After the blaze of lights, the countless intricate neon signs, and the thousand and one other things that made New York night life famous the world around, the dimout condition was a strange thing indeed to witness. Strange, and interesting, and so utterly unreal to a native Yank who had seen the city so many times before Hitler drew his bloody butcher's sword.

Yes, strange, and interesting, and quite unreal. But not to Dave Dawson. Nor to Freddy Farmer, for that matter. For the very simple reason that they were two youths with a great big absorbing problem on their minds. Rather, it was a great big question mark, that neither of them could begin to figure out. And so they could very easily have strolled through the streets of the New York World Fair and not paid much attention to what they saw.

And as they walked up Broadway, and over to Fifth Avenue, and on down around the Grand Central section, it was all Dawson could do to refrain from blurting out the one and obvious question in his mind. In short, what in thunderation was this second sealed envelope all about? Just as the first one had done, this second envelope was practically burning holes in his tunic pocket. It was the same overall size as the other one, but it was considerably fatter than the first. By fingering it he could guess that there were several folded sheets of paper inside. And stiff paper, too, he imagined. This second envelope didn't "give" so much with the movements of his body. Fact was, whenever he bent over quickly a corner of it would stick into his ribs.

And, as had happened once before, his thoughts were all on a certain sealed envelope in his inside tunic pocket when suddenly Colonel Welsh's voice broke right through his train of thought.

"Relax about that thing in your pocket, Dawson," the senior officer said in a low voice. "You'll both get full explanations in a little while. First, though, I want to make sure of something. Take it easy, and let's walk back to the hotel along Forty-Second Street. Good old New York. I'm not a native here, but I always loved this town."

"Me, too," Dawson said with a grin and a nod. "They say that if you hunt long enough and hard enough in New York you can find a touch of every other country in the world in it."

"True as the day you were born," Colonel Welsh agreed instantly. "Including Hitler's Gestapo."

"Eh?" Freddy Farmer gasped out. "What was that you said, sir?"

"The Gestapo," the Colonel repeated in a low voice. "At least, I'm willing to bet my shirt on it. Spotted him in the Astor dining-room, and he's been tagging along after us ever since."

A wild urge to turn around and look back swept through Dawson. However, he killed the urge and kept his eyes front.

"Then he must have seen you take that envelope, sir," he said quietly, "In the dining-room."

"That's what I hope," Colonel Welsh replied quietly. "And the way he's tagging around after us now seems to indicate as much."

"The dirty blighter!" Freddy Farmer muttered. "What's the chap look like, sir? Let's duck around the next corner, and give the beggar something to think about when he comes around. Matter of fact, sir, why have you been letting him tag us around?"

The Chief of U. S. Intelligence didn't answer that question at once. Instead he came to a stop and nodded his head toward a small all-night restaurant on the other side of the street.

"Not that we're hungry," he said, "but let's go in there for a small bite or two."

"A splendid idea!" Freddy Farmer replied enthusiastically.

"It always is, with you!" Dawson growled. "Me, I won't be able to look food in the face again for hours."

"Full up, myself," Colonel Welsh grunted. "But that's a good place to talk. It's half empty now. We can get a corner table where we can keep an eye on the door. Then, if our little Gestapo friend—and, of course, I could be wrong—comes inside, you can get a good look at him. But let's go in and rest the feet, anyway. And I'll try to give you a little bit of the picture."

A few minutes later the trio was seated at a corner table in the all-night restaurant, and the waiter had taken their orders. Coffee and sinkers for Dawson and the colonel, and a three-decker sandwich for "starving" Freddy Farmer.

"First, I'll answer your question, Farmer," Colonel Welsh began in a low voice. "I'll answer it by saying that sometimes it's better to let a spy go free than to throw him into jail, or put him in front of a firing squad. The reason, I think, is fairly obvious. Throw a spy in jail, or shoot him, and he is no longer useful to anybody. But, on the other hand, let him go free, and keep your eye on him, and oftentimes he'll lead you to bigger fish. But in the case of this chap we think is following us around, I'm not dead sure that he is Gestapo. True, I'm just about as sure as I can be, but we haven't as yet learned exactly where he fits into the Axis picture of espionage in this country. So we've been giving him plenty of rope, in the hope that he'll unknowingly add to our knowledge of Axis activities in this country."

The senior officer paused for a moment to grin, and give a little shrug of his shoulders.

"He's following us around," he said presently, "but one of my men is also following him around. So, as you might say, we're keeping tabs on him both coming and going."

"I had a hunch that was so," Dawson grunted. "Didn't figure you'd carry that envelope around and present your unprotected back to any trailing Nazi. But I still don't get the idea why you had me hand it over in plain view of anybody who was there to take a look."

"Yes, I know," the colonel said with a chuckle. "I've been watching both of you go quietly screwy wondering what it was all about. And—well, what I'm about to say will give you both quite a jolt, considering your little experience out there on the North Atlantic. But before you both hit the roof, give me a chance to explain. The sealed envelope you two escorted across the ocean contains nothing but a few sheets of blank paper. And not blank paper with invisible writing either. Just plain blank paper you could pick up in any ten-cent store."

