n glanced at the other cars. There were no other drivers about. He
looked back at the girl.

"Sir Eaton a kindhearted man?" he asked.

"Very," she assured him. "He carries a pocketful of cracker crumbs for
the pigeons."

At that moment Sir Eaton Pelham appeared. He was a burly Englishman,
wrapped snugly in the folds of a greatcoat. His ruddy face beamed and he
nodded to Stan.

"Jolly nice weather for one day," he said as he opened the door of the
car.

"Very," Stan answered. "How about a lift?"

Sir Eaton looked at Stan closely for the first time. "I say, a Yank
flier. What could you be doing here?"

"I was just fished out of the channel by one of His Majesty's patrol
boats and want to get back to base."

"Hop in, old man. Where is base?"

"Take me to Diss," Stan said as he climbed in.

"Right-o." Sir Eaton did not ask any more questions. He spoke about the
country they whirled through, but never mentioned the war at all. When
Stan got down at Diss, Sir Eaton waved his thanks aside. "Good hunting,
my boy," he said. Turning to his driver he said, "Whitehall, London.
We'll have to hit it a bit fast to be on time for my meeting."

Stan stood staring at the car as it whirled away. "Whitehall," he
muttered. "Pelham." Suddenly he began to laugh. He had hitched a ride
with one of Winston Churchill's right-hand men. And he had taken the
honorable assistant secretary many miles out of his way.

Hailing a jeep Stan hooked a ride to the camp. He walked into operations
and up to the desk. A major looked up and then started.

"Wilson!" he exclaimed. "We had you marked down as lost. Sim Jones
reported you short of gas."

"I hitchhiked back. Caught a ride with one of Churchill's secretaries,"
Stan said dryly.

The major looked at him sharply, then shoved a pad across the desk.
"Just put that in writing," he said.

Stan made his report, then headed for his hut to change into an
unwrinkled uniform. There was no one in the hut, but his things and the
belongings of O'Malley had been neatly stacked. Stan scowled.

"They gather a man's stuff up in a hurry around here," he muttered.

He put his own things back and did the same with O'Malley's. There would
be no rush about making O'Malley out a dead man. Getting into his
uniform he headed for the mess. He was suddenly very hungry.

Walking into the little dining room he halted and his mouth dropped
open. At a table, with four youngsters listening open-mouthed to his
t