the only identification I can produce until Colonel
Welsh arrives at midnight. That isn't far off, of course, but you two
ran into some trouble tonight. Bad trouble, I'd say, and--Well, I'm
supposed to be in charge down here, which automatically makes me
responsible for your safety. I fell down on the job, it seems. In other
words, I'd like all the details so that I can start the wheels turning
to round up this mysterious trouble-maker."

Dawson smiled, gave a little twist of his head, and gestured with one
hand.

"That's just the trouble, sir," he said pleasantly. "There aren't any
details, except the unpleasant ones that we've already told you. We were
heading back here when we were suddenly jumped and knocked cold. Whoever
did the job tore our uniforms to ribbons searching us."

"And what do you suppose he was searching for?" Major Parker asked
shrewdly.

"I don't know, sir," Dawson said quietly, and looked straight at him.
"Whatever it was, he didn't find it, because neither of us lost a single
thing."

"That's quite right, sir," Freddy Farmer spoke up. "I just had a
thought, though. Perhaps robbery was the main idea, but something or
somebody scared the beggar off."

Major Parker made a face as though he suddenly had a bad taste in his
mouth, and sighed sadly.

"Look, Farmer, I'm all of thirty-three!" he said sarcastically, "I've
been around a little. Don't give me that kind of an explanation. It's
silly. Whoever it was had time to tear your uniforms to shreds, but _no_
time to grab your money. That is, if it _was_ robbery."

"Well, it was just a thought, sir," Freddy replied with a weak grin.

"Then let's skip it," the major suggested laughingly. Becoming serious,
he said, "Don't think I'm trying to bust in on secret stuff. What isn't
my business _isn't_ my business. I've been attached to Intelligence long
enough to learn that. I ask for details simply because a couple of funny
things have happened around here lately. About ten days ago one of the
field laborers, hired by the British, was found dead with a bullet in
his brain. It turned out to be a Luger bullet. Three days ago somebody
broke into my office and tried to go through my private files. At least,
that's the way it looked to me--though my hunch might be all wet. Tell
me this, if you can: Did either of you get a look at whoever slugged
you?"

"I didn't see a thing, or feel a thing, for that matter," Freddy Farmer
said with a shake of his hea