No sooner had the North American B-25 bomber braked to a full stop in front of the Administration Building than the fuselage door swung open and Colonel Welsh disembarked. The Intelligence officer's thin face was deeply lined from worry and loss of sleep, but his eyes were sharp and clear as he swept them over the group that had sprung to attention. When his eyes came to Dawson and Farmer, a light of relief seeped into them, and he gave a little nod of his head as a sign of recognition, and perhaps approval.

"Get inside, you two, at once!" the colonel ordered. And then, as his eyes picked out Major Parker, he added, "You, too, Parker. Everybody else, back to your posts!"

With a million and one speculative thoughts dancing and racing about inside their heads, Dawson and Farmer climbed up into the bomber, with Major Parker at their heels. Once inside, they saw that the bomb compartment had been fitted out as an aerial office. Instinctively they headed that way. By the time they reached that compartment, Major Parker had joined them. The senior officer wigwagged a finger to check any questions that might be asked and waved the three of them to the little seats fitted to either side of the fuselage. He seated himself behind a small table bolted to the bomb compartment flooring and stared into space as the B-25's engines were revved up a little, and the bomber started to trundle forward.

Automatically, Dawson braced himself for a take-off, but the ship did not leave the ground. The pilot trundled the bomber over toward one of the hangars, braked it to a stop, and cut his engines. A moment later, the field's ground crew was busy filling the aircraft's tanks. Still Colonel Welsh sat staring into space without speaking a word. The suspense, and the mystery of it all, were like butterflies in Dawson's chest. Again and again he glanced at the colonel, hoping to catch the senior officer's eyes, believing that if he did so the colonel might give him some kind of a sign that would at least relieve the tension.

He had no luck, though. The colonel sat like a man of stone while the B-25's fuel tanks were being filled to the brim. When they were filled, the engines were started, and the bomber was trundled out to the take-off end of the runway.

"A take-off sure, this time!" Dawson thought to himself. "I wonder where we're headed? In fact, I'm wondering a whole lot of things right now. Something has certainly happened, because the colonel looks in a bad way. He looks about as bad as I felt a few hours ago."

But there was no take-off. When the bomber was swung around into the wind, the engines were throttled to idling speed. Then and then only did Colonel Welsh come out of his trance. He looked at Dawson and Farmer, and reached out his hand.

"Give me the rest of those envelopes," he said.

Dawson shook his head and spoke quickly as a look of utter horror spread over Colonel Welsh's face.

"We haven't got them, sir," he said. "Right after receiving your code message, we decided it was best to destroy them, so we did."

Horror vanished from the Intelligence Chief's face and thankful relief took its place.

"Good lads!" he said. "Now give me a detailed report of your flight from Washington."

Dave Dawson glanced impulsively at Freddy Farmer, but the English-born air ace shook his head and made a sign for Dave to do the talking. Dave turned to Colonel Welsh and began to relate everything that had happened from the Washington take-off to the moment of the colonel's arrival. He didn't leave out a thing. However, in the event he might have missed something, he shot a questioning look at Freddy Farmer when he had finished.

"No, I can't think of a thing to add," the English youth said. "You've covered everything, I'm sure."

During all the time Dawson was talking, Colonel Welsh sat leaning forward slightly and listening as though his life depended upon every word. Eventually he straightened up and looked at Major Parker.

"Have you anything to add?" he asked."Nothing, sir," the major replied. "Dawson covered my end of it all in complete detail."

"You had never seen the dead man before, Parker?" the colonel then asked.

"No, sir," Major Parker replied. Then, with a faint gesture, he added, "I may have seen him, sir, in the course of my work, but the natives here all look more or less alike."

Colonel Welsh grunted, scowled down at the little table in front of him, and suddenly shot a sharp look at Dawson.

"Yes?" he asked. "You've got something on your mind, Dawson?"

Dave started slightly, because he did have something on his mind and was debating if he should mention it. He could feel the red seeping up into his face as he looked at Colonel Welsh.

"Just a hunch, sir," he said. "I'm probably all wrong. The dead man is undoubtedly a native, as Major Parker says, but—"

"But what?" Colonel Welsh pressed as Dawson let the rest go unspoken.

"Well, his skin was dark like that of a native's, sir," Dave replied after a quick apologetic look at Major Parker, "but there was something about his features that sort of struck me as queer. The forehead looked a little too wide for a native's, and I was suddenly struck by the hunch that he was—No, I must have been wrong!"

"Never mind what you must have been!" Colonel Welsh said sharply. "Finish what you were going to say! You had the hunch that he was—"

Dawson hesitated a second and then took the plunge. "That he was a German, sir!"

A moment of tingling silence settled over the made-over bomb compartment. Then Colonel Welsh broke it with an order to Major Parker.

"Come with me and show me this dead man, Parker," he said. "Dawson, you and Farmer wait right here for me."

Three seconds later the colonel and the major had climbed out of the bomber, leaving Dawson and Farmer to twiddle their fingers.

"I am going stark, raving mad!" young Farmer suddenly exploded in a low, vibrant voice. "If I don't find out something soon, I don't know what I'll do!"

"I'll join you in a throat-cutting act, pal!" Dawson said, and sighed heavily. "If this isn't the most mixed-up business we ever got into, then I don't know what! The colonel's been here half an hour, and we don't even know why he came down here in the first place. We can thank the gods for one thing, anyway."

"What's that?"

"That Colonel Welsh was relieved and not burnt up when I told him we had destroyed those envelopes," Dawson replied. "Envelopes! Phew! I'll be seeing those darn things in my dreams for the rest of my life. Gosh! One would think they contained the complete plans of Allied High Command for the invasion of the European Continent, or something!"

