Darkness had settled over the rice paddies and the city as Stan wandered out of camp. He was in a hurry to get some of his investigations completed. No one knew when the Flying Tigers would be moved into China or up to Lashio. Rumors were thick that the Japs were starting a drive toward Rangoon. The barracks and other buildings were blacked out completely. There was no light at all in the streets.

Stan had left a wild gathering of shouting, talking men behind in the mess. The men were discussing possible moves now that Japan had started a fight in the Pacific. She had struck at Pearl Harbor. Within a very short time she had spread her yellow horde over vast areas. The Flying Tigers were mostly American army and navy pilots. They had come to the aid of China because they were fighting men who wanted to be in the smoke of battle skies and hated the things the little men from Tokio stood for. They wanted to make China strong enough to strike on a fair and even basis.

But with the Japs attacking the United States they were all eager to get back to their old outfits, to their own squadrons. They were Americans and wanted to fly under their own flag. Stan had talked and had listened. Allison and O’Malley had said nothing. They were British and Burma was British territory; Rangoon was a British port.

Stan had stepped out into the cool night to mull over the latest developments. It seemed the whole Tiger group was about to resign and head for home. Stan wanted to think this through before he let his feelings run loose. He was standing in the deep gloom under the projecting eaves. A man came up the walk and opened the door. The man was Nick Munson.

An uneasy feeling that came over Stan forced him to follow Munson inside. He stood near the door and watched the instructor stride to the front of the room. The men stopped chattering and waited as Munson faced them.

“Felt I ought to say a word,” Munson began. There was none of his usual toughness. “My country has been attacked. I came here as an adventurer looking for action. I was afraid the United States would never get into this war, and I’d miss the big show.” He paused and his eyes swept over the men.

Heads nodded agreement and a ripple of approval ran through the group. Stan watched Munson’s face and decided the colonel was either sincere or a good actor. Munson went on talking.

“Now that America has been attacked, I plan to head for home. I hate to leave a fine fighting crew of men like you fellows. When I came here, I thought I knew more than any one of you. You’ve taught me a lot. But now I want to carry my own colors. I want to hit the Japs along with a squadron of the U.S.A.” The ripple of approval burst into words. Someone called up to Munson:

“How are you going to get back?”

“I have transportation on a fast seagoing yacht,” Munson replied. “A wealthy friend of mine will see me through.”

“Got room for any more fellows?” a flier asked.

Munson held up his hand. “Now, don’t put me on the spot. I’m your instructor not your commanding officer. I wouldn’t break up this corps. The decision is purely a personal one.” He frowned at the men, then a smile spread over his beefy face. “There’s room but I’m making no offers.”

Stan edged forward. He saw that Allison and O’Malley were backing away from the crowd gathering around Munson. Stan spoke loudly to attract attention. The men turned to him. They respected Stan a great deal. Not so many hours before they had agreed to help him rid the squadron of Colonel Munson.

“We ought to think this over carefully,” he began. “We are here to do a job. China is a vital ally of the United States. Without us, the Chinese might not be able to carry on. We have not heard from our commanding officer yet.”

Munson laughed. “What I’m worried about is getting to my old outfit before they wipe the Japs off the map,” he said scornfully.

Many of the boys joined his laugh and several shouted loudly:

“Sure, that’s the stuff!”

Stan smiled at them. He knew how they felt and what made them shout. “This isn’t going to be a short war,” he said slowly. “I think we’ll all have to take some hard knocks out here. You fellows will be taken back into your old outfits without prejudice if you return with clean records. If you run out on the Chinese, you won’t get a clean slate.”

Munson glared at Stan. He was trying to smile but not making a very good job of it. The boys were silent when Stan ceased speaking. Their better judgment began to assert itself.

“You came here from the Royal Air Force, didn’t you, Major Wilson?” Munson asked deliberately.

“I did,” Stan answered. “I’d like to be flying with the United States Army, and I can get my release as quickly as you can. But I’m waiting to hear from my commander and from Uncle Sam. If he wants me to stay here, this is where I’ll stay.”

