The setting sun was turning the waters of Paria Gulf between Trinidad and Venezuela to blood red as Dawson and Farmer strolled along a footpath that skirted a huge sugar plantation close to the San Fernando field. As neither had ever set foot on Trinidad before, the many and strange sights that met their wandering gaze took up all of their attention, and the thought that was in the back of each youth's mind was not given utterance for quite some time.

Presently, though, Dawson came to a full stop, took a deep breath, and squatted down on the ground."Let's rest and watch the sunset," he said. "It looks like it's going to be something. Besides, that's plenty enough walking for these aged bones."

"I was wondering if you were going to keep it up forever," Freddy Farmer grunted, and sank down beside him. "Good grief! It does get your legs when you're not used to it."

"Think of the poor infantry, and realize how lucky you are," Dawson chuckled. "After all, pal, you and I were flying last night, not sleeping."

"And don't I know it!" the other youth replied. "Can hardly keep my eyes open now. As a matter of fact, when we get back, I'm going to borrow a place from Major Parker to sleep until Colonel Welsh shows up. Blast it, Dave! I don't think I feel very friendly toward the colonel, just now. Heaven knows he's kept us in the dark once or twice in the past, but certainly nothing like this. I'm just about ready to explode with curiosity."

"Me, I'm almost beginning not to give a darn," Dawson said, and lazily stretched his arms over his head. "Too doggone much mystery and not an answer to a single question. Speaking of questions, Freddy—call me nuts, but I've got an awful funny feeling."

"About what, Dave?" the English youth asked quickly, and gave him a searching look.

"These darned sealed envelopes we're still carrying around," Dave replied. "The four we've still got, counting Major Parker's. In the colonel's message, he ordered us to destroy them if necessary. Well—well, outside of that dizzy U-boat thing, it's been just an airplane flight. Yet—darn it, Freddy—having these envelopes in my pocket is giving me the jim-jams!"

"Yes, I know what you mean," young Farmer admitted, and frowned. "I'm getting rather fed up with carrying them around, too. Silly, of course, but a couple of times I've felt as though somebody were watching every move I made."

Dawson started slightly and took a quick glance in all four directions, but he didn't see anyone, except some people near the San Fernando base over half a mile away. He looked at Freddy and grinned a little sheepishly.

"You have, kid?" he echoed. "Well, me too. I've been having exactly that kind of feeling, too. You know what I think about hunches!"

"Yes," the other replied. "And I also know that sometimes your hunches are worth giving serious consideration.""Sometimes, he says" Dawson snorted. "Look, pal—Oh, skip it! Now about the four envelopes, Freddy, if you want my opinion on the matter, it's—let's dump the acid on them and be rid of the darn things. Maybe Colonel Welsh won't like it, but what the heck? He said, if necessary, and the funny feeling I've got right now, and have had ever since we got his message, makes me think it is necessary! What do you think? Or am I going off half-cocked?"

Freddy Farmer didn't reply for a moment. He sat staring out over the Gulf of Paria that was now changing from blood red to midnight blue since the sun had gone down behind the headlands of Venezuela. Finally he reached a hand up inside his tunic and nodded abruptly.

"If you're going off half-cocked, then we both are, Dave," he said quietly. "I'm all for getting rid of them. If you alone had the funny feeling, I'd say no. But I've got a queer feeling, too. So—well, here go my two, anyway."

As young Farmer spoke, he took out his two sealed envelopes and dropped them on the ground. Then, moving back a bit, he unscrewed the cap of his little vial and poured the brownish-colored contents over the envelopes. There was a small flash of flame as the stuff came in contact with the envelopes which seemed to melt away into the ground, leaving nothing but a black smudge where they had been.

"Boy, does that do the trick!" Dawson breathed, and dropped his two sealed envelopes on the spot where Freddy's two had been. "Drop that vial, Freddy, and kick dirt over it. Just a smell of that stuff would most likely take the soles off your shoes. Okay, here go mine, too."