"Maybe they did," Freddy Farmer said with a shrug and a sigh. "Maybe they did."

With that the pair lapsed into brooding silence. Each was perfectly content to remain silent, because words were just a waste of breath now. They had talked themselves black and blue in the face as to the what and the why of this crazy business. For all their talking, they were right back where they had started in regard to anything concrete and definite. Why talk about it any more? It was far, far better to go quietly nuts waiting for Colonel Welsh to return and throw a little light on the subject.

They sat and waited for a good fifteen minutes, mulling over their own thoughts and listening absently to the even murmur of the idling Wright-Cyclone engines that powered the North American B-25.

At the end of that fifteen minutes, however, the colonel returned. To Dawson's relief and pleasure, he saw that a lot of the worry had left the Intelligence officer's face. In fact, there was an almost happy look in his eyes. He came straight into the bomb compartment, seated himself at his little table, and took the inter-com phone mike off the wall hook at his side.

"Take off, Captain," he spoke into it. "Fly north for twenty minutes and then take up the course I gave you. Eh? Right!"

The colonel put the inter-com mike back on the hook, looked at Dawson, and smiled faintly.

"Thank heaven for your hunch," he said. "You were absolutely right. He was a German."

"A spy, sir?" Dave blurted out before he could check himself.

"Naturally," the colonel replied. "Just about the best in the Nazis' gang. Colonel Baron Franz von Steuben is his name. Or was. Frankly, we've been after him for a long time. The world is well rid of his kind. What's the matter, Dawson?"

"Major Parker, sir," Dawson replied, and reddened slightly. "I hope he didn't think that I—"

"Not a bit of it!" the colonel interrupted quickly. "The major admires you for your hunch. He'd be the last one in the world who would want you to keep it to yourself. As a matter of fact, he suspected that you might feel embarrassed and asked me to give you his compliments and to say he was sorry he couldn't go along with you."

"To where, sir?" Freddy Farmer fairly shouted. And then he blushed so flamingly that both Dawson and the colonel had to laugh.

"That's all right, Farmer," the Intelligence officer said, still chuckling. "Don't blame you at all. I can see it in both your faces that you're practically ready to blow up with questions. Well, things have happened that I didn't want to happen, so I guess it's time for me to do a little explaining. Do you remember that technical sergeant in the hangar at Bolling Field?"

The two air aces nodded.

"He's dead," Colonel Welsh stated grimly. "He, too, was a Nazi spy. And working right under my very nose, which doesn't make me feel very proud. Shortly after your take-off, one of the mechanics who helped to roll out your plane came to me with the information that the technical sergeant had been standing right outside that office while I was giving you your instructions. I can tell you that that was the closest I ever came to having a case of heart failure. I got to work at once checking up on that technical sergeant. I won't bother you with the details, but we caught him cold. Complete with a powerful short-wave sending set, and all the rest of it. That was after he had had time to do his dirty work, if any. I know, now, what that dirty work was, of course. Your experiences, and Major Parker's, made the picture clear. He simply flashed word to other agents to get you two by hook or by crook. He knew your course, and he knew what you carried, though I'm still positive that he didn't know the contents of those sealed envelopes.

"Anyway, word was flashed along the network of Nazi spies on this side of the Atlantic and to that U-boat lurking in the Caribbean. Heavens! That was a daring stunt those devils tried."

"I'm still shaking at how close it came to being successful!" Dawson spoke up in a strained voice as the colonel paused.

"Amen, and let's not think of that any more," the Intelligence officer added almost fervently. "As soon as I learned the truth, I flashed you a message to halt the flight and wait for me. I was too late at Puerto Rico. I also took off in this plane at once to get down here and contact you. I stopped at Puerto Rico, and Miami, too, and collected the two sealed envelopes you had already delivered. Then I came on here and found out that you two had used your heads. Just in time, too, thank goodness. That you beat Colonel Baron Franz von Steuben to the punch is something you can congratulate yourselves on for the rest of your lives. If I had even dreamed that devil was down here, I would have had nineteen different kinds of cat fits. But all's well that ends well. And, although we've got to change our plans, we're still a couple of jumps up on the Nazis."

Colonel Welsh paused for breath and to take out his handkerchief and wipe imaginary beads of sweat from his forehead. Both Dawson and Farmer sat on the edges of their seats waiting for him to continue, but after a moment or two of silence Dawson couldn't stand it any longer.

"Can't you tell us a little about all this, Colonel? Just a little that might help us—well, in case we got into another jam? Or are we on our way back to Washington now? Is the job finished as far as Freddy and I are concerned?""No, we are not heading back to Washington," Colonel Welsh answered quietly. "As for you and Farmer, the job is just beginning. Well, you've earned the right to know. Since I was going to explain at Natal anyway, I might as well explain now. You recall all that F.B.I. business in New York? Remember my telling you of that list of names turned over to the F.B.I. for checking?"

"Could we forget, sir?" Dawson chuckled. "Freddy and I have been going nuts trying to add two and two. We got a zero every time, and I don't mean a Jap Zero, either."

"Well, all that was simply a check and double-check, you might say," Colonel Welsh said as his face became grave. "Every name on that approved list was to be connected in some way with—"

The colonel paused and ran his tongue across his lower lip.

"Every man on that list," he began again, "is to have something to do with a proposed trip by President Roosevelt to a war conference with Prime Minister Winston Churchill at Casablanca in Morocco, North Africa!"

A moment of silence hung over the trio as the colonel finished speaking. Then Dawson gave a little laugh and looked at Freddy Farmer. "Pick up the marbles, Master Mind!" he said. "Pick them all up. You win!"