Yellow throat-stinging smoke curled and swirled about the room where Dawson and Freddy Farmer were held prisoners by Yammanato. It stung their eyes, too, and half blinded them. It hung like a thick blanket of acid not more than three feet from the floor. For some ten minutes now, the two air aces had hugged the floor to keep under the smelly stuff and waited for an up-draft to take the smoke upward and out through the skylight.

"I guess you went wrong on this one, Dave," Freddy gasped. "This stuff is heavier than water, and it will never rise."

"It's got to, it's got to, Freddy!" Dawson said grimly. "It's our only hope of getting out of this place. And of maybe getting the rats here in this nest caught."

"Small chance of that, I fancy," Freddy said with a groan. "But even if the police and the fire department do come busting in here and free us, then what? The way we've messed up this job, it will certainly take something to face Vice-Admiral Stone and Commander Drake. They certainly won't love us for this business, I can tell you!"

"Maybe not, but we'll just have to take our medicine, Freddy," Dawson replied. "But the big idea right now is to get out of here. You know there's always a chance that we may be able to do something. After all, the carrier force is only two days at sea. It's going to take longer than two days for them to get within flight range of Truk. At least, near enough for that Nazi rat to skip off and get going. I ... doggone, I could cut my throat for the way things have turned out. After all the tight places we've been in, and wiggled out of them, to be caught cold like this. Boy, do I feel lower than a heel!"

Freddy Farmer didn't reply for a moment. He moved a bit closer to Dawson on the floor, and then reached out a hand and touched his flying pal on the arm.

"We'll get out, Dave," he said quietly. "We've got to, old chap. And you and I aren't licked until we're dead and buried six feet under, as you would say."

Dawson looked at him, and some of the telling strain went out of his smoke-streaked face. He grinned and winked knowingly at Freddy.

"Now you're talking, kid," he said. "For a moment there I was afraid that you had given up the ship for keeps. But you were just fooling me, and I should have known better. Sure we'll get out, and we'll still win somehow. You just wait and see."

As Dawson finished the last he got slowly up on his hands and knees, and crawled over toward the wall on his right. He was playing a hunch, and his hunch proved to be correct. There was a draft of air over on that side that was lifting the yellow smoke upward. As a matter of fact the smoke was beginning to pour out through the skylight.

"Give the gentleman a cigar; it's working, Freddy!" he cried out in a low voice. "Crawl over here and see for yourself. It's working, Freddy."

A few seconds later young Farmer was by his side and peering upward out of smoke-reddened eyes. He gasped happily, and instantly crossed all the fingers of his two hands.

"For luck, Dave!" he breathed. "This and a prayer that they will see it outside. I mean, that there aren't tall buildings around here that will hide it off from those in the street. Gosh! Dave! Look at that stuff pour out. I never knew that just a bundle of clothes and things could throw off so much smoke!"

"One of the very special Dawson fires, kid!" Dave said to him. "And if that amount of smoke going out that skylight doesn't attract plenty of attention, then I'm a Chinese uncle."

"Whatever that means," Freddy Farmer said with a chuckle. "Anyway, all we can do now is wait. As though we haven't been doing that little thing for years and years it seems. I ..."

Freddy cut off the rest as Dawson suddenly grabbed his arm and gave a shake of his head to be quiet, and listen. Breath virtually locked in their lungs, the two air aces stood perfectly motionless and strained their ears. A few seconds later they were rewarded by the sound of footsteps racing up a flight of stairs beyond their locked and barred door. And almost at the same time there came wild, high-pitched chatter in a language that neither of them understood.

"This is it, Freddy!" Dawson whispered in young Farmer's ear. "Sounds to me like those are the two rats who brought us our food."

"Sounds like them to me, too," Freddy replied. Then, pulling on Dawson's arm, he added quickly, "Better stand well out of line with that door, Dave. When the blighters find that they can't get in they may try to shoot their way in."

"Yeah, you've got something there," Dawson said.

But that was all he had the chance to say. The door was being tried now, violently. And it definitely sounded as if whoever was outside were having a fit because the door could not be opened. And then came halting words spoken in English through the door.

"Open, please, yes. There is fire and smoke in there. Open, please, and we will put out fire, yes!"

Dawson and Freddy Farmer simply looked at each other, and winked. Neither of them spoke a word, but each could tell that the other had exactly the same thought. In short, that the next few minutes could well mean success or failure for their hopes. There was not much smoke going up from the burning clothes and papers now. The fire had spent itself, and if help in the form of the Honolulu fire and police departments did not come soon, their mad play for freedom would have been all in vain.