A few seconds later there was another dark smudge on the ground, and not so much as a shred of any of the sealed envelopes, or their contents. Both Dawson and Freddy dropped their empty vials, kicked dirt over them, and stamped the little mounds flat. Then, as if by mutual agreement, they relaxed and heaved deep sighs of relief.

"Maybe I was wrong," Dawson said thoughtfully. "Maybe Colonel Welsh will hit the roof when we tell him. Just the same, though, I feel a hundred per cent better."

"Quite!" Freddy Farmer murmured, but with emphasis. "I feel as though a terrific weight had been lifted from my shoulders. I swear, Dave, I haven't got a strong enough heart to stand much of this sort of thing. Frankly, this is the first contented breath I've taken since we left Washington."

"Yeah, I know," Dawson agreed. "The colonel certainly did pour on the old caution stuff this time. So I guess it was—or still is—something pretty doggone important. But there I go again, wondering what it's all about. I sure wish the colonel would hurry up and get here!"

"Know something, Dave?" Freddy asked after a couple of moments of silence between them.

"Know something?" Dave groaned, and rolled over on his stomach. "Maybe you haven't been listening to me, pal. I don't know from nothing. Do you?"

"Not exactly," Freddy replied. "Just the old guessing game again. I am guessing, though, that somebody found out about those sealed envelopes. Also, they found out that you and I were acting as the messenger boys. Also, they arranged that balmy life-raft and U-boat business this afternoon. And also, Colonel Welsh is a very worried man, right at the moment."

"All of which means nothing," Dawson added, "and will continue to mean nothing until the colonel gets here, and explains. If he does."

"Most naturally!" Freddy said with a slight edge to his voice. "I've been doing some extra thinking about this thing, in case you don't realize it."

"Well, go right ahead and think yourself black, blue, and sky-pink in the face, if it makes you happy, little man," Dawson said with a laugh, "but you still won't know from beans until the colonel gets here. And if he—"

"I know, I know!" Freddy interrupted with an impatient gesture of his hand. "Save your breath, old thing. However, you might give this a bit of thought, if your brain can stand the strain. We've been flying part of the air transport route to North Africa."

"No kidding?" Dawson said with a mock gasp. "Why, I always thought the air transport route to North Africa was by way of Salt Lake City and Alaska!"

"Very, very funny!" Freddy snapped. "If I'm not boring you, Major Parker said he was sent down here to keep an eye out for sabotage. He also said nothing has happened in all the time he's been here. Colonel Welsh admitted that his special agents were acting as C.O. of the points where we've stopped and were going to stop. Why, Dave? Why should Intelligence have a sudden interest in this air route to North Africa?"Dawson started to make another wisecrack, but the deadly serious look on young Farmer's face stopped him. He gave the question a moment or two of thought and then shook his head.

"I don't know, Freddy," he replied. "I really don't know. You can search me. If it isn't because of possible sabotage, then what?"

"I guess I've asked myself that question a thousand times," the English-born air ace said slowly. "I can think up but one answer that might make sense. This is it. All these arrangements are being made to make absolutely sure nothing will happen to something very special that is soon to be flown to North Africa."

"Such as?" Dawson prompted.

Freddy seemed to hesitate for a long time. Then he shrugged, and made a little gesture with his hands, palms upward.

"Blessed if I know, or can guess," he said. "However, I feel absolutely sure that all this business is taking place because something highly important is to be flown to North Africa."

"I don't think I agree with you there, Freddy," Dawson stated with a frown. "This is one of the Air Transport Command routes to North Africa, but if something special was to be flown across, the plane carrying it certainly wouldn't land at all these points. Heck, Freddy! Air Transport Command has lots of planes that could make the run down here to Trinidad non-stop, and hop from here to Natal the same way."

"Oh, quite," Freddy Farmer agreed, and waved his hand as though brushing aside the undisputed point. "Non-stop all the way to Natal, if you want to make an issue of it. However, the points in between are being given just as much attention. Presumably this is being done in the event of trouble and a forced landing; emergency fields, so to speak, all along the route the plane, or planes, will fly."

