When Mary awoke with the sun shining on her face through a small window next morning it was with a vague feeling that something was gone.

“Oh!” she exclaimed, jumping out of bed. “I’ve slept too long. Sparky has left me behind.”

When her bare feet hit the floor she awoke to the reality of things.

“It’s all over,” she sighed, sinking back on her bed. “We’ve reached the journey’s end at last.”

Then with a fresh thought stirring her to action she hurried through her toilet and donned her dusty uniform.

“Perhaps this is going to be like Christmas morning, when secrets are revealed, just perhaps,” she whispered.

After a hasty breakfast she begged a ride out to the airfield. It was a fairly large airdrome. The runways were neither long nor numerous but back among the trees cement had been laid making hiding places for many planes. And the planes were there.

“Sparky!” she exclaimed as she came upon her companion of many adventures. “Look at the planes! There must be two hundred of them.”

“Fully that many,” Sparky agreed. “And all bombers.”

“What does it mean? What is their mission?”

“Your guess is as good as mine,” he grinned. “We would guess the same thing I am sure.”

“And might be wrong.”

“Yes, but one thing is certain, about a hundred of them are being equipped with the same type of gadget. And they all came from the packing cases that only a few hours ago rode in our plane.”

“Sparky! What are they?”

“Shush,” he whispered. “It’s still a deep military secret. They are being provided with a new and more perfect type of bombsight than ever has been used before.”

“So that was it! Sounds quite simple, doesn’t it?”

“Very. But in this world the answers to most great mysteries are usually quite simple. In this case, however, the mystery concerned something of tremendous importance.

“These planes have been assembled here for a task that the Japs would give a prince or two to know about. Our flight of bombers, of course, brought their own bombsights. And they brought other much needed equipment. For some reason, known only to the big shots, the bombsights for planes already here were entrusted to our ship.”

“And if that Jap spy or the Woman in Black had wrecked our plane!”

“That would have been just too bad. But they didn’t, so you and I are to be attending a banquet in your honor tonight. It’s to be quite a brilliant affair. High-ranking officers from the armies of China, Great Britain, and America are to be there. What’s more, you are to make a speech.”

“Oh, no! Sparky,” she cried. “No! No! No!”

“It won’t be hard, not really,” he assured her. “They’ll want to know about the first overseas trip made by a WAF. If you tell them half the things that have happened to you, they’ll be forever convinced that the ladies of the Ferry Command can really take it.”

“Since you put it that way,” Mary replied soberly, “I’ve got to accept.”

“That’s the girl!” Sparky applauded.

Mary could be quite the lady when occasion demanded. The wife of a flying Colonel took her under her wing to help her with dress and make-up. The beautiful gown she had worn in Egypt was still at hand and so it happened that a young flying lieutenant was heard to remark as she entered:

“That glorious dame! She never flew a plane in her life!”

Catching the words, Mary blushed, but forgave the lieutenant on the spot.

Had not the very substantial Sparky, still in his uniform, been seated at her side to nod in confirmation to every strange tale she told, there might have been many an older head that would have questioned her story. As it turned out, she was quite the lady of the hour.

For all that, when she found Sparky next morning, the first thing she asked was: “When do we leave and how?”

“We’re leaving the good, old Lone Star behind,” he admitted sadly. “It’s needed for fighting China’s battles.”

“Then I’ll forgive them,” she replied instantly. At that moment she was once again seeing shadowy forms and a heavy plane moving down a dark highway, and hearing the crippled Hop Sing tell the story of his brave people.

“But how—”

“How are we going to America? Is that it?”

“Yes, and where is our roll of papyrus?”

“The papyrus is still in the secret compartment on our plane. We’ll go and get it right now. You’ll carry it in your traveling bag.”

“Just for luck.”

“Luck and perhaps a little further adventure.

“As to our mode of travel to San Francisco,” he added, “I’m told that we are to travel just as we have done in America after we have delivered a job.”

“By transport plane?”

“That’s it.”

“Dull but restful,” she sighed. “I’m all for it.”

Two days later, together with a score of officers and men of official distinction, bound for home on leave or on business, they climbed aboard a giant airliner and headed out over the Pacific. After long hours of travel they came swooping down upon a broad island airfield that, as far as they are concerned, will remain forever unnamed.

Here they were greeted by hundreds of American soldiers who, at first, stared at Mary in disbelief, then let out a lusty cheer.

Beneath the palms that night, with only the stars for light, and with soldiers, sailors and nurses as an audience, Mary told her story all over again.