And then suddenly from beyond the door a voice spoke that made the hair crawl on the backs of their necks, and made each wish with all his heart and soul that he had been armed. It was the voice of Yammanato, and it was not soft and quiet and polished now. It was high-pitched, even a little off key, and ringing with fiendish frenzy.

"Open at once or I will kill you through the door. Your trick has failed, do you hear me? It has failed, and if you do not wish to die a thousand deaths then open this door at once. Do you hear me? Do you hear me?"

Fists, and more than one pair of fists, pounded violently on the door. The door squeaked and groaned a little but it did not budge a fraction of an inch. The furniture that the two air aces had piled up in front of it was made of heavy stuff and held the door fast.

"Open! Open this door at once! I have a gun. I am going to shoot!"

It was the man called Yammanato who screamed the words, and almost before their shrilling was lost to the echo there came the muffled sound of two shots, and bullets tore through the heavy paneling in the door to lodge harmlessly in the bamboo chest.

"You see?" Yammanato screamed, seeming to beat the butt of his gun against the door. "I have a gun, and I will shoot you. No matter where you stand I will be able to hit you. Kato is coming and he is strong enough to break down this door. I tell you, your trick has failed. Be not fools any longer, or it will go that much harder with you. Do you hear me in there? Do you hear me?"

Freddy acted as though he were going to fling some kind of a taunt through the door, but Dawson cut him off with a curt shake of his head, and then put his lips to young Farmer's ear.

"Don't ask for it, Freddy!" he breathed. "He might be able to place the sound of your voice, and plug us at that. Just keep mum. If we don't get a break pretty soon, then ..."

Dawson didn't finish the last. Rather he finished it with a soft groan and turned his head so that Freddy would not see the look he knew must be showing in his eyes. The sands of time were running dangerously low now. Was fate mocking their crazy efforts? Was this house where they were prisoners so situated that nobody outside would see that yellow smoke pouring from the skylight? Was this house set alone out on the outskirts of Honolulu? Had their desperate attempt failed after all, and in a few moments would that giant, Kato, smash down the door with his massive shoulders? Would...?

The last thought was never completed in Dawson's brain. At that moment from beyond the door some place came a cry of alarm, and the sound of feet running furiously up the stairs. Then the speaking voice came closer and Dawson could tell that it was Kato shrilling something rapidly in Japanese.

And then ... and then a voice roared and Dawson's heart leaped with pure joy. It was a good old American voice and it seemed to boom right through the barred door.

"Hey you, what's going on here!" it thundered. "Your place is on fire. What's in that room?"

"It is nothing, Captain," came Yammanato's voice, very sweet and whining. "It was a cigarette that burned one of my jackets. It is all right, now, Captain. But thank you for coming to our aid."

"Oh, yeah?" said the booming voice. "Well, I'm not a captain, just a sergeant. And don't tell me that a cigarette made that much smoke. What's your name anyway? What's ... Yeah, up here, Mike! Come on up and bring those two guys with you. This looks screwy to me!"

"Coming, Sergeant!" cried out a second born-in-the-U.S.A. voice. "Hey, these guys look Jap to me!"

"But that is silly!" the whining voice of Yammanato was heard to protest. "We are all native Hawaiians. My name is Komo. I own the little souvenir shop down the street. Why, I have never been in Japan in my life. You are mistaken, Sergeant. We are loyal Hawaiians. And it is true. I was smoking a cigarette and put it down to go out of the room for a minute. It fell out of the ash tray and onto a jacket that was on the arm of a chair. It is really nothing. No harm at all, save a hole in my jacket. And it was my favorite jacket, too."

And that was as long as Dawson and Freddy Farmer decided to wait. There were two Yank soldiers out there. Probably a couple of members of the military patrol in that part of Honolulu. Anyway, they were undoubtedly armed, and besides, the time to act had arrived at last. Dawson looked at Freddy Farmer, and they both nodded.

"Hold them, Sergeant!" Dave yelled at the top of his voice, and started heaving the furniture that blocked the door to one side. "That rat is lying in his teeth. He's a Jap, and so are the others. We're a couple of Air Forces officers held prisoner in here. We started the fire to bring help. Hold them, Sergeant; we're coming out."

"Hey, what goes on?" came the booming voice.

But at that moment neither Dave nor Freddy wasted any breath replying. Both were straining every ounce of their strength to push the furniture aside and get at the door. It seemed to take them years to do it, and they heard sounds and yells outside. They still paid no attention. And then finally the last of the furniture was out of the way. Dawson grabbed the door knob, turned and yanked the door open. Two big husky members of the military police stood outside blinking at him in dumbfounded surprise. In one corner of the landing the two little brown men cringed. But Yammanato and Kato had obviously ducked past the two soldiers and were racing down a flight of stairs at top speed. Dawson took it all in at a glance, and yelled at the blinking sergeant.

