For a long, long time Dave Dawson stared at the limitless expanse of cream white. And then little by little the throbbing ache ceased to befuddle his brain, and he became conscious of the fact that the expanse of cream white was the ceiling of a room. He also became conscious of the fact that he was flat on his back in a bed, and that the countless smells of a hospital were in his nostrils. To his right was a window, and when he slowly turned his head on the pillow he found himself staring out at the clear blue, cloudless California sky. He closed his eyes for a moment, but when he opened them again the scene was still the same.

"What the heck!" he heard his own voice mumble. "What happened, and what am I doing in a hospital?"

"Well, it's jolly well time you woke up!" spoke the voice of Freddy Farmer in his ear. "Don't tell me you got hit that hard. You've been snoring for hours. How are you, old thing?"

Dawson turned his head to the other side and blinked in amazement at young Farmer propped up on one elbow in a bed next to his. Freddy's face was slightly pale around the edges, and there was a patch of surgeon's plaster just above his right eye, but the English-born air ace was grinning from ear to ear.

"Boy, what did you stop with that iron skull of yours, kid?" Dave mumbled. "But never mind that. First tell me what gives around here, anyway? The old brain seems to have gone off on a little solo flight. I can't seem to remember a single thing that.... Hey! Wait a minute! That shack! We ..."

"Quite!" Freddy Farmer interrupted with a grimace. "And here we are. You and I are a couple of dopes, Dave. We were so blasted interested in what was going on inside that shack that neither of us gave a thought to what was going on outside. And so we got bashed good and proper. The blighter wearing civilian clothes did it, I'm sure. The one who was a Jap. I got just a flash look at him before the gun he held in his hand bounced off your head and connected with mine."

"The dirty rat!" Dawson grated, as more memories came flooding back. "He must have heard us, or seen us through the crack in those wall boards, and slipped out while that other guy was looking at the map. Hey, Freddy! That other guy! He was a Navy pilot! An ensign!"

"I know," Freddy replied grimly. "I saw that, too. And the dirty beggar's Nazi. Gosh, we sure made a mess of things, Dave. I feel like a blasted fool for being caught so easily."

"You don't feel any worse than I do!" Dawson muttered, and gingerly fingered the patch of surgeon's plaster that he discovered on his left temple. "But how did we get here? And it's full daylight outside! Have we been out cold this long, or did we come to and walk back to here? This is the Naval Base Hospital, isn't it? And ..."

"Slow up, old chap!" Freddy Farmer stopped him with a raised hand. "Don't ask so many questions at once. In fact, just shut up and I'll tell you all I know. I woke up earlier this morning, and an hour or so later Vice-Admiral Carter came in to have a talk with me, and ..."

"Vice-Admiral Carter?" Dawson gasped, and half sat up in spite of the stab of white pain that cut through his left temple. "Do you mean the base commandant?"

"Are there two by the same name?" young Farmer snapped. "And will you please shut up while I try to tell you?"

"Okay, okay!" Dave growled. "Go ahead. But skip the trimmings. Just give me the facts."

"I'll give it to you as I jolly well see fit!" Freddy shot right back at him, but tempered it with a grin. "Well, Vice-Admiral Carter came in to find out from me what had happened. Did you know, Dave, that we're mighty lucky to be alive?"

"Well, every time I move my head quick, I don't feel so doggone lucky," Dawson grunted. "Then what?"

"Well, it seems fairly evident that we both would have been done in proper by that Jap, if he had been given more time," young Farmer said. "But it seems that one of the managers of the orange groves happened by just at that moment. He saw the Jap, but didn't recognize him as such. Thought he was a tramp trying to find out what he could steal from the shacks."

"Name one thing that even a tramp would want out of that hole," Dave said. "You saw the inside, didn't you? And ... Okay, Okay! I'm sorry, sweetheart. Go ahead and talk."

