"Well?" the quiet voice of Yammanato came to him, after a period of time which seemed to be no less than a hundred years. "Do you believe me, now? Or do you think I printed this myself for a little joke?"

Dawson didn't say a thing, and neither did Freddy Farmer. It is doubtful if at that moment either of them could have spoken a word, even at the cost of their lives. The blackest and most inexcusable failure possible was theirs. It was complete and utter defeat for them. Every single step they had taken had been a step downhill toward failure and disgrace. They had failed Vice-Admiral Carter, and they had failed Vice-Admiral Stone, and Commander Drake. And they had failed themselves. From the very moment the lightning had struck them as they crouched outside that shack near San Diego they had not done one single thing that wasn't the wrong thing to do. Twice doom had reached for them, and missed. But not the third time. It was all over now. They had failed. To the end of their days they would not be able to hold their heads up among men. It would be far better if ...

"Good fortune is a fickle woman, Captain Dawson," Yammanato spoke again, as Dawson caught himself swaying like a drunken man. "She belongs to no one, for always. Even I have suffered from her fickle ways at times. But in your case you were doomed to lose. You were mere boys trying to beat men. To beat men who will one day become masters of the entire world. So do not let your sorrow and anger at yourself rob you of your desire to live. It was inevitable, this thing. You two were but two pawns to be taken and removed from the game. We Japanese have made this thing happen to others before, and we will make it happen to still more in the future."

The pitch-black mood still engulfed Dawson, but he forced himself to rally his thoughts, and to regain control of them. He looked at Yammanato and regarded him, flint-eyed.

"Taking a couple of tricks isn't winning the whole game, Yammanato," he said with an effort. "Okay, we didn't catch that spy aboard the carrier, and the force has sailed. You forget the other thing. The other job we did accomplish!"

The little Jap just looked at him and smiled pleasantly.

"How many times, Captain Dawson?" he asked with arched eyebrows.

"How many times, what?" Dawson retorted.

"How many times has the famous American tendency to bluff been successful with you?" the Jap shot right back at him. "Another job? Well, somehow I find myself not even curious any more, Captain Dawson. Simply talking with you has satisfied me completely. There was no other job, and we all know that now."

"No?" Dawson flung at him. "That's a horse on you, Yammanato! If nothing was bothering you, Farmer and I wouldn't be alive now. It's not the Japrat way to let their prisoners go on living for nothing. It won't work, Yammanato. And I do mean your bluff!"

The little Jap continued to smile, and then suddenly he looked almost sad and a little reproachful.

"I am afraid you have absorbed too much American propaganda," he said softly. "Not all Japanese are alike in the matter of waging war ... and winning. There are many like I am. The thrill of the battle is not death for my enemies. It is the defeat and the complete humiliation of the enemy that pleases me most. Why have you not long since been dead? I will gladly tell you, Captains Dawson and Farmer. Because killing you would not bring me half the joy or the satisfaction of letting you live to return to Vice-Admiral Stone, and Commander Drake, as two items of proof that their stupidity is no less than your own. Your deaths would mean nothing to me because I have nothing against you as individuals. You are, as I have said, merely two pawns that I have won, and which it pleases me to return to the loser ... for what you are worth. No, I have no desire at all to kill you. In a week, or two weeks, or perhaps longer, you will be drugged again and returned to the very spot where we captured you. I will have left the Islands by then. Of course, if when you again awake from the drugs, you wish to take your own lives, that is something that will be out of my hands. But I have a feeling that you will not do that. You Americans appear to have one admirable quality, stupid as it is. You find it difficult to realize when you are defeated."

The Jap stopped talking, smiled broadly, and made a little gesture with his hands, palms upward.

"And now I must leave you," he said. "No, you are not to be tied up again. Kato is a little over-zealous on some things. You are free to move about this room as you wish. Blankets will be given you to sleep on. There is already some furniture here. Make what use of it you like. I am sure you will have no complaint about the food we will give you. No, your confinement will not be too severe a hardship in a physical sense. And one more thing. If you are overcome with the desire to escape from this room, you are quite welcome to try. Kato! Come with me."