"Okay, okay, Master Mind!" Dawson laughed, and threw up his hands. "Maybe you've got something there. And if you have, it means that what we've been delivering, and what we just destroyed, are instructions in case your mysterious cavalcade of the air happens to sit down on one of the fields. Okay, that's that, then. Now all you have left to figure out is why this mysterious flight?"

Freddy Farmer nodded but made no reply. He sat watching the swiftly approaching shadows of night. Glancing at his face, Dawson saw that the English youth had something very absorbing on his mind. When young Farmer continued to maintain silence, Dawson's curiosity got the best of him.

"Okay, out with it," he said. "What's the heavy thought that's weighing down your brain at the moment?"

"A very definitely insane one," Freddy Farmer replied, with a little apologetic smile. "But taking it all and all, I'm blessed if I can think of anything better."

"Thanks," Dawson said sarcastically, and rolled over on his side. "That makes everything clear as mud. What do you want me to do—get up on my hind legs and beg?"

If Freddy Farmer heard the remark, he ignored it. He turned to Dawson and held up one hand with the fingers stiff and extended upward. Then he started counting them off with the forefinger of the other hand.

"One: Two F.B.I. chaps followed us all over New York," he said. "Two: Colonel Welsh told us that a list of names compiled by the War Department had been turned over to the F.B.I., and that it had the approval of the President, the Secret Service, the Army, Navy, and Air Forces. Three: The colonel refused to give us so much as a hint as to what's behind this flight of ours. Four: He told us to guard those sealed envelopes with our lives. Five: He said that one of his agents was in secret command of every point where we were to stop. Six: The route is the Air Transport route to North Africa. Seven: The colonel said that the sealed envelopes contained the most important secret of the war so far. And eight: He said that he would have another special mission for us when we met in Natal."

"And nine?" Dawson queried when young Farmer stopped talking and lapsed into brooding silence.

The English youth hesitated, chewed on his lower lip for a moment, and then leaned over toward Dave and whispered, "Nine, is that all these arrangements are being made because—because President Roosevelt and the Yank High Command are being flown to North Africa, and perhaps beyond, for a war conference with Prime Minister Churchill, Premier Joseph Stalin, and their High Command Staffs. And there you have what I think!"

Dawson whistled softly, sat up straight, and stared hard at his flying mate and dearest friend.

"And I think you are strictly nuts, Freddy!" he said. But scarcely had he spoken the words when he frowned and gave a little twist of his head. "Jeepers, I wonder!" he mumbled.

"Yes, no doubt I am quite nuts," Freddy agreed, and got up on his feet. "Personally, I can't think up a better guess. It's started my brain swimming, though. So what say we start on back, eh? Don't want to miss evening mess, you know."

"What a guy! What a guy!" Dawson groaned, and stood up. "Here in one breath he has perhaps figured out the biggest secret in the war so far, and in the next breath he's sounding off about that stomach of his. Did I mention a moment ago that I think you are nuts? If I didn't, then consider it said right now!"

"The difference between us, old thing!" Freddy Farmer explained with an airy wave of his hand as he started back along the path. "The food you eat helps your body. The food I eat helps my body and my brain. If you'd only eat more, maybe some of the nourishment would have a chance to get up that high! I say! I didn't half realize that it was this dark."

"Yeah," Dawson agreed as he stumbled over a root. "A good thing that talking box of yours ran out of words, or Major Parker would have to send out a searching party. I—Hey, Freddy! What's the matter?"

Dawson shouted the last because young Farmer, some ten or fifteen feet ahead of him in the gloom, had suddenly buckled at the knees and had fallen slowly to the ground. Dave leaped forward toward his prostrate pal and had started to kneel down beside him when suddenly there was a rustling sound in the sugar cane to his right. He turned his head and caught a fleeting glimpse of bare feet and trousers. Then the Trinidad sky seemed to fall on top of his head with a thunderous roar of sound, and a great shower of red, yellow, orange and purple sparks.

"Hey! What—"

From a million miles away he heard the hoarse whisper of his own voice. Then the hands of an invisible giant seemed to grab hold of him, lift him high, and fling him spinning head over heels out across a world composed of booming sound and flashing light.