Dave Dawson at Casablanca Part 12

"You can skip that, both of you," Major Parker spoke up instantly.

"After all, maybe it's a break in a way. The rat is dead, and that makes one less of his breed to bother us. Ten to one he killed that field laborer and searched my office. If so--"

The major let the rest slide, for at that moment all heard the roar of an approaching aircraft. It was coming in fast from the north, and as Dawson stared in that direction, he caught sight of the winking green and red running lights. A couple of moments later, the field lights were turned on to light the long runway. Shortly after that an American B-25 slid down to a nice landing, and went trundling over toward the Administration Building. Dawson, glancing at his watch, saw that it was exactly midnight.

CHAPTER TEN

_Invisible Eyes_

No sooner had the North American B-25 bomber braked to a full stop in front of the Administration Building than the fuselage door swung open and Colonel Welsh disembarked. The Intelligence officer's thin face was deeply lined from worry and loss of sleep, but his eyes were sharp and clear as he swept them over the group that had sprung to attention. When his eyes came to Dawson and Farmer, a light of relief seeped into them, and he gave a little nod of his head as a sign of recognition, and perhaps approval.

"Get inside, you two, at once!" the colonel ordered. And then, as his eyes picked out Major Parker, he added, "You, too, Parker. Everybody else, back to your posts!"

With a million and one speculative thoughts dancing and racing about inside their heads, Dawson and Farmer climbed up into the bomber, with Major Parker at their heels. Once inside, they saw that the bomb compartment had been fitted out as an aerial office. Instinctively they headed that way. By the time they reached that compartment, Major Parker had joined them. The senior officer wigwagged a finger to check any questions that might be asked and waved the three of them to the little seats fitted to either side of the fuselage. He seated himself behind a small table bolted to the bomb compartment flooring and stared into s.p.a.ce as the B-25's engines were revved up a little, and the bomber started to trundle forward.

Automatically, Dawson braced himself for a take-off, but the ship did not leave the ground. The pilot trundled the bomber over toward one of the hangars, braked it to a stop, and cut his engines. A moment later, the field's ground crew was busy filling the aircraft's tanks. Still Colonel Welsh sat staring into s.p.a.ce without speaking a word. The suspense, and the mystery of it all, were like b.u.t.terflies in Dawson's chest. Again and again he glanced at the colonel, hoping to catch the senior officer's eyes, believing that if he did so the colonel might give him some kind of a sign that would at least relieve the tension.

He had no luck, though. The colonel sat like a man of stone while the B-25's fuel tanks were being filled to the brim. When they were filled, the engines were started, and the bomber was trundled out to the take-off end of the runway.

"A take-off sure, this time!" Dawson thought to himself. "I wonder where we're headed? In fact, I'm wondering a whole lot of things right now.

Something has certainly happened, because the colonel looks in a bad way. He looks about as bad as I felt a few hours ago."

But there was no take-off. When the bomber was swung around into the wind, the engines were throttled to idling speed. Then and then only did Colonel Welsh come out of his trance. He looked at Dawson and Farmer, and reached out his hand.

"Give me the rest of those envelopes," he said.

Dawson shook his head and spoke quickly as a look of utter horror spread over Colonel Welsh's face.

"We haven't got them, sir," he said. "Right after receiving your code message, we decided it was best to destroy them, so we did."

Horror vanished from the Intelligence Chief's face and thankful relief took its place.

"Good lads!" he said. "Now give me a detailed report of your flight from Washington."

Dave Dawson glanced impulsively at Freddy Farmer, but the English-born air ace shook his head and made a sign for Dave to do the talking. Dave turned to Colonel Welsh and began to relate everything that had happened from the Washington take-off to the moment of the colonel's arrival. He didn't leave out a thing. However, in the event he might have missed something, he shot a questioning look at Freddy Farmer when he had finished.

"No, I can't think of a thing to add," the English youth said. "You've covered everything, I'm sure."