Yammanato raised his voice slightly on the last, and then calmly turned his back on the two air aces and walked toward the door. Wild madness seized hold of Dawson and he was tempted to fling himself at the little Jap. But he had just enough cold, hard common sense left not to make the slightest move in that direction. Kato was sidling around them, his jet black eyes glittering and alert. And Dawson knew that the giant son of Nippon had the power in either hand to snuff out his life with a single blow. So he stood stock-still and inwardly prayed that Freddy Farmer would do the same. And Freddy did.

As he reached the door Yammanato turned and looked back at them inquiringly.

"There is something else," he said. "Or maybe there isn't. Have either of you a reasonable request to make? Say, something that might add to the comfort of your visit? After all, you can expect to be my guests for a considerable length of time."

Dawson started to shake his head, and hot, blistering words rose up in his throat. But at that very instant the glimmer of an insane hope winked in his brain.

"Yes, I've a request, Yammanato," he said, and pointed upward. "The stink in this place would suffocate me in a day. How about opening that skylight and letting some fresh air into the place?"

The small Jap's eyes flew to the window, and Dawson could tell he was gauging its height. Suddenly he lowered his eyes to Dawson's face and smiled and nodded.

"Certainly, Captain Dawson," he said. "I will have Kato open it at once. Even by piling up the furniture I do not think you could reach it. But if you can ... my very best wishes, Captain. It is sixty feet from that skylight to the ground, and nothing but sheer wall. Nor does that let out on any roof. It is simply an opening in the side of the building. For ventilation, of course. Kato! Open that skylight."

The big Japanese hesitated while the shadow of a scowl passed across his face, and then he went over to the side wall and unhooked the pair of lines that controlled the skylight. He pulled down on one hard and the hinged window opened with a rusty squeak. Then he yanked viciously on both lines and they parted in a shower of dust high up by the skylight. Rolling up the lines that dropped to the floor, the big Jap stuffed them in his pocket and glared at Dawson and Freddy Farmer. Yammanato laughed softly.

"I'm afraid that Kato has more confidence in your ability to escape, Captains, than I have," he said. "But now if it rains you will probably get wet."

"We won't mind," Dawson said with a stiff grin. "And thanks for the fresh air, Yammanato. It's certainly needed around here."

The polished Jap gave him a brief smile, a longer searching look, and then nodded and went outside with Kato at his heels. The big brute of a Jap jerked the door shut with a bang, and the two air aces heard both the key twisting in the lock, and a bolt ramming home. Then all was silent again.

But not quite completely silent. There were faint, new sounds that came to their ears as the two youths stood there in their room prison. Sounds that came down through the skylight high above their heads. The faint murmurs and whispers of a city of some one hundred and thirty-five thousand population. The sounds of Honolulu. They both listened to the sounds for a moment, and then looked at each other.

"Too bad we didn't go down in flames in that Fortress!" young Farmer broke the silence between them bitterly. "What a blasted mess we've made of everything. Gosh! I was never so disgusted with anybody as I am with myself right now!"

"Yeah," Dawson mumbled with a grimace. "I'm sure not in love with me, that's a cinch. The carrier force already two days at sea, and that Nazi rat still aboard one of the ships! When he proved that to us it hit me as hard as hearing that we'd lost the war."

Freddy Farmer gloomily agreed with a silent nod, and not words. Dawson bit his lower lip in meditation, balled one clenched fist into the palm of the other hand, and cast furtive glances at young Farmer out of the corner of an eye.

"Are you game, Freddy?" he presently asked in a low voice.

The English-born air ace jerked his head around and looked at him puzzled.

"Game for what?" he demanded. "What do you mean?"

"Taking our chances on getting out of here," Dawson said. "Everything looks like it's been sunk to the bottom. Heaven knows but what that Nazi rat has tossed half a dozen water flares over the side by now. But ... well, until I'm dead and gone I'll never give up trying, at least. No matter how much of a fool I've made of myself to date. Besides, there's always the chance that something lucky for us might happen."

