ce, Freddy, though I couldn't spot you. You did get
one of them, huh?"

"I got both, with a bit of luck," young Farmer said quietly. "But not
before one of the blighters had put a bullet through my port engine's
oil line. All I could do was force land. I saw your parachute open, and
saw your silk foul in a tree near here. I tried to land as close as I
could, but messed things up something terribly. A blasted awful landing.
I was lucky not to have broken my confounded neck. I think I was knocked
out for a spell. Fact is, I'm sure of it, because it was late afternoon
when I collected my senses. I could see this bit of a hill where we are
now, so I started out for here. Good grief, what country! The Alps are
easier to cross than this bit of ground. When it got dark, it was just
three times as bad. But--Well, thank the Lord I finally reached you!"

Dawson said nothing. He simply groped for Freddy Farmer's hand, found
it, and pressed it hard.

"That was rotten luck for you, and just plain dumbness on my part," he
finally got out in a groan. "Those are the two reasons for our failure.
Gosh! If I had a knife, I think I'd be tempted to cut my throat. When I
think how close we came to preventing those bombers from raiding
Casablanca, I--"

"But they haven't taken off yet, Dave!" Freddy cried excitedly. "It's
still not too late, if that's what you're thinking!"

Young Farmer's words seemed to make Dawson's heart swell up and explode
in his chest.

"What?" he gasped. "Haven't left yet? But it's well over the time limit,
Freddy! According to schedule, the President's party should have arrived
at Casablanca early this evening, and--"

"Maybe it did, but the bombers haven't taken off!" young Farmer
interrupted. "While making my way here, I saw their hidden field from
some high ground. That was about an hour ago. They had a few oil pot
flares burning, and I could see the planes. All props were dead. They
haven't left yet, Dave. My guess is that the President's party has been
delayed a bit, and _they_ know it! And, Dave! There are more than just
Junkers there, too. At least half a dozen Messerschmitt single-seaters,
not counting the ones we got, and a two-seater Messerschmitt 110."

"No kidding?" Dawson breathed, and swallowed hard. "Then that checks
with the thought I had. I mean, those bombers have a fighter escort to
protect their secret base in case a stray plane or two found it--like
what happened to us. But I think the b