did find had all the effect of a bucket of ice water dumped down over jangling nerves. In short, inside was just a rather dusty room, a desk, a chair, and another man in civilian clothes sitting in the chair. Oh yes, there were some cleaning mops, and a couple of pails in one corner. And on the left wall was a calendar of the year before, torn off only as far as the month of April. There was a door on the right, and the man behind the desk pointed at it.

"Through there, Gentlemen," he said, and immediately returned to a book he was reading.

Dave hesitated, clenched his fists, and groaned inwardly.

"Am I getting tired of doors!" he grated. "What in thunder gives around here, anyway?"

The man reading the book looked up and pointed again.

"Through there," he said, and went back to his book.

Dave and Freddy walked over to the door, but when he reached it, Dave stepped to one side.

"Your turn," he said, and stabbed a thumb at the knob. "Maybe you'll have better luck."

Freddy shrugged, cast a quick apprehensive look back over his shoulder at the man reading the book, and then turned the knob and pushed open the door. And he did have better luck. The room they entered was huge in size, and it contained so much stuff, and so many things, that it was impossible for either Dave or Freddy to concentrate on anything for several seconds. But by that time a tall, thin-faced man in shirt sleeves had risen from a desk and come over.

"Glad to meet you, Dawson and Farmer," he said in a quiet but warm voice. "I'm Colonel Welsh. Come in. We've been waiting for you."

If the man had introduced himself as Santa Claus Dave couldn't have been more dumbfounded. Colonel Welsh was the man who made U. S. Army and Navy Intelligence click. He was in charge of the intelligence work of both services, and—in a vastly different way, of course—he had as much power in the United States as Himmler had in Nazi Germany. Perhaps no more than a dozen people knew what he was, for he acted as a colonel of infantry as well. But that job was simply a cover for his real work. He was seen and known as Colonel Welsh, of infantry, but few people knew that he was the same mysterious Colonel Welsh who was in charge of all U. S. Intelligence.

But it wasn't so much meeting the man that caused Dave to gasp and stare hard as it was the man's looks. His thin face had a nice smile, but beyond that you somehow didn't expect him even to know the time of day. The eyes had a dreamy, almost vacant look in their depths, the lips of the mouth had a dopey downward droop, and the chin was too pointed, and sort of too country parson looking.

"That's all right," the man suddenly said with a chuckle. "I've had this face all my life, so I'm used to it. Don't worry, I won't bite you."

Dave flushed to the roots of his hair and heartily wished there were a hole in the floor into which he could jump.

"I'm sorry, sir," he managed to stammer. "You see—well, Farmer and I have been going around in circles ever since we left England. And—well, it's sort of caught us off balance, if you know what I mean."

"I understand perfectly," the U. S. Intelligence chief said kindly. "Coming here must make a fellow feel he is acting out one of those crazy pulp paper thrillers. You know: secret doors, and special code-words. Well, we're not as bad as that. However, we find it does help to play just a little on the mysterious side. These are the offices we use when we have work to do. Those over in the War Department Building are just for show. Fact is, I personally would go crazy with all the silly trimmings they have over there. But pardon me. I want you to meet my comrades in this daffy business."

Colonel Welsh turned and led them over to a desk so big that it could have easily been cut up into five desks of the usual size. Three men were seated at the desk, and they pushed up from their chairs as the Colonel and the two youths approached.

"Captain Lamb," the Colonel said, pointing to a chunky redhead. "Next to him, Captain Stacey. And that chap who's as thin as I am is Lieutenant Caldwell, our coding expert. Gentlemen, Flight Lieutenants Dawson and Farmer."

Dave and Freddy shook hands with the other officers, and then dropped into chairs the Colonel pulled up. It was not until then that Dave had an opportunity to take a good look about him, and what he saw set his blood to tingling through his veins, and his heart to pounding against his ribs. He had often been inside the inner offices of British Intelligence, and on each occasion he had been stunned by the number of gadgets of all sorts, and the vast array of equipment they were used to operate. But the stuff he stared at now put the British equipment in the shade. There was every conceivable piece of equipment from ultra-ray flashlights to giant X-ray machines. One whole wall was lined with telephones and short wave radios for both sending and receiving. And along another wall was a row of file cabinets that operated electrically. One had only to push a file button, and the correct drawer slid open and the exact file folder shot up out of its clamps. In truth, Dave believed that Colonel Welsh had at his fingertips complete information of everyone of importance in the war, and that within a matter of seconds he could establish contact with any one of his agents, no matter in what part of the globe he might be. And those two items were but two of the many, many things that could be made possible with the equipment in that huge room. It was like the mechanical wizardry of Scotland Yard and the F.B.I. all set up in the same room.

"Interesting stuff, isn't it, Dawson?"

Dave turned his head to see Colonel Welsh grinning at him. He blushed slightly, and nodded.

"It certainly is, sir," he said politely. "A fellow could have some fun in this place."

"Depends on what you call fun," the Intelligence officer said with a grimace. "There's been more than one death warrant issued from this place. However, you're not here to be taught how to handle this stuff. Matter of fact, though, I suppose you're wondering just why you are here, eh?"

"Decidedly, sir!" Freddy Farmer fairly exploded the words.

"And how!" Dave echoed. "If I don't find out something, and soon, I'm going to dive right out a window, and end it all. For three days, sir, Farmer and I have been living a crazy, cockeyed dream. Maybe it's a nightmare, I don't know. But if you can possibly give us an inkling what it's all about, then consider me down on my knees and begging you to do just that! Honest! I don't know whether I'm coming or going."

The Colonel and the others joined in a loud laugh, and then presently the senior officer's face grew serious.

"You're here at my request, frankly," he said. "Here because I feel that you're just the men we need to help us crack a few tough nuts. Among those who came over with Prime Minister Churchill last December was General Sir John Gately, chief of all British Intelligence. Perhaps you know him?"

"Only of him, sir," Dave replied. "I never had the pleasure of meeting him. A wonderful man, though."

"The very best England has," Freddy Farmer added. "I've never had the chance to meet him, either."

"Yes, Sir John is just about the best in England," Colonel Welsh said with a firm nod. "We had several talks together, and he struck me as being just about the most brilliant man I ever met. He has certainly made it hot more than once for Herr Himmler's Gestapo boys. Well, to get to the point, I talked over with him a plan I had in mind. After a moment's thought he stated that you two were the type of men that I need. Fact is, he said you were the two I needed. So there's a mighty fine compliment for you. And let me hasten to add that it's a compliment well deserved, in my opinion. This is the first time I've met you, but your accomplishments in England and Libya and in the Far East are no secrets to this office."

Dave laughed embarrassedly and glanced at Freddy Farmer.