"Well?" Freddy Farmer demanded as he leaned across the dining table toward Dawson. "Did I have a pipe dream, or not? Did you see who just came in and sat down?"

"Yeah," Dawson grunted, and buttered a roll. "Your pal in gray. I wonder what's the big idea?"

"So do I!" Freddy echoed instantly. "And I've half a mind to go over right now and ask him. The beggar is beginning to give me the creeps. He doesn't look foreign, though."

"Hey, come out of your spin, pal!" Dawson chuckled. "What do you think this is, Gestapo stuff?"

Freddy Farmer looked at Dawson and smiled slowly.

"I wouldn't know, old thing," he said. "You see, this isn't England, so I wouldn't know for sure what kind of funny business was afoot."

"Ouch!" Dawson yipped softly, and flung up an arm in front of his face. "Right in the eye, that time. You're improving each day with your snappy come-back, my young friend. Keep it up, and you'll be the life of the party some day. Well, I guess that's all the fodder I want right now. How's for a stroll around in the beautiful January snow, huh? But it's probably slush by now, and—Hey! I almost forgot! You think I'm paying for your meal, don't you? Well—"

"Of course not!" Freddy Farmer cut in quickly. "And just to show my heart's in the right place, I'll even pay for both of us."

"I wonder if there's a doctor in the house?" Dawson murmured, and stared hard at the English youth. "Sure you feel all right, Freddy?"

"Never felt better," the other replied. "Wait just a moment, will you, old thing? I'll be right back."

Before Dawson could ask questions, Freddy got up from his chair and walked quickly across the dining room and down the broad flight of carpeted steps to the lobby. Dawson blinked, then took a sip of water, and glanced over at the man in gray. The mysterious stranger was looking toward the lobby, and was in the act of pushing himself up out of his chair. He seemed to change his mind, however. He shot a quick look over Dawson's way, then settled back in his chair and went to work on a piece of pie the waiter had placed in front of him.

"That bird sure is plenty interested in Freddy," Dawson muttered to himself, and frowned. "I wonder what the heck's cooking around here, anyway?"

He played with that thought for two or three minutes, but was unable to get any place. And then as he happened to glance toward the dining-room lobby entrance, he saw Freddy Farmer standing there and beckoning to him urgently. Dawson raised questioning eyebrows, took a look toward the man in gray, got up from his chair, and started to leave the table. He had taken but two steps when the waiter appeared at his elbow.

"The check, Captain," the waiter said politely.

"Oh, yeah," Dawson murmured absently, and glanced at the total. He pulled some money from his pocket and gave it to the waiter. "There you are," he murmured again, and hurried over to the lobby entrance to the dining room where Freddy was waiting.

The English-born air ace greeted him with a grin like a Cheshire cat.

"And let that be a lesson to you, my good fellow," Freddy said with an emphatic nod of his head.

"Says which?" Dawson grunted, and gave him a blank look.

Freddy Farmer patted his stomach and licked his lips.

"A delicious meal, quite!" he breathed. "I hope you gave the waiter a decent tip. But, knowing you, I doubt it."

Dawson started violently, and his jaw dropped.

"Well, you little I-don't-know-what!" he eventually exploded. "Stuck me for the meal, didn't you? I knew darn well you must have had something in mind when you gave your last two bucks to those soldiers. You play the big-hearted big shot to them, and I get stuck for your two bucks' worth of food!"

"Oh, I wouldn't say that," Freddy Farmer chuckled. "Just say it's your share in the lease-lend agreement between America and England. I'll pay you back some day, too."

"Yeah!" Dawson sneered. "When I'm a hundred and six and have lost all my teeth. When I can eat only soup instead of a thick steak like I just bought for you. But you just wait, my little bowlegged pet! I'll—Oh-oh! The man in gray, eh?" Dawson added the last because of the flinty look that had suddenly leaped into Farmer's eyes.

"Quite!" Freddy murmured. "And I'm jolly well sick of this hide-and-seek business. I'm going to find out what the blighter's up to. I detest shadows, excepting my own."

With a grim nod Freddy Farmer stepped past Dawson and walked over toward the man in gray who was just leaving the dining room. Dawson impulsively swung around and followed him. The man in gray acted as though he did not see Freddy, but the English youth stopped in front of him, barring his way.