“Isn’t it true that you couldn’t get into the Army Air Corps? Weren’t you grounded as a test pilot in the States?” Munson shot the questions at Stan and went on before Stan could answer. “Wasn’t there a nasty matter of a cracked-up ship and a few military secrets that got away to Germany? Didn’t you get into the Royal Air Force as a Canadian?” Munson was smiling when he finished shooting his questions at Stan. His lips were curved into a leer of triumph.

All eyes were on Stan. He flushed. Munson certainly knew a lot about his past record. Allison stepped up before Stan could answer. His voice was cool and hard.

“I handled all of the papers on Stan Wilson. I had all of the Washington and London Intelligence Office reports. Stan was framed by spies from Germany. If his record had not been clear, he would never have been allowed to stay in the Royal Air Force.” Allison looked around the room and waited for someone to challenge his statement.

O’Malley had shoved in. His chin was sticking out and he was ready to take on all comers.

“You’re a pal of his?” Munson asked the question with a sneer. “You helped him cover up.”

“’Tis no livin’ man can make cracks at Stan an’ not feel the fist of an O’Malley on his chin,” O’Malley snarled. “Many’s the time I’ve looked at that big mouth of yours, Colonel, and wish’t for the chance to lay one on it. Get up yer fists, you spalpeen!” He moved toward Munson.

Stan caught him by the arm. “Easy, Bill, you’re about to upset the apple cart.”

Munson broke in harshly, “I’m not here to cause a lot of trouble. I don’t blame the Royal Air Force for shoving off some of their pilots on the Chinese. You men carry on. I wish you luck. I can’t leave for a few days, possibly a week. If any of you get releases cleared, come and see me.” He turned on his heel and strode away.

The men gathered in groups to talk and argue. Stan noticed that the men avoided him and that they did not talk to Allison or O’Malley. The three were really outsiders and the boys seemed to feel they had butted into business not strictly their own.

“I think I need a bit of air,” Stan declared.

“I’m heading over to the barracks,” Allison said.

O’Malley went along and they walked across the dark grounds slowly.

Allison finally said, “Munson has big plans.”

“I aim to find out just what they are and I think I know just where to start,” Stan said determinedly. “After the cracks he made back there, I’ll have to settle with him.”

“Sure, an’ you should have let me crack him one,” O’Malley grumbled.

“That would have put the boys solidly on his side. He made a very nice, patriotic speech. But if the fellows take time to think it over, they’ll see what he’s up to,” Stan said.

Stan parted with his pals at the barracks door and walked across the grounds. On the outside, he caught a ride with a supply truck headed for Rangoon. His uniform was his passport and he was not questioned by the guards or the driver.

Dropping off near the docks, Stan walked to the place where he had seen the new cars leaving the parking lot. He had a hunch he wanted to follow up. If it was wrong, he would have to try a new angle.

A coupÉ and two sedans, all new, were parked in the deep gloom outside the gate. Walking toward the cars, he halted and listened, then moved ahead. No one seemed to be guarding them. Easing in close, he saw that no one was inside the cars. He moved over to the coupÉ and looked into it. It was a de luxe model with a high turtleback and a luggage compartment in the rear. Softly Stan lifted the lid.

A suitcase and satchel sat in the enclosure. Stan bent over them. It would be dangerous to light his electric torch unless he was inside the compartment and had the lid lowered. He examined the catch and found it was exposed on the inside and could be operated from within. Easing himself into the section he let the lid down.

Snapping on his pocket flashlight, he tried to open the satchel. It was locked. He tried the suitcase and it snapped open. His light showed him a neatly folded uniform of the Chinese Army with the shoulder strappings of a colonel of the air arm. Stan dipped in, fishing through layers of clothing. He pulled out a cigarette case and a comb and brush set, both with Nick Munson’s name on them.

Digging further he found a silver pencil in a crevice at one end of the bag. Lifting it out, he looked at its engraved barrel. The name Von Ketch was carved on the pencil in German block lettering. Stan whistled softly. Munson was a spy, possibly a Fifth Columnist who had been working in the United States for years. He repeated the name, Von Ketch, several times so as not to forget it. As he was lifting the lid of the compartment he heard footsteps. A guttural voice spoke in heavily accented English.