"Just interrupt me once more with that big mouth of yours, and you can jolly well sing for the truth!" Freddy warned. "Well, he called out to the Jap, and the Jap fired a shot at him. He missed, but the manager didn't give him the chance for a second shot. He dropped flat on his face, and when he got nerve enough to poke his head up for a look, it was just in time to see the Jap, and the chap in uniform, disappear over the brow of the next hill. And when the manager got up enough nerve to give chase—and blessed if I blame him, in view of the fact that he had no gun—it was much, much too late. So he came back and found us, listening to the birdies singing, as you would put it. He went down the valley to the nearest phone and called the base. They sent out an ambulance for us. The vice-admiral assured me that neither of us has a fracture of any kind, just a bad bump, so they let us more or less sleep it off."

"Well, that was white of them, anyway," Dave said. "I suppose you told the vice-admiral the story?"

"No," Freddy replied. "I started to, but the old brain was still spinning too much. The vice-admiral told me to rest up some more, and that he would come back when both of us could talk. I told him about the ensign and the carrier, though. And that worried him no end, too!"

"And why not?" Dawson said, as his heart began to pound. "If this is the next day, then the carrier has sailed!"

"I suppose so," Freddy muttered. "I didn't have the chance to ask the vice-admiral. He left in a hurry, and ..."

Young Farmer stopped short as the door of their room suddenly opened and the base commandant, followed by a Navy senior surgeon, stepped inside. The grim look on Vice-Admiral Carter's face faded the instant he saw they were both awake. A smile flashed across his rugged face, and he lifted one hand, and gave a little shake of his head.

"Relax, both of you," he said. "We can do without formality here. Well, Dawson, I see that you have come around, too. How do you feel?"

"Not too bad, sir," Dave replied, and grinned. "I'm sorry I was out of it the other time."

"Ah, so Farmer told you of my other visit, eh?" the base commandant murmured, and perched himself on the end of Dawson's bed. "Well, if you both feel up to it now, I want to have a talk with you. What about it, Commander? Is it all right?"

The vice-admiral addressed the last to the navy surgeon who had entered with him, and he received an immediate reply in the affirmative.

"Oh, yes, sir," the officer said. Then with a little laugh, "They both have pretty tough heads, for which they can certainly be thankful."

"Thankful in more ways than one," the vice-admiral grunted, and Dave had the feeling he was thinking of how that Jap had been scared away from completing the job. "Now," the senior officer continued, and looked from one to the other, "let's have the complete story as nearly as you can remember it. And try to remember everything, if you possibly can. The situation is mighty serious. Mighty grave."

Ten minutes later Dave and Freddy Farmer had finished relating every detail of their experience. Each had confirmed the other's story and had added one or two overlooked details. Vice-Admiral Carter listened through to the very end without once interrupting with a question. Now he sat perched on the end of Dawson's bed balling one clenched fist into the palm of the other hand, and scowling thoughtfully down at his movements.

"There's one thing I want both of you to think about hard," he finally broke the silence. "It's just possible that it may have skipped both your minds thus far. The name of that pilot's carrier. Did he or the Jap mention it?"

Dave and Freddy looked questioningly at each other. Then they both looked at the base commandant and shook their heads.

"No, sir," Dave spoke for them both. "The name of his carrier wasn't mentioned once. But I can tell you what one it was, sir. I mean, he said that it was sailing tonight. I mean, last night. So all you have to do is ..."

Dawson stopped as the vice-admiral shook his head.

"No, sir?" he echoed.

"No, Dawson," the base commandant said bitterly. "We can't find it out that way, unfortunately. All three carriers sailed last night. That pilot didn't know. He only knew that his carrier was to sail, naturally. But all three were scheduled to sail. And they did."

"But his was sailing for Pearl Harbor, sir!" Freddy Farmer spoke up. "So the one that ..."

"That's no good, either," the vice-admiral interrupted. "The entire three-carrier force is bound for Pearl Harbor. En route they will work out a battle problem, and then proceed to Pearl Harbor to take aboard two torpedo and two dive-bomber squadrons, that are waiting there. This ensign pilot—this rotten Nazi—just what did he look like? If either of you can give me a detailed description, perhaps a radio to each of the carriers will make it possible for us to catch our man before the force reaches Pearl. Just what did he look like?"