During all the time Dawson was talking, Colonel Welsh sat leaning forward slightly and listening as though his life depended upon every word. Eventually he straightened up and looked at Major Parker.

"Have you anything to add?" he asked.

"Nothing, sir," the major replied. "Dawson covered my end of it all in complete detail."

"You had never seen the dead man before, Parker?" the colonel then asked.

"No, sir," Major Parker replied. Then, with a faint gesture, he added, "I may have seen him, sir, in the course of my work, but the natives here all look more or less alike."

Colonel Welsh grunted, scowled down at the little table in front of him, and suddenly shot a sharp look at Dawson.

"Yes?" he asked. "You've got something on your mind, Dawson?"

Dave started slightly, because he did have something on his mind and was debating if he should mention it. He could feel the red seeping up into his face as he looked at Colonel Welsh.

"Just a hunch, sir," he said. "I'm probably all wrong. The dead man is undoubtedly a native, as Major Parker says, but--"

"But what?" Colonel Welsh pressed as Dawson let the rest go unspoken.

"Well, his skin was dark like that of a native's, sir," Dave replied after a quick apologetic look at Major Parker, "but there was something about his features that sort of struck me as queer. The forehead looked a little too wide for a native's, and I was suddenly struck by the hunch that he was--No, I _must_ have been wrong!"

"Never mind what you must have been!" Colonel Welsh said sharply.

"Finish what you were going to say! You had the hunch that he was--"

Dawson hesitated a second and then took the plunge. "That he was a German, sir!"

A moment of tingling silence settled over the made-over bomb compartment. Then Colonel Welsh broke it with an order to Major Parker.

"Come with me and show me this dead man, Parker," he said. "Dawson, you and Farmer wait right here for me."

Three seconds later the colonel and the major had climbed out of the bomber, leaving Dawson and Farmer to twiddle their fingers.

"I am going stark, raving mad!" young Farmer suddenly exploded in a low, vibrant voice. "If I don't find out something soon, I don't know what I'll do!"

"I'll join you in a throat-cutting act, pal!" Dawson said, and sighed heavily. "If this isn't the most mixed-up business we ever got into, then I don't know what! The colonel's been here half an hour, and we don't even know why he came down here in the first place. We can thank the G.o.ds for one thing, anyway."

"What's that?"

"That Colonel Welsh was relieved and not burnt up when I told him we had destroyed those envelopes," Dawson replied. "Envelopes! Phew! I'll be seeing those darn things in my dreams for the rest of my life. Gosh! One would think they contained the complete plans of Allied High Command for the invasion of the European Continent, or something!"

"Maybe they did," Freddy Farmer said with a shrug and a sigh. "Maybe they did."

With that the pair lapsed into brooding silence. Each was perfectly content to remain silent, because words were just a waste of breath now.

They had talked themselves black and blue in the face as to the what and the why of this crazy business. For all their talking, they were right back where they had started in regard to anything concrete and definite.

Why talk about it any more? It was far, far better to go quietly nuts waiting for Colonel Welsh to return and throw a little light on the subject.

They sat and waited for a good fifteen minutes, mulling over their own thoughts and listening absently to the even murmur of the idling Wright-Cyclone engines that powered the North American B-25.

At the end of that fifteen minutes, however, the colonel returned. To Dawson's relief and pleasure, he saw that a lot of the worry had left the Intelligence officer's face. In fact, there was an almost happy look in his eyes. He came straight into the bomb compartment, seated himself at his little table, and took the inter-com phone mike off the wall hook at his side.

"Take off, Captain," he spoke into it. "Fly north for twenty minutes and then take up the course I gave you. Eh? Right!"

The colonel put the inter-com mike back on the hook, looked at Dawson, and smiled faintly.

"Thank heaven for your hunch," he said. "You were absolutely right. He was a German."

"A spy, sir?" Dave blurted out before he could check himself.