Freddy Farmer made an angry gesture with his hands as Dawson paused.

"If you've got something to say, Dave, for heaven's sake then say it!" he bit off. "What are you working up to, I'd like to know? What do you mean, take our chances on getting out of here? You know perfectly well I'd risk anything to get out of this hole. But how? It's impossible! We even haven't a gun between us to shoot the lock and bolt off that door. And even if he was lying about the window being sixty feet from the ground, how are we going to get up there? Fly?"

"Close that trap of yours, and keep your shirt on, and you'll find out!" Dawson said sharply, but placed his arm on Freddy's shoulder. "I've got a key, see? This. Don't even know how it got into my pocket. Felt it in the lining as Yammanato was leaving. That's why I asked for him to raise the window. Look."

As Dawson spoke he pulled a match from his pocket and held it up. Wild hope had blossomed on Freddy Farmer's face, but it faded out in a flash as he stared at the match. He switched agonized eyes to Dawson's face.

"Don't, Dave, please!" he said in a voice that was close to breaking. "This isn't the time for leg pulling, or any of your funny gags. Please, old man! It only makes me feel worse, and ..."

"Stop it, will you?" Dawson barked. "Sweet tripe! Do you think I'm wasting time kidding, now! Don't be a dope. This little match is a hope for us ... I hope. Now, give me a hand lifting the table and stuff, that's here, over by the door. First thing is to block them off from getting in. No, save the questions. Just give me a hand, Freddy. And I'm not crazy, so help me!"

Freddy Farmer closed his mouth with an effort, and together they lifted a heavy table, two chairs, and a bamboo chest affair, across the room and wedged them as best they could against the door.

"Okay," Dawson said when that was done. "Peel off your tunic and shirt and tear them into strips. I'm going to do the same just as soon as I get old rags and papers over there in the corner."

But Freddy Farmer didn't move. He simply stood rooted in his tracks and stared at Dawson as though he believed his pal had suddenly gone stark, raving mad. He was still standing there rooted in his tracks when Dawson returned with an armful of filthy rags and old papers that he had gathered up from the corner of the room. He placed them in a pile close to the side wall and directly under the skylight. Then he straightened up and took off his own tunic and shirt, and started ripping them down the seams.

"Get yours off, Freddy!" he said. "Get them off fast. Don't you get the idea of the match, now?"

"No, I do not!" young Farmer replied, and fumbled with his buttons. "Unless you intend to set the house on fire?"

"No, just this pile of rags, cloth, and old papers," Dawson said, and motioned for Freddy to toss him his tunic. "And unless I miss my guess it will make plenty of smoke."

"Smoke?" Freddy fairly gagged. "Good grief, why?"

Dawson looked at him, and smiled.

"Boy, you sure are slow on the uptake today, pal," he said and pointed a finger upward. "That skylight. It's a natural for a chimney. If we can make enough smoke it will go pouring out of there. Maybe we'll even have to break up some of those chairs and toss the pieces on the fire. But we want lots of smoke to go pouring out of that skylight for people to see."

"Why, bless me!" Freddy Farmer ejaculated. "It'll ..."

"Absolutely, my friend," Dawson said grimly. "Somebody's going to see the smoke, think the place is on fire, and pull in the alarm. And if we can keep enough smoke pouring out it's going to be plenty embarrassing for Mr. Yammanato when the fire department, and the police, start banging on his front door. In fact I hope it gives him, and every one of the rats in this place, a permanent case of heart failure. Anyway, it'll be an out for us, at least."

"Boy, the things you can think up!" Freddy Farmer cried softly as he practically tore his shirt from his back. "I always said you had the brains of a dozen people."

"Well, you've said it once, just now, anyway," Dawson grinned, and tossed Farmer's ripped tunic on the pile. "But let's say a silent prayer that that skylight doesn't act as a down-draft. Okay, Freddy, toss the rest of it on. I'm going to set her alight."

"Just a minute!" young Farmer stopped him. And then after he had closed his eyes tight for a moment, and had opened them, and nodded, he said soberly. "Right-o, Dave. Strike the match, and start the stuff burning."