In the very midst of her talk, someone set a shiny object down before her, then whispered:

“You’re doing great, sister. Keep right on.”

Cheered by the marvelous attention of her audience, she talked for an hour only to learn in the end, what she had suspected all along, that the last half of her talk had been broadcast by short wave to America.

“Now there’ll be no living with you, Mary,” Sparky laughed as he escorted her to the nurses’ tent where she was to spend the night.

“In Heaven’s name, why?” she exclaimed.

“You’re famous!”

“Nothing like that,” she laughed. “Just a flying fool of the Ferry Command.”

From here they hopped along in a leisurely manner to Honolulu.

Many a time in her younger days Mary had dreamed of sitting beneath the palms on the Hawaiian Islands. But on this trip she had seen palms in Brazil, North Africa, Egypt, Persia, India, China and the islands of the sea.

“What’s one palm more or less?” she said to Sparky. “Here’s hoping we catch an early plane home.”

They were obliged to wait two days before the long hop for San Francisco. It was on the evening of their last day at Honolulu, while they were seated in the lounge of their hotel, that a real thrill came over them as they listened to the radio.

“Listen!” Sparky sat up suddenly. Mary shifted to face the radio.

“We are now permitted to report,” said a voice in far away China: “that, four days ago, Tokio was heavily bombed by an airforce of great strength and that an enormous amount of damage was done to steel mills, airplane factories and other objectives. All our planes returned safely to their base.”

“Here it comes!” Mary whispered tensely.

“It’s the pay-off,” Sparky agreed.

“Here in the studio with me now,” the voice on the radio went on, “is Flight Commander Major Tom Cole. Major Cole, will you tell us a little about that raid?”

“I certainly will,” came in another voice. “It was magnificently planned and executed with great daring and tremendous success.”

“Were you able to sight your objectives?”

“And how! Those bombardiers just laid those blockbusters right on top of the targets.”

“Was much damage done?”

“I should say that fully a third of the factories, mills, and steel mills in the Tokio area had been put out of commission for weeks, perhaps months.”

“And Tokio itself?”

“All I can say is that if I lived in a paper house, I’d never start a war.”

“Thank you, Major. Oh! One thing more. There is a rumor about that a girl, Mary Mason, of the WAFS, had something to do with the success of this effort. Could this be true?”

“Not only could it be true—it is true. Much of the success of this mission is due to the loyal service of the young lady you mentioned. I, of course, can’t give you details. I will say that she no longer is in China.”

“In Honolulu, perhaps.”

“I wouldn’t know. Those gals really get about. All I want to say is that, wherever Mary Mason is tonight, our hats are off to her. Every man who flew on that mission would be glad to shake her hand.”

“And so ladies and gentlemen—” The broadcast ended.

“Oh!” Mary breathed, sinking deep into her big chair. “What did you say, Sparky—the pay-off?”

As Mary started for her room a short while later a reporter stepped up to her.

“Might you be Mary Mason?” he asked in a low voice.

“I might and I might not. You should know that we are not permitted to divulge secrets to strangers, particularly when we are on duty.” Once more Mary was on her way.

When they landed in San Francisco one morning at nine, Mary carried a mysterious package under her arm.

“Sparky,” she said, “I’ve carried this roll of papyrus half way round the world. The first thing I want to do in America is to get rid of it.”

“Okay, I’m with you,” was his quick response, “We’ll sit on a stool long enough for coffee, toast, and bacon, then we’ll be on our way.”

When, three hours later, they alighted from a cab before an imposing home hidden behind tall shrubbery in one of the city’s finest suburbs, Mary’s hands gripped the roll of papyrus. Her tense fingers trembled slightly as, with Sparky at her side, she marched up the winding walk.

“This is the place,” she whispered.

“And this the hour,” he agreed. “Keep a stiff upper lip. Everything will be fine and dandy.”

“All the same, I don’t like it.” She gripped his arm. “I’d rather be right up there in the sky.”

“Even in Burma?”

“Yes, even that.”

Just then a half block away, a heavy car slid up to the curb. Three husky men sprang out and marched briskly up the street.

“The cast is all here. The stage is set,” Sparky whispered, as he rang the door bell.

Their ring was answered at once. A blonde-haired maid ushered them in. She led them to a door, tapped, then waited.

“Come in! Come in!” a large voice welcomed as the door swung open. “I have been expecting you.” The large, red-faced man waved them to chairs close by his mahogany desk.

“Now we shall see!” He breathed heavily as his hand gripped the roll of papyrus. “Perhaps this is genuine, and perhaps not.”

