"Well, I guess this is the parting of the ways, Captain," Agent Carter of the F.B.I. said as the taxicab rolled to a stop on front of a War Department Building in Washington. "Hickson and I will keep the cab for the ride over to the Bureau. Sorry we all missed an evening in New York together, but there'll come another day, I hope. Best of luck, you two. It's been nice knowing you."

"Same thing, the other way around, sir," Dawson said as he shook hands and climbed out of the cab. "And thanks for the protection—or whatever it was supposed to be."Agent Carter laughed and raised a protesting hand.

"Now let's not go into that again!" he said. "The answer is still that I don't know. Maybe Colonel Welsh will tell you. We can't, because we simply don't know. What's the matter, Captain Farmer?"

Freddy was just straightening up after sticking his head back in through the cab door opening. He shrugged and grinned.

"Just looking to see if you had your fingers crossed, sir, while you said that," he replied. "But I see you didn't, and so that's that. Well, cheerio, and good hunting, and all that sort of thing. Sorry I didn't speak to you sooner."

"That's the kind of tough break we get in our kind of job," Agent Carter said, and made a flip wave with his hand. "So long, until we meet again."

"And let's hope that'll be soon!" Dawson called out as the cab rolled away.

The two air aces stood on the curb until the taxi turned the corner toward Pennsylvania Avenue and was lost to view. Then they impulsively turned and looked at each other.

"Swell fellows, those two," Dawson said. "Wish we could have had more time together. I've always wanted to ask a real honest-to-goodness F.B.I. man a few questions."

"Then those two will never know how lucky they are," Freddy Farmer came right back. "But speaking of questions—"

"Check, and double-check!" Dawson echoed, and started across the sidewalk to the main entrance of the War Department Building. "The sooner we ask them, the sooner we may get an idea as to what the heck is going on."

The door guard stopped them and requested identification papers. They complied by producing their leave papers and the wire from Colonel Welsh. The guard referred to a book on his table desk, and nodded.

"Third floor, Captain," he said, and gave them each a building pass that had to be turned in when they left. "Room Three Twenty-Nine."

The two youths nodded, returned the guard's salute, and headed for the stairway. The door of Room 329 was just like all the other doors on that floor except that it had "Colonel Welsh, Private" painted on the glass. Dawson rapped his knuckles on the glass, and immediately received the summons to enter. Colonel Welsh, Chief of U. S. Armed Forces Intelligence, was seated behind a huge desk that seemed to take up most of the office. He was practically hidden behind a mass of papers, bound reports, and such, piled up all over the desk top.

He glanced up, smiled, pushed back his chair, and rose to come around the end of the desk.

"Welcome to Washington again, you two," he said, and shook hands. "A nice flight down?"

"Fine, sir," Dawson replied. "We had a couple of swell air companions, too. You in charge of the F.B.I. now, Colonel?"

"F.B.I.? Me?" Colonel Welsh echoed. "Hardly! Not as long as J. Edgar Hoover continues to run it so perfectly. But what do you mean?"

Dawson stared hard at the senior officer, and then gave a little sigh.

"Oh, so it's like that, eh?" he murmured. "I thought that maybe you might have had something to do with the two F.B.I. agents who trailed Freddy and me all over New York. I suppose you didn't?"

Colonel Welsh didn't reply at once. He motioned them to chairs and then reseated himself at his desk.

"No, not directly," he said in reply to Dawson's question. "But of course I knew all about it. So you spotted them, eh?""Freddy did," Dawson replied. "I didn't, because I have a clear conscience. We—or Freddy, I mean—called the turn on one of them. He 'fessed up and introduced us to his partner. Naturally, we asked questions, but they didn't, or wouldn't, admit they knew what it was all about."

"If you'll only explain, sir," Freddy Farmer chimed in, "maybe I'll be able to sleep tonight."

"Of course I'll explain, Farmer," the Colonel said with a smile. "As for sleeping tonight, I wouldn't count on it, if I were you. Those F.B.I. men were following you around simply to see if anybody else was following you around, that's all."