"That's just the point, sir," Dave Dawson said sadly, when Freddy Farmer didn't speak. "We saw him only in profile, and the light was bad. I didn't see a single thing unusual about him. I mean, sir, he looked just like hundreds of other pilots in Naval Aviation uniform. What about you, Freddy? Did you notice any outstanding features?"

Young Farmer frowned, sighed, and shook his head.

"No, sir," he said to the vice-admiral. "I'm sure I'd be able to recognize him, if I ever saw him again, but I really didn't see anything about him that would help anybody else to identify him."

"Yes, I'm sure I'd be able to spot him again, too," Dawson murmured. Then, with a grim note in his voice, "And that Japrat, too, even though I did only see him at a distance."

The vice-admiral was again scowling down at his clenched fist grinding into the palm of his other hand, and he acted as though he had not heard either of them speak. Dawson waited a few moments, and then asked a question.

"What about the service records of the fighter pilots aboard all three carriers, sir?" he said.

The base commandant raised his head and looked at him sharply.

"What do you mean?" he demanded. "And why just the fighter pilots?"

"From the way they talked, sir," Dawson replied quickly, "I felt certain that he was a fighter pilot. I mean, he plans to take off, when the opportunity presents itself, and fly direct to Truk. Well, sir, if he were a torpedo plane or dive bomber or scout bomber pilot, he would have somebody along with him. Gunner, or radio man, or both, I mean, sir. But neither of them made any mention of anybody else. So I feel certain that he's a fighter pilot."

"Yes, I guess you're right there, Dawson," the senior officer said with a nod. "But how would service records help us to find our man?"

"Well, sir," Dave said after a moment of frowning hesitation, "he is obviously German. He probably has a German-sounding name. His record sheet would tell about his parents. Where they were born, and so forth. He may even be a naturalized American, sir. Of course, it's just a long shot chance, but checking the service records of all the fighter pilots in that carrier force might turn up something that was suspicious-looking."

"It might, but I'm afraid it would be even harder than the needle in the haystack stunt," the base commandant said with a shrug. "Both the Army and the Navy have men of German birth, and parents. And it would take time. All that sort of thing is on file at the Navy Department in Washington. We haven't records that complete here. Of course, though, I'll get the wheels moving on it, at once. I'd be a fool to leave any stone untouched, and unturned. If that devil once ..."

The senior officer cut himself off with a groan, and his dismay and worry showed plainly on his face.

"There's one thing you might try, sir," Freddy Farmer spoke up hesitatingly. "That is, if you don't mind my suggesting it, sir?"

"Mind?" Vice-Admiral Carter barked. "Good heavens, Farmer, don't stand on formality! If you have anything to suggest, don't hesitate an instant. Suggest it at once. What is it?"

"Recall the force to Dago, sir," Freddy said. "Then Dawson and I could have a look at the fighter pilots. I mean, it might be arranged so that nobody would think anything of it. Perhaps we could pick out your man for you."

"Well, I had thought of that," the senior officer said in a weary voice, "but it can't be done. And for several reasons. The force is not under my command, strictly speaking. I would have to get permission from Washington, or at least from Admiral Nimitz at Honolulu. Also, the force is on close battle schedule right now, and the delay its return would cause would upset plans that have been months in the making. Of course, the seriousness of the situation seems to justify the recall of the force, but it doesn't follow that the recall would definitely solve the problem. You two might not be able to recognize him again. The very fact that the force turned back might make our man suspicious, and he might jump ship. You see we want not only to get our hands on him, but we also want to get our hands on the information that he carries. Then, too, there is his Jap partner in this spy business."

"What about that Jap, sir?" Dawson asked. "I suppose a hunt for him was started, wasn't it? And was that orange grove manager able to give you any help there?"

