"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 n.a.z.i--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 j.a.prat, 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 n.o.body 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 j.a.p partner in this spy business."

"What about that j.a.p, 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 j.a.p, or a Mexican worker. In fact, we only believe that he was a j.a.p from what you two say."

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

"Quite!" Freddy Farmer echoed. "The beggar was definitely j.a.panese, 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 j.a.p, but he may not look one hundred per cent j.a.p, 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 s.p.a.ce.

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 sh.o.r.e 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 n.a.z.i 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 j.a.prat 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 j.a.ps 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!"

CHAPTER FIVE