"That's all?" Dawson echoed. "Who else would be following us around? And why, for cat's sake? Don't tell me, Colonel, that you really believe some Axis agent might try to get in a bit of personal revenge just because Freddy and I have been lucky on a couple of things! Why, that's—"

"No, that wasn't the idea," the Chief of Intelligence interrupted quietly. "Though I have had that fear more than once. Your being lucky a couple of times, as you so wrongly call it, was most disheartening to certain Japs and certain Nazis, who have long memories. But this recent F.B.I. business was a bit different. I'm not going to give you details, because I'm pledged to utmost secrecy. So don't waste breath asking questions. This much, though, I can tell you. A list of names, compiled by the War Department, was recently turned over to the F.B.I. Your names were on that list, and you've been watched over by F.B.I. men ever since. The reason, as I said, was to see if anybody was following you."

"You mean, sir—" Dawson frowned and hesitated. "You mean—because if they were, it would indicate that the mysterious list of names wasn't as secret as it was supposed to be? That it, sir?"

"That's it exactly, Dawson," the Colonel said. "Nice work to have figured that out, too. That's right—that list is most secret. It has the President's approval, the Secret Service's approval, as well as the okay of the Army, Navy, and Air Forces. It is most secret, and it was the F.B.I.'s job to make absolutely sure by maintaining a constant check on every man on that list. Now does that satisfy you?"

"No, sir," Dawson said with a grin. Then with a shrug: "But you said something about not wasting breath asking for details. However, I could do with a hint, if that's in order."

"It isn't," the Colonel told him instantly. "For once it's my job to assign you to a certain mission without the right to tell you a thing about it. You'll learn soon enough, and when you do, you'll realize why I have to keep my lips silent. This I can and will tell you, though. It'll be a most pleasant mission, and you'll both get a tremendous thrill out of it."

"Well, that's something, anyway," Dawson said. "I'm all for it, whatever it is."

"Quite," Freddy Farmer echoed. Then, with an almost sly look at the Colonel, he asked, "A mission in this country, sir?"

"A mission that will take in several countries, Farmer," the Intelligence Chief replied. "And that is the very last bit of information I'm going to give you. Now just excuse me a couple of minutes while I tend to some of this stuff. Then we'll get along out to Bolling Field."

"Bolling Field, sir?" Dave cried, and leaned forward.

For all the good it did him, he might just as well have yelled at the man in the moon. Colonel Welsh seemed to forget that either Dawson or Farmer existed as he gave all his attention to the paper work on his desk.

It was almost ten minutes later when he signed his name to the last of the papers, collected them, and slipped them into one of the desk drawers which he locked with one of many keys he took from his pocket.

"Sorry it took so long, boys," he said, and reached for his service cap. "All done now, though. So let's go."

The colonel led the way outside, locked his office door, and touched Dawson on the arm as the Yank air ace started along the corridor toward the main stairway.

"No, not that way, Dawson," he said, and pointed a finger the other way. "We're still not taking any chances. Follow me, you two."

Dawson and Farmer did just that. They came out into the Washington night by a small rear door on the ground floor of the War Department Building. There was no guard there, and Colonel Welsh used another key from his bunch to unlock the door. From the door they followed him through a shadow-filled alley, down another one that crossed the first at right angles, and finally out onto a narrow, poorly lighted street, where a car was parked in the deep shadows of some overhanging tree branches."Jump in, you two," Colonel Welsh said, and opened the door. "I think we can all sit in front. I'll be your pilot this time. But on four rubber tires, instead of wings."

"What about our building passes, sir?" Freddy Farmer asked. "Won't the guard—"

"I'll take care of that," the colonel said. "You can explain to him, if you want, when you come back."

"Come back from where, sir?" Dawson asked before he could choke off the question.

"From a lot of places, Dawson," Colonel Welsh said with a chuckle. "From a lot of places. Now, hop in, and enjoy the ride."