Both Dawson and Farmer stiffened as though they had been shot in the back. For a long minute both held their breath clamped in their lungs as they stared at Colonel Welsh out of wide, disbelieving eyes. Then, finally, Dawson managed to regain control of his tongue.

"Maybe you'd better repeat that, sir," he said with an effort. "That envelope addressed to Secretary of State Cordell Hull was nothing but a lot of blank paper? And Freddy, and I—?"

"That's right," the other replied quietly. "Just blank paper. And you and Farmer darned near lost your lives over a sealed envelope of blank paper. But—well, it was something like the stunt you pulled on that Herr Miller, Dawson. The very fact that you were so eager to have him search you convinced him that you didn't have what he wanted. And that conviction baffled him so, that you were able to catch him off guard, and get away with your colossal bluff. In other words, by doing the one thing he didn't expect you to do, you made him believe that you had done the exact opposite."

The Chief of U.S. Intelligence took time out for a moment to light up a cigar.

"Well, we did something the same way, you might say," he continued presently. "But I'll have to give you a bit of history by way of explanation. At a recent meeting between Prime Minister Churchill and President Roosevelt, and their respective staffs, a detailed agreement was reached regarding the vitally important matter of military and economic aid to China. The entire program was mapped out in detail. And after the meeting a pledge was drawn up—a secret pledge to Generalissimo Chiang Kai-shek, and the Chinese peoples. It was perhaps one of the most secret documents drawn up in this war thus far. It contained everything. Amounts of guns, tanks, planes, ammunition, and so forth to be delivered by England and the United States to China. The supply routes to be followed. Dates of arrival. Troop strength, flying strength, and ground crew strength, and so forth. Plus locations of air bases selected by an Air Forces commission recently returned from China. In short, everything that China wants, needs, and wishes to know."

The senior officer paused again to take care of his cigar that had gone out.

"Well," he continued as blue cigar smoke drifted ceilingward, "all that was drawn up here in the States, and signed by the necessary parties. Then it was sent to England for English signatures. Right there we threw Axis rats, who had got wind of the document, off the track for a short time. It seems that they expected it all to be drawn up in England, and sent over here for signatures. So they kept watchful eyes on all our courier planes, diplomatic pouches, and such, ready to leap and strike the instant that document was on its way back to the States. Naturally, for the Axis boys to get their hands on that agreement would be worth a dozen victories in the field. Not only would they learn what we could, and could not, do for China, but they could use it as a powerful propaganda weapon against China. Particularly, the Japs could use it. Imagine how the brave Chinese would feel to find out first from their enemies what their allies were going to do for them! It would put the war in the Far East back a full year, at least. So it was absolutely essential to keep this agreement a perfect secret, get it to Chiang Kai-shek's hands by a fast route the Axis spies would least suspect, and then let Chiang Kai-shek decide what parts of it he would let be made public, and what parts would continue to remain a secret."

"Which, of course, ruled out the usual diplomatic channels," Dawson grunted as the senior officer paused for breath. "Or even a special courier. The Axis rats would probably smell out both angles."

"Exactly as we figured it," Colonel Welsh grunted, with a nod for emphasis. "But, to make doubly sure of everything, it was decided to cross up the Axis agents in England. In other words, to actually slip it into a diplomatic pouch bound for Washington by plane, but make it appear that we were trying to sneak it out of the country by secret courier. By the way, did you two enjoy meeting Mr. Soo Wong Kai?"

Dawson and Farmer sat bolt upright again.

"And how, particularly Freddy, here!" Dawson gasped. "But—? Oh, so that wasn't just one of those things, eh? He was part of the picture, too?"

"Very much so," Colonel Welsh replied. "And it worked out just as we hoped it would. Axis eyes saw him meet with you. They saw him hurry back to the Air Ministry. They naturally figured that he was giving his okay on you two taking the document out of the country. They were unquestionably dead sure when they saw an Air Ministry courier later tear out to Croydon Airport. And it's ten to one they actually saw the Croydon commandant turn an envelope over to you. What they didn't know was that the real envelope had actually left England by air twelve hours before!"

As the senior officer paused, Dawson gulped and wiped a hand across his forehead.

"Boy! Am I glad I was in the dark all the time!" he breathed. "For a bunch of blank paper I don't think I'd have been so keen to stick my neck out."

"Quite!" Freddy Farmer echoed. "Though, of course, I wouldn't have remained the blasted Nazi's prisoner any longer than I could have helped."

"I know just how both of you feel," Colonel Welsh said softly. "In a way, it was a low-down dirty trick to play on you two. A trick that might have cost two lives the United Nations can ill afford to lose. But if and when you get to thinking about it being a raw deal, try and remember this. You never would have been chosen for that red herring mission if we hadn't had absolute faith that you two would put it across. And that you did simply confirms the faith that the High Command has in you two."

"Well, thanks, sir," Dawson mumbled. "But don't worry about me thinking it over. I want to forget it, and how. From now on every time I see a batch of blank paper I know doggone well that I'll break out in a cold sweat. But just the same, it does make me feel good to know that Freddy and I have that degree of the High Command's confidence, whether we deserve it or not."