“We must be going quickly.”

“We’ll get out of here right away.” The speaker was Nick Munson. Stan eased back but held the lid open.

The two men paused beside the coupÉ. Stan heard them open the door and get in. Stan lowered the lid and bent forward. He could hear what they said very clearly. There was only a thin sheet of steel between his ear and the speakers.

“I put an idea into the heads of those dumb fliers,” Munson said.

The grind of the Bendix gear in the starter blotted out the voice of Nick’s companion. The car engine started and the coupÉ began to move. Stan reached over and latched the lid. He pressed his ear to the steel sheet and waited.

The two men up ahead went on talking. They seemed to be in very good spirits, judging from the tone of their voices.

“It will take much more than putting an idea into their heads to get rid of that crowd.”

“I have plans,” Munson answered. “That was just a starter, something to set them thinking. And it would have knocked them over if it hadn’t been for a fellow from the Royal Air Corps. We’ll have to get him shot down or out of the way by some other means.”

“I could send two of my shadow men,” his companion suggested.

“You mean those dacoit fellows who use silk ropes and choke a man?” Munson asked.

“Indeed. They are as silent as shadows. There is never any struggle or blood. Your man simply vanishes.” The rasp-voiced man chuckled softly.

“We’ll plan it when we get back,” Munson said.

The two men lapsed into silence and Stan lifted the lid to try to see where they were going. He dropped it instantly. Two cars were directly behind the coupÉ, their headlights playing on the compartment. Stan wondered how he was going to get out of the car without being seen.

He thought about the dacoit idea, too. If Munson would go so far as to have him assassinated, he would not hesitate to shoot on sight, especially if he caught Stan away from camp.

The two in front resumed their conversation and Stan listened. It was information he wanted and he was in a good spot to get it. Munson was speaking.

“I wish the Japs had held off a little longer. This racket of selling stolen cars is a good one. The Chinese are bending over backwards to keep on the good side of your people. We could clean up a fortune in time.”

“You will be paid a small fortune for breaking up the air group of which you are a member,” the guttural voice answered. “They have to be gotten out of the way. If they are not destroyed, they will make the Chinese Air Force a dangerous weapon.” Again the soft chuckle followed.

Munson laughed. “Der Fuehrer expects to meet your leaders in India. Then the whole world will be ready for us. We will divide it and finish the United States.”

“As is right,” the man with the accent said. “We are the men of iron. The Democracies are soft, they are women.” There was deep scorn in the words.

“I don’t have all my plans made,” Munson went on. “But if my undercover men can forge enough letters and papers to make that bunch of fliers think they have been called home, I’ll get them on your boat and then we’ll have a nice bag of prisoners who won’t shoot down any more planes.”

“This is a fine country for spies and others who can help,” the harsh voice said. “Such a mingling and mixing of races and creeds and ideas is not found any other place on earth. Quite a headache for the British and American and Chinese officials.”

“It takes years in the United States for our fellow workers to establish themselves in places where they can obtain useful information,” Munson said. “I spent ten years there becoming a trusted and respected airman. Over here you just go out and hire them by the day, any sort of agent you want.”

“We are very intelligent,” the guttural voice said. “The Americans would say we are smart.”

They ceased talking as the car began to bounce over a very rough road. The driver shifted to second gear and Stan knew they were on a grade. Then the car was put into low gear. The back compartment was filled with the roar of the engine.

Stan sat back and waited. He looked at the radium dial of his wrist watch. They had been on the road over an hour. The road was so rough and the car made so much noise, he could not hear the conversation in the driver’s seat.

Stan pictured in his mind the country they must be in and wondered how deep into the jungle they would go. He had a pocket compass which would help him chart a homeward course if he escaped. He wanted to get away without being seen, not only because it would be the safest way, but also it would give him the upper hand with Munson. The luggage made it almost certain he would be discovered, unless the cars following dropped back and allowed him to jump out.