"None at all," the base commandant said gloomily. "He didn't get close enough to be able to say definitely whether the man who attacked you two was a Jap, or a Mexican worker. In fact, we only believe that he was a Jap from what you two say."

"He was a Jap, or I never heard a Jap talk," Dawson said with an emphatic nod of his head.

"Quite!" Freddy Farmer echoed. "The beggar was definitely Japanese, sir."

"Oh, I'm not doubting you!" the vice-admiral said quickly. "I believe you completely. But that simply goes to show how hopeless the hunt for him has been, and will be. He may be a Jap, but he may not look one hundred per cent Jap, is what I mean. It's simply another case of the needle in the haystack again. If only you had heard that fighter pilot mention the name of his carrier."

"Yes, but he did not mention it," Freddy Farmer said sadly. "Of that I am positive."

"So am I," Dawson said absently. "I ..."

He let the rest trail off into silence, and gazed vacantly into space. Vice-Admiral Carter looked at him for a moment, and then leaned forward and tapped him on the knee.

"You've got a peculiar look on your face, Dawson," he said quietly. "Has anything special come to mind?"

Dave wiped the vacant look from his face, looked at the senior officer and smiled.

"Nothing on what's already happened, sir," he said. "But I think there's a pretty fair chance of our catching up with that fighter pilot."

"Then don't beat about the bush with it!" the senior officer snapped. "What? How?"

"If Farmer and I could be relieved of our base duties, sir," Dave said presently, "we could fly to Pearl and get there ahead of the force, go aboard each carrier before any shore leave was granted, and find our man. Naturally, you would have to radio for such permission to be given us, and also for Naval Intelligence to be there on hand to arrest the pilot when we spotted him, and seize his personal effects."

"Naturally I'd relieve you both of your duties here at the base," the vice-admiral said, "but you both happen to be hospital cases. You're in no condition for a flight to Pearl Harbor."

"Why not?" Dave blurted out. "I feel fine. I haven't even got an ache in my head."

"Nor I!" Freddy Farmer spoke up quickly. "Besides, sir, we don't have to take off today. It will take the force some time to reach Pearl. We can stay right here for a couple of days and still get there ahead of it. It would be simple enough to arrange for us to ferry over a Navy bomber, or something, wouldn't it?"

"Farmer is right, sir!" Dawson said eagerly. "We don't have to leave today, or even tomorrow. There's plenty of time to beat the carrier force to Pearl Harbor. And to my way of figuring the thing, we haven't got to do any worrying until the force does reach Pearl. That Nazi isn't going to get those water flares until he makes contact with some men in Honolulu. Of course it's really a Naval Intelligence job, but ... Well, after all, sir, if anybody can identify that fighter pilot, Farmer and I can!"

The vice-admiral regarded them both gravely for a long moment, and then he smiled slowly.

"Even if I didn't know of some of the tough nuts you two have cracked in the past," he said, "I think I would still be inclined to agree to your plan. Very well, then. I'll arrange for you to fly to Pearl in plenty of time to meet the carrier force when it arrives. And I'll make the other arrangements you spoke of, too. Meantime I'll get out of here, and let you rest up some more. You're a couple of very lucky men. You both had a mighty close call. And in view of the fact that neither of you has eaten since yesterday noon, I guess you could do with a little food as well as rest."

A crack about how Freddy must certainly feel about that last rose to Dawson's lips, but he suddenly realized that he was plenty hungry himself, so he let the remark slide.

"Thank you, sir, for giving us the chance to help," he said instead. "After all, we were both very dumb to let that Japrat put one over on us."

"Quite!" Freddy Farmer said with a grim nod.

"No, I wouldn't say that," the vice-admiral corrected them. "The best of us meet up with that sort of thing, sooner or later. It's not that we're dumb as much as it is that the Japs are sure clever devils. We may call them monkey men, but it's going to take a lot of brains, and a lot of hard, tough fighting, before we sink their rising sun. Well, I must be getting along. Naturally I'll see you both again before you leave. And in case it should skip my mind, I'll say it now. Good luck, and good hunting, to both of you!"