"Have you been wishing to speak to me, sir?" Freddy asked quietly. "Is that why you've been following me all over town all day?"

The man in gray looked blank for a moment. Then he shrugged and gave Freddy a friendly smile.

"It has been rather obvious, hasn't it, Captain Farmer?" he said as both Freddy and Dawson stared at him, dumbfounded. "But you went to a lot of places where I couldn't help but show myself. I guess you've had enough experience to guess when you're being trailed. The name is Carter, Captain."

As the man in gray introduced himself, he slipped something out of his pocket and held it cupped in his hand so both youths could see it. They took a good look at the gold F.B.I. badge and quickly raised their eyes to the man's face.

"The F.B.I. no less!" Dawson breathed. "What's up? Is Farmer wanted by the F.B.I.—I hope?"

The man chuckled and shook his head.

"No," he said. "Neither of you are, in fact. The two of us just had orders to keep an eye on you both."

"'Two of us'?" Dave echoed sharply. "You mean—" He let the rest go as the F.B.I. agent nodded.

"That's right, Captain Dawson," he said quietly, and made a faint gesture toward the other side of the lobby. "My partner has been looking after you, while I tried to keep up with Captain Farmer here. If Captain Farmer hadn't returned to the dining room, I'd have taken on the job of sticking with you, and my partner would have tackled Captain Farmer. Frankly, I would have enjoyed the change. But now—"

The F.B.I. agent grinned and shrugged.

"But now that the cat's out of the bag," he said, "suppose we stop playing cops and robbers and make it a foursome? My partner got tickets right behind your seats for the hockey game tonight. We're also staying at your hotel. Or would you rather be alone? Now don't be afraid that you'll hurt my feelings. I'll understand. After all, a couple of fellows on leave have their rights, you know."

"Yeah, sure, of course," Dawson mumbled absently, not quite sure if he was in the middle of a dream or not. "Sure, sure it's okay by Freddy and me. But—but look, sir. I mean, what's all the big idea? Why should the F.B.I. want to follow us around? I don't get it."

"To be perfectly frank, neither do I," Agent Carter made the amazing reply. "All I know is that two days ago we were given orders to come up from Washington, register at your hotel, and keep an eye on you two."

"But for what?" Freddy Farmer asked. "You mean you were to guard us from harm, or some such silly rot?"

"I wouldn't exactly call it silly rot, Captain," the F.B.I. man said gravely. "After all, you two are marked men, in a way. I mean by that, you've been thorns in the side of Axis Intelligence more than once since this Second World War started. Not that personal revenge by enemy agents in this country is to be expected. Yet, on the other hand, there's no sense in regarding it as impossible."

"Well, I'll be darned!" Dawson gulped. "But that's just plain screwy. Why, I can name several dozen famous soldiers in this war that the Axis would love to get a million times more than they'd want to get us. Do you mean that everybody who's got in a few pokes at the Axis has an F.B.I. escort when he goes on leave?"

"Hardly," Agent Carter said with a smile. "Let's say that you two happen to be special cases. Why, you can search me. Lots of times we're given orders, and we have no idea what's behind them. Let's go over and meet my partner. Or is my suggestion of a moment ago out?"

"No," Dawson replied. "I told you it was okay by us. Besides, maybe your partner can tell us things.""If he can, he won't," Agent Carter said. "You can count on that, I'm afraid. His name is Hickson, and it so happens that he's a rabid Ranger fan. He comes from this town. Let's go over."

Still not quite sure that he wasn't being made the goat of some crazy gag, Dawson walked with Agent Carter and Freddy Farmer across the lobby to where a thin, almost sickly-looking man of uncertain years was seated in a chair reading a newspaper. He put down his paper and smiled as the trio approached. It was then Dawson had a vague feeling he had seen that thin face somewhere quite recently. Then as Agent Carter made the introductions, it came to Dawson. Agent Hickson had been the man next in line behind him when he had bought tickets for the hockey game. As he shook hands and mumbled some pleasantry, Dave realized he had seen that thin face other places, too, during the day.

"Did I give you as much trouble, Agent Hickson," he asked, "as Farmer seems to have given Agent Carter?"

