stopped him with a raised hand. "Don't ask so many questions at once. In fact, just shut up and I'll tell you all I know. I woke up earlier this morning, and an hour or so later Vice-Admiral Carter came in to have a talk with me, and ..."

"Vice-Admiral Carter?" Dawson gasped, and half sat up in spite of the stab of white pain that cut through his left temple. "Do you mean the base commandant?"

"Are there two by the same name?" young Farmer snapped. "And will you please shut up while I try to tell you?"

"Okay, okay!" Dave growled. "Go ahead. But skip the trimmings. Just give me the facts."

"I'll give it to you as I jolly well see fit!" Freddy shot right back at him, but tempered it with a grin. "Well, Vice-Admiral Carter came in to find out from me what had happened. Did you know, Dave, that we're mighty lucky to be alive?"

"Well, every time I move my head quick, I don't feel so doggone lucky," Dawson grunted. "Then what?"

"Well, it seems fairly evident that we both would have been done in proper by that Jap, if he had been given more time," young Farmer said. "But it seems that one of the managers of the orange groves happened by just at that moment. He saw the Jap, but didn't recognize him as such. Thought he was a tramp trying to find out what he could steal from the shacks."

"Name one thing that even a tramp would want out of that hole," Dave said. "You saw the inside, didn't you? And ... Okay, Okay! I'm sorry, sweetheart. Go ahead and talk."

"Just interrupt me once more with that big mouth of yours, and you can jolly well sing for the truth!" Freddy warned. "Well, he called out to the Jap, and the Jap fired a shot at him. He missed, but the manager didn't give him the chance for a second shot. He dropped flat on his face, and when he got nerve enough to poke his head up for a look, it was just in time to see the Jap, and the chap in uniform, disappear over the brow of the next hill. And when the manager got up enough nerve to give chase—and blessed if I blame him, in view of the fact that he had no gun—it was much, much too late. So he came back and found us, listening to the birdies singing, as you would put it. He went down the valley to the nearest phone and called the base. They sent out an ambulance for us. The vice-admiral assured me that neither of us has a fracture of any kind, just a bad bump, so they let us more or less sleep it off."

"Well, that was white of them, anyway," Dave said. "I suppose you told the vice-admiral the story?"

"No," Freddy replied. "I started to, but the old brain was still spinning too much. The vice-admiral told me to rest up some more, and that he would come back when both of us could talk. I told him about the ensign and the carrier, though. And that worried him no end, too!"

"And why not?" Dawson said, as his heart began to pound. "If this is the next day, then the carrier has sailed!"

"I suppose so," Freddy muttered. "I didn't have the chance to ask the vice-admiral. He left in a hurry, and ..."

Young Farmer stopped short as the door of their room suddenly opened and the base commandant, followed by a Navy senior surgeon, stepped inside. The grim look on Vice-Admiral Carter's face faded the instant he saw they were both awake. A smile flashed across his rugged face, and he lifted one hand, and gave a little shake of his head.

"Relax, both of you," he said. "We can do without formality here. Well, Dawson, I see that you have come around, too. How do you feel?"

"Not too bad, sir," Dave replied, and grinned. "I'm sorry I was out of it the other time."

"Ah, so Farmer told you of my other visit, eh?" the base commandant murmured, and perched himself on the end of Dawson's bed. "Well, if you both feel up to it now, I want to have a talk with you. What about it, Commander? Is it all right?"

The vice-admiral addressed the last to the navy surgeon who had entered with him, and he received an immediate reply in the affirmative.

"Oh, yes, sir," the officer said. Then with a little laugh, "They both have pretty tough heads, for which they can certainly be thankful."

"Thankful in more ways than one," the vice-admiral grunted, and Dave had the feeling he was thinking of how that Jap had been scared away from completing the job. "Now," the senior officer continued, and looked from one to the other, "let's have the complete story as nearly as you can remember it. And try to remember everything, if you possibly can. The situation is mighty serious. Mighty grave."

Ten minutes later Dave and Freddy Farmer had finished relating every detail of their experience. Each had confirmed the other's story and had added one or two overlooked details. Vice-Admiral Carter listened through to the very end without once interrupting with a question. Now he sat perched on the end of Dawson's bed balling one clenched fist into the palm of the other hand, and scowling thoughtfully down at his movements.

"There's one thing I want both of you to think about hard," he finally broke the silence. "It's just possible that it may have skipped both your minds thus far. The name of that pilot's carrier. Did he or the Jap mention it?"

Dave and Freddy looked questioningly at each other. Then they both looked at the base commandant and shook their heads.

"No, sir," Dave spoke for them both. "The name of his carrier wasn't mentioned once. But I can tell you what one it was, sir. I mean, he said that it was sailing tonight. I mean, last night. So all you have to do is ..."

Dawson stopped as the vice-admiral shook his head.

"No, sir?" he echoed.

"No, Dawson," the base commandant said bitterly. "We can't find it out that way, unfortunately. All three carriers sailed last night. That pilot didn't know. He only knew that his carrier was to sail, naturally. But all three were scheduled to sail. And they did."

"But his was sailing for Pearl Harbor, sir!" Freddy Farmer spoke up. "So the one that ..."

"That's no good, either," the vice-admiral interrupted. "The entire three-carrier force is bound for Pearl Harbor. En route they will work out a battle problem, and then proceed to Pearl Harbor to take aboard two torpedo and two dive-bomber squadrons, that are waiting there. This ensign pilot—this rotten Nazi—just what did he look like? If either of you can give me a detailed description, perhaps a radio to each of the carriers will make it possible for us to catch our man before the force reaches Pearl. Just what did he look like?"

"That's just the point, sir," Dave Dawson said sadly, when Freddy Farmer didn't speak. "We saw him only in profile, and the light was bad. I didn't see a single thing unusual about him. I mean, sir, he looked just like hundreds of other pilots in Naval Aviation uniform. What about you, Freddy? Did you notice any outstanding features?"

Young Farmer frowned, sighed, and shook his head.

"No, sir," he said to the vice-admiral. "I'm sure I'd be able to recognize him, if I ever saw him again, but I really didn't see anything about him that would help anybody else to identify him."

"Yes, I'm sure I'd be able to spot him again, too," Dawson murmured. Then, with a grim note in his voice, "And that Japrat, too, even though I did only see him at a distance."

The vice-admiral was again scowling down at his clenched fist grinding into the palm of his other hand, and he acted as though he had not heard either of them speak. Dawson waited a few moments, and then asked a question.

"What about the service records of the fighter pilots aboard all three carriers, sir?" he said.

The base commandant raised his head and looked at him sharply.

"What do you mean?" he demanded. "And why just the fighter pilots?"

"From the way they talked, sir," Dawson replied quickly, "I felt certain that he was a fighter pilot. I mean, he plans to take off, when the opportunity presents itself, and fly direct to Truk. Well, sir, if he were a torpedo plane or dive bomber or scout bomber pilot, he