Stan again opened the lid a crack. The cars behind had moved up closer and the nearest one was less than ten feet behind the coupÉ. Another hour passed and they still jogged along on a rough road. The car bounced and bumped and slid about until Stan’s elbows and knees were barked from battering against the steel braces which were only thinly covered.

The bumping ceased suddenly and the car moved forward smoothly. It came to a halt and Stan heard voices. He bent forward and opened the lid a few inches. There was a car on each side of the coupÉ. Stan saw lights flickering and men moving about. Munson spoke from beside the coupÉ.

“I have to hurry in order to be back at the field in the morning. I’ll get the cases with the papers and we’ll go right in to your office.”

Stan got his legs set under him. He was glad the new cars had so much baggage space. Before he could do anything more, the door to the compartment was hoisted and caught in place. The beam of a flashlight was shining in his face. He heard Munson’s startled grunt as he lunged out of the back of the car, diving straight at the colonel’s mid-section.

Stan and Munson went down with the colonel bellowing and cursing, as he tried to protect himself from Stan’s pumping rights and lefts. The jolting blows freed Stan from Munson and left the colonel doubled up and twisting on the ground, but it also gave the man with the guttural voice a chance to shout commands.

As Stan whirled to leap away toward the shadows beyond the cars, a crowd of little men, naked except for cotton loin cloths, leaped at him from every side. They came at Stan with a rush, their shaven skulls gleaming in the yellow light of smoking flares stuck on poles above a stockade. They did not seem to be armed but there were at least fifty of them.

Stan lowered his head and charged into the rushing line of little yellow men. He hit the line and crashed through the first mass of attackers, bowling them over with fists and elbows and knees. But his progress was stopped as hands gripped at his ankles, his knees and at his clothing. One little fellow leaped upon his back from behind. Three or four laced arms around each of his legs. Stan went down in a flailing pile of evil-smelling bodies. As he fell, he heard the roaring laugh of the man with the guttural voice.

In spite of his powerful lunges and swinging fists, Stan was held down and his hands were laced to his sides by the little men. He was jerked to his feet and pushed over to a flare.

A short, fat man, dressed in a red silk waist and wearing baggy silk pants of a bright yellow hue, advanced to face Stan. Two beady, black eyes looked searchingly at the flier over a bushy beard that was trimmed to a point at the chin. The beard parted and the man chuckled.

“So, a Flying Tiger. Te Nuwa is indeed honored.” He stepped back and waited for Munson to step up.

Munson was grimy and his shirt was torn. One eye was swelling shut. There was a savage leer on his lips.

“A friend of yours, Von Ketch?” Te Nuwa asked softly.

“The fellow I told you we had to get out of the way,” Munson snarled.

“Could it be that he has spared my dacoits a pleasant night’s work?” Te Nuwa questioned.

“He has,” Munson said grimly, whipping out a German automatic. “With him out of the way, I can handle things back at the base!”

“We have spent a very profitable evening,” Te Nuwa said pleasantly. He lifted a hand. “I allow no blood to be spilled on my grounds. It is bad for my little men.”

Munson scowled at him. “I’m in a mess, how can I explain this black eye?”

“You might tell the boys you ran into a door. But if I do not return, they will hardly believe you. They may get a few ideas as to what happened to me,” Stan said.

Te Nuwa laughed and slapped his fat leg. “Good enough,” he said. “You can say just that.” “I’ll shut his mouth right now,” Munson snapped.

“Now, now, you are both guests of honor,” the fat man reminded Munson. “I might say again both are honored guests. The entertainment of a guest rests with me. I am the lord of this village. We have business to transact. You are impatient to be on your way back to your duties. We will dine and my dancers will dance as we sip wine. And we shall talk.”

“You better see to it that he’s done away with,” Munson growled. “If he gets away, he’ll upset all of our plans. It will be your fat neck as well as mine.”

Te Nuwa lifted a soft hand and frowned. “That cannot happen. My men are well trained in the ways of the East. We just do not care for the bloody methods you use. I will order the disposal of our guest in a manner befitting his rank.” He spoke sharply to his men and turned away.