"No, Captain," the other replied with a twinkle in his eye. "And don't ever go in for crime. You'd be a cinch.""With those big flat feet, it would be obvious!" Freddy Farmer chuckled, as the red climbed into Dawson's face.

"Okay, okay!" Dave growled and grinned at the same time. "I'm not like you, with things on your conscience! So naturally I wouldn't even give it a thought that anybody was following me. But look, Agent Hickson, can you add anything to what Agent Carter has told us? Which was absolutely nothing."

"I'm afraid I can't, Captain." Hickson smiled, and shook his head. "Carter and I are just a couple of slaves who do what we're told and ask no questions."

"But you do know something, only you won't tell us, what?" Freddy Farmer pressed the issue.

The F.B.I. man shook his head again and made a little cross mark over his heart.

"I honestly don't know a thing," he said, "except that I like this particular job. I'm from New York, you know. And I'm a hockey fan, in case Carter hasn't told you."

"He has," Dawson grinned, and glanced at his wrist watch. "And I sort of go for the game, myself. It's hours, though, before game time. Anybody have any suggestions what to do until then? Listen, Freddy! Eating is strictly out, at least for a couple of hours!"

"You don't have to shout, old thing; I hear you," the English youth replied. "Yes, I have a suggestion. I've been meaning to see that United Nations display they have at Radio City. What say we go back to the hotel and clean up a bit? These blasted American shoes I bought yesterday are killing me."

Dawson started to shake his head, but instantly checked the movement. A gleam leaped into his eyes.

"Fair enough," he said. "I could do with a clean shirt myself. Come on. We'll take a cab."

During the cab ride across town to the hotel, they talked of this and that and nothing in particular. When the cab pulled up in front of the hotel, Dawson opened the door, let the two F.B.I. men get out ahead of him, and got out quickly himself, leaving Freddy Farmer the last to alight. Without so much as a look over his shoulder, Dawson linked arms with the two F.B.I. men and hurried them up the steps into the hotel.

"Dave!" he heard Freddy Farmer call out. "Oh, I say, Dave!"

The two F.B.I. men wanted to stop, but Dawson practically pushed them through the doors."It's okay," he chuckled. "Just his turn to be left holding the bag. He'll be right in. You'll see."

That was exactly the case. A moment later Freddy came hurrying inside, flush-faced, with a very hard-eyed taxicab driver right at his heels.

"I say, Dave!" the English youth panted. "You know I haven't a bean on me. Let me have—"

"We're all broke!" Dawson said coldly. "You were last out, anyway. Go over to the desk, borrow the fare, and have it put on your bill. I'll see if there's any mail for us. Meet you upstairs in our room."

Freddy Farmer glared and pursed his lips as though he were striving to hold back the blistering words that rose in his throat.

The cab driver looked at him and scowled darkly. "How's about it, General?" he growled. "I can't keep my hack out front all afternoon!"

"Oh yes, quite," Freddy said. "Come along!"

After giving a look that should have raised third-degree burns on the Yank pilot's face, Freddy went over to the lobby desk and spoke to the clerk. Bursting with inner laughter, Dawson watched Freddy's face grow redder and redder as the desk clerk gave him the fishy eye. Then the clerk went into the manager's office. He came right out, though, yanked open a desk drawer, and handed a bill to Freddy.

"Now I have got to watch my step, and how!" Dawson chuckled, and walked over to the mail window.

There was something in the box. It was a telegram addressed to them both. Dave ripped it open and was reading the message just as Freddy Farmer came over. The wire read:

"And so what?" Dave asked, looking at Freddy Farmer.

"So leave it over, I fancy," the English youth murmured with a frown. "I wonder what now?"

"You do the guessing; I'm stumped," Dawson said, glancing up quickly as Agents Carter and Hickson came over.

There was a telegram in Agent Carter's hand. Agent Hickson looked as though he had just lost his last friend."So we all take an airplane ride instead, eh?" Agent Carter said, and nodded at the wire in Dawson's hand.

"You too?" Dave questioned.

"Right," Agent Carter replied. "There are four reservations waiting for us at La Guardia."

"Wouldn't you know!" Agent Hickson groaned and shook his head sadly. "Wouldn't you know I was nuts to think I could mix pleasure with business!"