"Stop them!" he cried. "They're Jap spies. Stop them even if you have to shoot!"

The sergeant still gaped blankly, but the private first class who was with him seemed to collect his wits. He spun around and made a grab for Kato.

"Hey you, hold on there!" he barked.

But the giant Jap had no intention of doing that. As he went down the stairs he shot out a huge fist. It caught the American soldier square on the chin and knocked him head over heels as though he were no more than a toy doll. But Kato did not take into consideration that Dawson was up on his toes, and fighting mad. As the soldier went toppling over the gun in his hand flew from his fingers. Dave dived and caught it before it struck the stair landing. He fell on his side but twisted around on the top of the stairs. A split second later the gun in his hand spat out flame and sound. Kato's head snapped forward as though he had been brained from behind by a baseball bat. His big feet lost their footing on the stairs. He stumbled and then went crashing forward to fall headlong down the last seven or eight steps like a slaughtered ox. Even before he crumpled in a heap halfway through an opened door that led out onto a sun-filled street, blood was pouring from the bullet wound in the back of his head, and he was stone dead.

In dying, however, Kato had saved the life of his master, Yammanato. That is to say, his falling body blocked the entire stairway so that Dawson was unable to shoot at Yammanato, who was a few steps ahead of the giant Jap. However, Dave did not waste any time cursing his luck. Scrambling to his feet, he went down the stairs in just three leaps, hurtled over the prostrate Kato and bolted out into the sunny street.

He spotted Yammanato not over thirty yards away racing headlong up the sidewalk on his right. To Dawson's surprise he didn't see any gun in the Jap spy's hand. Yammanato had either thrown it away, or had stuck it in his pocket when the two Yank soldiers had come running into the house. But even if the Jap had had a gun in either hand, it wouldn't have made any difference to Dawson. The tables were turned, now, and it was Dawson's time to do the talking.

"Stop, you Japrat!" he shouted, and raced up the sidewalk like a streak of lightning.

If the Jap heard the challenge he paid no attention. He increased his speed if anything, and Dawson suddenly saw that he was making for a narrow alley another fifty or sixty yards ahead.

"Stop, Yammanato!" Dave yelled. "Your last chance. Stop, or you get it!"

But Yammanato did not stop. That he heard Dawson was proved by the fact that he flung a single look back over his shoulder, and then raced full out for what he hoped would be the safety of the alley up ahead. He never reached that alley, though. He missed it by a good twenty yards. Dawson's single shot seemed to knock Yammanato's feet right out from under him, and spin his body in the air like a human top. The Jap hit the sidewalk on his face, and slowly rolled over onto his right side.

The instant the Jap went down, Dave slowed up and went ahead cautiously, his gun out in front of him on the alert for instant action. He had not forgotten the gun that the Jap had fired through the door of that smoke-filled prison room. And when he saw Yammanato slide his right hand inside his jacket he almost pulled the trigger of his gun again, but not quite. Perhaps he could not shoot a man sprawled on the ground, even though he were a filthy Japanese. Or perhaps it was for one of many other reasons. At any rate, he withheld his fire.

And then Yammanato's hand came out from inside his jacket, and it happened. For a brief instant the Hawaiian sun gleamed on the polished blade of a six-inch knife. Then the blade disappeared as the Jap plunged it with both hands to his heart.

"The stinker!" Dawson heard his own voice pant as he raced up to the Jap. "Takes his own life rather than face the music. Just an old Jap custom, I guess."

But Yammanato was not yet quite dead. He stared up at Dawson out of half closed eyes that gleamed with fiendish hate. And then suddenly his lips slid back over his teeth in a sort of wolfish grin, and faintly spoken words came out from between them.

"Good fortune is a fickle woman. I have so spoken."

And with that the Jap died. Dawson saw death steal over the Nip's face. The light in his eyes went out, he stopped breathing, and all that remained was the blood that had once given him life seeping out past the knife blade and staining his white silk shirt a deep red.

"If that was supposed to be an exit line, Yammanato," Dawson grunted down at the dead man, "it was very corny. Plenty corny."

And then as he straightened up, Freddy Farmer and the two soldiers came dashing up, and all three of them started talking at once.

"Hold everything, everybody!" Dave cried, and held up his two hands. "The rat's dead as a doornail, and now all of us have got things to do, but fast!"