the hotel seemed to rise right straight up in the air. Dave was sure he could feel the floor heave under him. He closed his eyes tight, and held his breath. For a long moment everything seemed to stop dead. Then the hotel settled back like something alive but so very, very tired. A second later there was a short series of sharp cracking sounds, and ceiling plaster fell down on the two R.A.F. pilots.

"That baby was trying to mean business!" Dave said, and got to his feet again. "Hitler must know we're in town, the way so many of them are coming close. Hey, that did hit close. The building next door!"

The hole where the window had been was now like the entrance to a long blazing tunnel. Thirty feet away the three upper floors of a building were blazing fiercely. And when the two boys leaped over to the window hole, they saw that the entire front of the building had been torn away by the terrific blast. In the glow of the flames they could see right into rooms full of broken and mangled furniture and apartment furnishings. On the rear wall of one room was a framed picture of King George and Queen Elizabeth. Everything else in the room was wrecked beyond possible recognition by its owners, but the picture of the King and Queen was untouched. It hung on the blast-scorched wall as straight as could be.

Something about that picture hanging there touched a note deep in Dave Dawson. He stared at it for a moment in almost reverent awe. Then, clicking his heels, he brought his hand up in smart salute.

"There'll always be an England," he murmured softly.

Freddy Farmer caught the direction of his gaze, looked himself and saluted in turn.

"Always!" he said with deep tenderness in his voice.

At that moment a shrill cry of pain came to them from out of the burning building. There was a second cry, and a third. They could see nothing but the fierce glow of the flames, but the cries seemed to come from the rear of the fourth floor.

"There are wounded people in that building!" Freddy cried.

"Trapped, and probably can't get out!" Dave added. "And it's a cinch their cries can't be heard by the fire wardens down there in the street. What say, Freddy?"

"Of course!" the English youth shouted, and went bounding for the door.

The elevators had stopped running, so they went down the stairs three and four at a time. They dashed through the vacant lobby, out the front door, and along the short court that led out onto the Strand. There they turned left and headed for a fire lieutenant directing his men at work trying to put out the fire in the bomb-hit building. Dave grabbed him by the arm, and pointed up.

"There are some people trapped on the fourth floor, sir!" he shouted. "We heard their screams from our hotel room. Fourth floor, rear."

The fire lieutenant looked at them, saw their uniforms, and wiped an annoyed look from his tired face.

"Fourth floor, rear?" he shouted above the noise of his fire fighting apparatus. "Thought everybody in that place would be in the shelters. How many, do you figure? Can't spare any of my boys, here, so I'll have to go it alone."

"Don't know how many!" Dave shouted back. "But you're not tackling it alone. We're coming with you. Let's go."

The fire lieutenant grinned.

"The good old R.A.F. every time!" he cried. "Right-o! But wait a bit. No sense risking things bashing you on the head, you know."

The fire lieutenant jumped over to his car in the street and pulled out a couple of tin helmets. He tossed them to the boys.

"Put those on!" he shouted. "Right-o! Fourth floor, rear, eh?"

Sticking close to the fire lieutenant's heels, the two boys followed him into the burning building. It was like rushing through the open door of a furnace, and for a second or so the heat seemed almost to knock them off balance. Thick smoke swirled about them like a fog, and the smell of things burning filled their noses and mouths and made them choke and gag for breath.

As though the fire lieutenant had lived in the building all his life, he went straight to the stairs completely hidden by the smoke, and started up. He paused for a second, half turned and stretched out one hand to Dave.

"Give me your hand," he said. "And you take your pal's hand. That way we'll stick together and not get lost. Right you are, now. Up we go!"

There was less smoke on the second floor of the building, and still less on the third. On the third floor, however, they ran straight into trouble. The stair wall had been knocked loose by the exploding bombs, and the stairs were covered by a ton or so of split beams, plaster, brick, and other kinds of debris. The Fire Lieutenant stared at it with a scowl.

"Like climbing the blooming Alps to get over that stuff," he said dubiously. "It might give way under our weight and bury the three of us."

"Look!" Dave suddenly cried, and pointed up toward the fourth floor. "See there on that hall wall? A fire bucket, and a coil of rope. Look, I'll go