After unrolling the parchment, he sat for a full minute studying the first, full sheet through his thick glasses—so intently that one might have said he was trying to read something not written there at all.

Sparky gave Mary a meaningful look.

“Yes,” the big man drew in a deep breath, “this is genuine, and should be of great service to humanity by revealing the real life of those strange beings who lived so long ago. You have been at great pains to bring this to me.”

“He doesn’t know the half of it,” Mary thought, smiling to herself.

“You must allow me to pay you for your trouble,” he went on. “How much do I owe you?”

“Oh! Noth—but nothing.” Mary hated herself for stammering. “But I wish you would look at all the sheets and per—perhaps count them,” she added hesitatingly.

“Very well. I shall do as you say.” The big man’s thumb and finger reached for the first sheet. Sparky half rose in his chair. From outside came a faint sound.

“One,” the big man counted, “two, three, four—”

Mary’s heart fluttered.

“And then—” The big man did not finish. Instead he sat there staring and as he did so his face purpled. A slip of paper had been inserted between the sheets of papyrus. On it had been written these words:

“You are Peter Schwartz.”

That was all. This could have been a harmless trick had he not for years lived in America under quite another name, and had not Peter Schwartz been wanted for some time by certain gentlemen who made their homes in Washington.

Half rising in his chair, the big man reached for the right-hand drawer of his desk. Sparky beat him to it, striking his arm down. And then the big man found himself surrounded by three men, each as large as himself and more powerful.

A pair of handcuffs clicked. “Come on, Schwartz,” one of the men said gruffly while another lingered for a word with Mary and Sparky.

“Nice work,” he commended. “The F.B.I. owes you a debt of gratitude, as does our government.”

“Most of the credit goes to Mary’s father,” said Sparky.

“And to his friends, the Egyptologist and the one who knows so much about lights.” Mary amended.

“You see,” said Sparky. “As soon as we showed them the roll of papyrus they put a sheet of it under the infra-red light.”

“And that brought out all sorts of things you couldn’t see with the eye,” Mary broke in. “Maps, charts, figures and all kinds of messages in code.”

“Enough to tell our enemy all they’d like to know about Egypt,” the F.B.I. now agreed. “They’ll never know now. The proper sort of bath will remove all their fancy maps and messages. And then—” he paused. “What about that roll of papyrus?”

“Let us know when you’re through using it as evidence,” said Sparky. “Then we’ll try to find out what will happen to it next.”

Ten minutes later they were once more out in the glorious sunshine of their native land. Sparky hailed a cab and together they rode to the little hotel where the girls of the Ferry Command stay when they are in the city.

As they entered the lobby Mary saw one of the girls she knew.

“Greetings,” she called.

“Same to you,” came back. “Where did you just come in from?”

“Been round the world,” Mary smiled slyly.

“Oh, yeah?” Then the girl’s look changed. “Say, that’s right! You’re Mary Mason! I heard you on the radio!”

“Oh! I hoped no one would hear!” Mary was startled.

“Everybody did. Say! It was great! And now all the girls want to cross the ocean. And say! There’s a telegram for you at the desk! Yes, and a letter.”

“A telegram! A letter!” Mary marched to the desk, received the telegram, and the letter, then stood staring.

The letter had given her a real thrill. It was not really a letter, only a picture on a postcard with some writing on the back. The picture was of a fine young American soldier in uniform. On its back she read: “You asked for it, so here it is.” It was signed “Jerry Sikes.”

“That boy in South America,” she whispered. “How grand!”

But the telegram?

“What’s the matter? Bad news?” Sparky asked.

“I’ll say so!” Mary made a face. “It’s from the WAF central office. They’ve booked me to appear before three women’s flying clubs. I’m to recruit fliers for our organization. Oh, when will we two fly again?”

“Time enough for that,” said Sparky. “Just let me know when your lecture tour is over and I’ll see what can be cooked up.

“Well, Mary,” he said as their hands met, “you saw a lot of nice boys on that trip.”

“I sure did, Sparky.” Her eyes shone. “But the best of them all—”

“Was the gray-haired one who met you in Egypt,” Sparky said smilingly.

“That’s right, Sparky—my dad—but next to him, the finest of them all was the guy who went with me all the way.”

“Thanks, Mary. I’m glad you feel that way, for you’re the grandest girl I know. I’ll be seeing you.” He turned to march away.

“Oh! Gee!” Mary thought. “Life sure is funny! Some of the things that happen to you make you feel all funny inside, but when there’s a war and you’re in it, you just have to let it go—for the duration.”

Endpaper illustration