"Yes, quite!" was all that Freddy Farmer could add to his pal's statement.

"Well, it's certainly deserved!" Colonel Welsh told them gravely. "No doubt about that. But to get on with the story. While you two were still at sea—and I do mean at sea—the document was received in Washington, and turned over to me. When you arrived on this side we knew that attempts would be made to get to you, if they had not already been made. Which, of course, they were. So I came up to meet you, knowing full well that Axis agents would follow me sooner or later. So I took you to that hotel, and to dinner, with the express idea of taking Axis agents off you. In other words, with the express idea of making it appear to watching Axis rats that you had completed your part of the mission, and were now definitely out of the picture. To make them forget you, and concentrate on me. So I had you turn over that envelope right there in the dining-room. I took a chance, yes. But what I hope I gained counts most. In short, they know now that I have it. And they will soon learn, by keeping tabs on me, that I'm returning to Washington tonight. They saw it handed to me. They haven't got to wonder if, or if you didn't, slip it to me when we were alone in your suite before dinner."

As the senior officer paused, Dawson licked his lips, and found it terribly difficult to ask aloud the question that was uppermost in his mind.

"And—and that second envelope, sir?" he finally managed to get out.

Colonel Welsh nodded slowly.

"Yes, Dawson," he said quietly. "It is. And while I am knocking the pins out from under you two, I might as well give you the bad news now. Your two months leave has been postponed—until after you've arrived in Chungking, China, and have seen Generalissimo Chiang Kai-shek."

Dawson looked at him for a moment, then turned his head and met Freddy Farmer's eyes. A moment later they both started to chuckle.

"What goes on here?" Colonel Welsh demanded with a frown. "What strikes you so funny?"

"Well, to be headed for Chungking is sort of a surprise, sir," Dawson explained. "But—well, to have our leave tossed overboard isn't. You see, sir, when we first spotted you at La Guardia Airport, we had a hunch that you weren't there just to say hello to us. We were pretty sure that—Well—I mean, that is—"

"That seeing me meant trouble, eh?" Colonel Welsh groaned. "Yes, I understand. It happens all the time. I guess I'm the most unpopular man in the armed forces. And that's one reason why I told you long ago, when we first met, never to let yourself get promoted to a high rank in Intelligence. You either get shot, or avoided by friend and foe alike."

"Well, it's okay by us, sir," Dawson put in quickly. "The truth of the matter is that both Freddy and I would go nuts by the time two months were up. Also, we both do want to see China. We said so to Soo Wong Kai. But gosh! Little did we know what he knew then."

"Aren't you right!" Freddy Farmer grunted. "And I certainly hope we have the good fortune to meet him again."

"Yeah!" Dawson shot at him with a grin. "Provided, of course, he has a good stock of meat ration coupons! But you say you're heading for Washington tonight, sir?"

"In a little over an hour," the senior officer replied after a glance at his wrist-watch. "But about you two. It will appear as though you're going to carry on with the regular program. The War Bond speeches, I mean. Your first stop is scheduled to be made in San Francisco the day after tomorrow. There's even a piece in tonight's New York papers to that effect. So tomorrow at nine you will go to La Guardia Airport and board a TAT transport plane for San Francisco. Reservations have already been made for you. In Frisco you'll be met by the military commandant out there, Major General Hawks. Ostensibly, you'll be staying at his quarters. But actually you won't be there long. You'll be loaned a plane for a courtesy flight about the city and Bay. But you'll go on down the Coast to an emergency field that General Hawks will tell you about. There a Fortress will be awaiting you. It will take you to Honolulu, and from there to Darwin, Australia. And from Darwin you'll fly to Calcutta, India. And from Calcutta to Chungking, China. If all goes well you should be in Chungking by the end of the week. So, strictly speaking, you'll be simply postponing your leave one week."

"And I bet we'll want to spend it all sitting in rocking chairs, after that bit of cloud hopping!" Dawson said with a chuckle. "Just a little fifteen thousand mile joy-ride."

"And my prayers are that it'll be just that!" Colonel Welsh said grimly. Then, "Well, we'd better get on back to your hotel. I guess you two can do with some sleep. Any changes, or additional instructions, will be flashed to you en route. And—well, what can I say but the same old thing I've said to you countless times? Good luck, and Godspeed, to both of you. The prayers of the civilized world will be for you."

"Thank you, sir," Dawson said quietly, as they all stood up. "And we'll get to Chungking. You can count on it. But one thing, sir?"

"Yes, Dawson?"

Dave gave the slightest of nods toward the street outside.

"Our little rat pal, if he's still around, sir," he said. "I mean, I hope you'll watch your step going back to Washington tonight. I hope he doesn't try to pull anything on you, sir."

Colonel Welsh grinned, but only with his lips. His eyes held the glint of polished cold steel.

"On the contrary, I hope he does!" he said softly. "I sure do hope so. It's been quite a spell since I've had the chance to chalk up a Nazi rat. Yes, I hope he tries to shoot the works. I could do with a little workout on him, or them!"