"Pretty, pretty, hey, kid?" Dawson grunted, and made a sweeping gesture with one hand.

"What is?" Freddy Farmer murmured absently. "Oh, you mean this California scenery? Yes, it's very nice, but stop talking about it so much, will you? You'll have me believing that you are a native of this state."

"No, dope!" Dave snapped. "I don't mean the scenery, though it really is something. I mean those Flying Fortresses and Liberators, lined up over there. Remember? This is the Los Angeles Air Forces base. We flew up here last night from Dago. We're ferrying one of those jobs out to Pearl. Or don't you remember? Oh, I get it. You're in that kind of a daze, huh?"

"What do you mean, that kind of a daze?" young Farmer demanded. "I was just wondering if ..."

"Sure!" Dawson broke in with a chuckle. "Just what I mean. You're wondering if there's time to slip out to Hollywood so maybe you can get Dorothy Lamour's autograph, and Hedy Lamarr's, and ..."

"Rot! That's kid stuff!" Freddy snorted as his cheeks went a beet red. "Of course ... well, I mean, they are both very lovely ladies, and ..."

"Okay, we'll skip it!" Dave laughed as Freddy started to stammer in his confusion. "We'll pretend you were wondering something else, which your face says you weren't. What was it?"

"Definitely something else, and please go walk into one of those revving propellers, will you!" Freddy said hotly. "Frankly, I was wondering why the vice-admiral sent us up here to fly an Air Forces plane out instead of sending us over by a Navy plane. A Catalina, or a Coronada, for instance."

"I wondered about that myself, for a while," Dave replied, as the smile faded from his lips. "But I think I figured it out."

"All right, master mind!" young Farmer said with a patient sigh when Dawson didn't continue. "I'll be nice and polite, and ask. What did you figure out?"

"That Jap, who hasn't been caught yet, and probably won't be," Dave replied. "He knows very well he didn't kill us, so it's a cinch he figured that we would tell what we knew, which we did. And it's just possible that he was in a position to keep an eye on us. So if he saw us take off in a Navy plane bound for Pearl he would know very well that we heard about his Nazi boy friend heading that way on one of our carriers. I mean, it stands to reason that he doesn't know how much we heard. If he saw us head for Pearl he'd know for sure that we heard plenty, and maybe there is some way he can contact that Nazi. Or even better, contact that rat in Honolulu and have him clear out before the Nazi shows up. In case he's spotted and trailed. See what I mean?"

"Well, you make it just about as clear as mud, but I think I follow you," young Farmer said. "So to throw off the Jap, in case he was watching us, the vice-admiral sent us up here, as though we had been transferred to the Air Forces, eh?"

"Go to the head of the class," Dave said with a nod. "That's just how I figure Vice-Admiral Carter reasoned. To ship us both north to an Air Forces base may give that Jap, if he was watching us, the idea that we hadn't learned a thing."

"Well, we're here, anyway," Freddy Farmer said with a shrug. "A thought comes to me, though."

"Grab it and hang onto it hard, kid," Dawson laughed. "Those things are rare as far as you're concerned, you know."

But Freddy didn't rise to that remark. He stared fixedly at the twenty or more Flying Fortresses and Liberators lined up on the far side of the huge Los Angeles field.

"I wonder if that Nazi fighter pilot is aboard one of those carriers?" he suddenly said in a low voice, as though asking himself the question.

Dawson gulped as he suddenly realized that possibility.

"Sweet tripe!" he gasped. "That is a thought! Maybe, knowing that we were listening, they decided to take the chance of his going aboard. Maybe they ... But nuts! That's crazy!"

"How so?" Freddy questioned.

"Well, look at it," Dave argued, and gestured with one hand. "That Nazi was all set as a fighter pilot aboard a Yank carrier. For him to jump ship, and not sail, would make him a marked man for sure. You don't miss your ship, and just walk into the Naval District commandant, and laugh it off. You catch plenty. And in his case, if he jumped ship he certainly wouldn't report to the Naval commandant. He'd make tracks in the opposite direction. And his place as a spy in our forces would be gone forever. No, I think he took the chance and sailed with her."

"There's one way we could find out," Freddy said. "Let's phone Vice-Admiral Carter. He can certainly find out in a minute if either of the carriers sailed with a fighter pilot missing. Or if one took a replacement aboard at the last minute."

"Hey, nix!" Dawson cried in alarm. "Call him and find out that a carrier did sail with one fighter pilot less? And that there was no sense for us to fly to Pearl? And get recalled to Dago to go on instructing Navy pilots? Are you nuts, Freddy? It may only be Pearl Harbor, but that's twenty-four hundred miles nearer the war than we are right now! Do you want to go back and...?"

"No, certainly not, Dave," young Farmer interrupted quietly. "But it doesn't happen to be a matter of where we want to go. It's what we can do to help. If that Nazi didn't sail, then perhaps the vice-admiral would want us to stick around to maybe identify a suspect that was picked up later. After all ..."

