do you suppose is up?"

"Your guess is as good as mine," Dawson replied with a scowl. "I'm beginning to suspect, though, that it's something very hush-hush. I still wish I hadn't left my service gun in the hotel. Here, Freddy. I'm probably acting silly, but you never can tell."

As Dave spoke the last he fished out one of the Commando knives and slipped it into Freddy Farmer's hand. The English youth took it without a word and let it slide into his pocket out of sight.

"Think we're foolish to wait here, Dave?" he breathed a moment later. "After what's happened tonight, we may be simply asking for more trouble. It's certainly a mixed up mess."

"Plenty screwy," Dave grunted with a nod. "But I'm a curious cuss. And I'm just sore enough to follow this whole cockeyed business through to the end. But keep on guard, Freddy. Back to back, pal, and so forth."

"Quite!" Freddy grated, and hunched his shoulders as though to get himself set to spring at a split second's notice.

Another minute, and the door opened and the Sergeant reappeared. He pulled the door wide, stood to one side and motioned for the two air aces to enter. They stepped through into a plainly furnished outer office. The Sergeant closed the door, walked past them and opened a door on the right.

"In there, sirs," he said. "Major Barber is waiting."

"And just who is Major Barber?" Freddy Farmer demanded, and didn't move.

The Sergeant started to grin but cut it off instantly.

"He'll tell you, sir," he said. "Go in, please."

The two youths hesitated a fraction of a second longer; then by mutual accord they stepped through the second door and into a smaller office. It contained a desk, a few chairs, a filing cabinet or two, and a lone picture of President Roosevelt on the wall. Seated at the desk was an iron gray-haired Major in the uniform of infantry staff. He smiled and rose from his chair as they entered.

"Evening, Captains Dawson and Farmer," he said, and extended his hand. "Glad to see you here. Sit down, both of you."

The two youths shook hands with him, and then settled themselves in chairs. The Major reseated himself and rearranged a few papers on his desk. Dave watched him closely, and spun his brain in an effort to try and figure out just what the picture was this time. Presently the Major looked up and gave them both a quizzical smile.

"Of course you're not wondering anything, are you?" he asked with a faint chuckle. "Any trouble on the way down here?"

Dave stiffened slightly. Things began to click a little in his head. He gave the senior officer a long searching look.

"No, not a thing, Major," he lied quietly. Then with a little gesture of one hand, "Should something have happened?"

That seemed to please the Major, for he grinned broadly. A moment later he took a card from his pocket and passed it across the desk.

"Time to unmask, I guess," he said. "There's my identification. You can both relax. Sorry things had to be so mysterious, but that's the way we have to work sometimes."

Dave took the card and held it so Freddy Farmer could see it also. He took one look, gulped, and shot a quick glance at the grinning man in infantry staff uniform. The card, which contained a small picture, plus a left thumb print, stated that the holder was one Major E. J. Barber, officer in charge of all Commando units in training in the United States. It was signed by General Marshall, and also by Colonel Welsh.

The name was suddenly very familiar to Dave, but he couldn't place it exactly for a moment. Freddy Farmer beat him to it.

"I say!" he gasped. "Major Barber! Of course! You served originally with the British, sir. You helped build the original British Commando force. You won the Military Cross, and the Distinguished Service Order for those first Commando raids on Occupied Norway. And now—?"

Freddy stopped as though embarrassed at blurting out so much. The senior officer widened his grin and nodded.

"You've unmasked me, Farmer," he said. "That's right. And now that Uncle Sam is in it, I'm fighting under my own country's flag. But that's just the same as fighting under England's flag. From now on the two countries are going to become more and more like one big country, I think. Well, satisfied with my identity now, eh?"

Dave gravely handed back the card, and looked at the man.

"So it was a test?" he murmured, and placed the captured Commando knife on the desk with his other hand. "Do I feel a sap! That idea never even occurred to me. But they were as near the real thing as I ever hope to see. Thank goodness I wasn't carrying side-arms!"

"Eh?" Freddy Farmer ejaculated, pop-eyed. "A test...? Good grief! You mean those two chaps who had a go at us tonight? But I say—!"

The English-born air ace couldn't go on. He stopped abruptly and shook his head in stunned bewilderment. And as though his brain didn't realize what his hand was doing, he took out his own Commando knife and placed it on the table beside Dave's. Major Barber picked them both up and gently tapped the needle points against a fingernail as he looked admiringly at the two youths.

"Check and double check," he finally said. "That's just what happened. And I might add, you almost caused two of my best men to resign from the Commando service, or the Rangers, as it will become known as time goes on. Tonight was the first time that either of them had lost their knives. They were on the phone just a few minutes before you arrived. They declared that if there were any more like you two I wanted tested, I'd have to get somebody else. In fact, they begged me for a couple of days' leave to rest up from the rough going over you gave them. My congratulations!"

"Thanks, sir," Dave mumbled as he suddenly had a funny feeling in the stomach. "Holy smoke! If I'd been able to keep my grip on my man, I'm afraid I'd have broken his arm right off, and probably his neck. But a test! Why? I mean—that is—well, you do this sort of thing often, sir? I mean—"

Dave stopped and floundered about for suitable words. The Major tossed the two knives on the desk and leaned forward.

"Not every day, Dawson," he said quietly. "But often enough. Let me explain. As yet our Commando units are not organized or completely whipped into shape for action as all-American units. Some, however, who have gone through the training have shown that they are as good as they'll ever be, short of actual experience against the enemy. Those men we pick out and send across to get that actual service with operating British Commando units. With that action experience under their belts, they make fine instructors for the units we are sending over to England for final polishing up."

The Major paused to catch his breath and clear his throat.

"Each man selected for immediate active service is ordered to report to me here," he continued presently. "He does not know that he is reporting for Commando duty, so the last thing he's thinking of is an attack upon his person here in New York City. That way I can tell for sure if he is the man that I want to send across in advance of the regular Commando forces. My two men, both of whom have seen actual Commando service with me, carry out the test and report to me. Up until tonight they rather enjoyed their work. They're tough, and they can take a lot of punishment. But it seems you two gave them a little extra to take tonight."

As the senior officer paused, both Dave and Freddy continued to sit silent and motionless. To tell the truth, their brains were spinning just a little too much to make comment possible. But in a few seconds Freddy managed to unhinge his tongue.

"So—so we're going across for Commando duty, sir?" he blurted out. "But I thought this Commando training was just a—well, a stopover between jobs Colonel Welsh had for us. I—"

"Hold everything, Farmer!" Major Barber laughed, and held up a hand. "I know you two are airmen, and it's the air where you shine the best. But—well,