"Okay, okay, you win!" Dawson groaned. "We better put it up to the vice-admiral, and find out what he has to say about it. We can phone from the Administration Building over there. But if he didn't sail, and we hoof it back to Dago, just don't bother speaking to me for the next twenty years, will you?"

"And will you listen to the chap who just a couple of days ago was quite content to wait patiently for his next good break in this war!" Freddy Farmer jeered as he dropped into step.

"Yeah, but that was a couple of days ago!" Dave growled. "I'm just hoping that the chance hasn't come and gone on account of your bright little suggestion."

"Well, I still think we should call him," Freddy said doggedly. "And so do you, and you know it!"

"Oh, go walk a wing!" Dave mumbled. "Sure I do. And that's what burns me up!"

Forty-five minutes later Dawson and Freddy Farmer were back on the flying field, grinning from ear to ear, and walking over toward the Operations Office.

"Boy! Do I feel like a new man!" Dave said, and let out a happy sigh. "I sure was worried while that call was being put through. Not that I don't like Dago, you understand. It's a swell town, but right now I could do with some of the war."

"Me, too," Freddy said with a chuckle. "To tell the truth I was on pins and needles, too. But everything is all right now. The carrier force sailed with every fighter pilot aboard, so we're to carry on according to plan."

"Check, and double check," Dave echoed, and started up the steps of the Operations Office. "Pearl Harbor, here we come! I hope they give us a good crate to fly. What do you want, Freddy, a Fortress or a Liberator?"

"Either one will suit me," the English-born air ace replied. "Both are pukka airplanes. I ..."

Young Farmer stopped short as a field orderly came running up.

"Captains Dawson and Farmer?" he panted when he reached them.

"I'm Dawson," Dave said with a nod. "What's the matter, Sergeant?"

"The Naval Air Base at San Diego just called back," the non-com said. "Vice Admiral Carter wants to speak with either one of you officers."

Dave scowled, and then looked wide-eyed at Freddy.

"What do you suppose now?" he murmured.

Young Farmer shrugged, but a worried look stole into his eyes.

"I haven't the faintest," he said. Then, looking at the non-com, he asked, "Can we take that call in here, or do we have to go over to Administration?"

"I can have it transferred over here, sir," the sergeant said, and pushed open the door of the Operations Office. "Follow me, please."

A few minutes later Dave and Freddy were listening at a single receiver to Vice-Admiral Carter's voice at the other end of the wire.

"I want you two to take off just as soon as you possibly can," the Naval base commandant told them. "Don't delay a minute longer than you have to. I've already spoken to the field commandant there, and he has assured me that you don't have to wait and go with the group that's flying over. So as soon as you hang up get busy, and get on your way. You will be met by a responsible officer when you reach your destination. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir," Dawson spoke for the two of them. And then after a split second's hesitation, he added, "May I ask why, sir? I mean, has something unexpected happened?"

"Not exactly," the voice at the other end of the wire said. "It's simply that I don't want anything unexpected to happen. The other one we were hunting down here has turned up. At least it would seem that he has. It was reported to me just ten minutes ago that one of our planes was stolen shortly after you two took off last night."

"A plane swiped?" Dawson blurted out before he could check himself. "What do you mean, sir? Who stole it?"

"Positive identification was not made," the vice-admiral replied. "But the guard, who was wounded, gives a description that might be our man. He was shot through the neck by a man in civilian clothes. The light was bad, of course, and the guard didn't have the chance to get a good look at his assailant, but he says he could be either Mexican, or Jap. And of course he was Jap. The Jap!"

"And you mean, sir, you think he's shadowed us up here?" Dawson asked.

"Quite probable," was the instant reply. "He could land his stolen plane any number of places up there, and not be seen, and make his way to your field on foot. Of course, it may not be that way at all, but we can't take any chances that it isn't. So get going, you two. Get your plane away from there at once, and good luck."

"Yes, sir, and thank you, sir," Dave murmured, and hung up the receiver.

He turned his head and looked at Freddy Farmer's wide eyes, and tried to smile, but it wasn't very much of an effort.

"Well, what do you know?" he breathed. "If it is that rat, then he's a pilot, and he's catching our smoke. Gives you a funny kind of feeling, doesn't it?"

"Quite!" Freddy Farmer grunted, and ran a tongue across his lips. "Makes a chap feel like the witness of a murder, and the murderer still at large, and hunting you down so's you'll never be able to tell."

"Yeah, something like that," Dawson nodded with a shaky little laugh. "But I wonder, though. I mean, we've been here quite a spell, and we haven't bothered looking behind us. If he's here, and has his gun, he's certainly had a lot of chances to let us both have it in the back. I wonder why not?"

"Well, stop wondering!" Freddy Farmer muttered, and got to his feet. "Let's do as the vice-admiral orders, and get away from this place."

"But fast!" Dave echoed with a grim nod. "Suddenly I've had all I want of California for a spell, anyway!"