ut Arch Garret. As he circled for altitude, he
tried to figure it out.

He had a hunch Garret was just a cog in a bad machine. He was the
logical man to shove into the middle of things and the British were
eagerly picking up overseas pilots. The Royal Air Force was well filled
with Australians, New Zealanders, Canadians, and others from the empire
at large. Garret was a Canadian citizen, even though he had spent his
last few years in the United States. Now it was very clear why Moon
Flight had missed the bombers until they had done their work of
destruction.

The question was whether he should fly back and report--or whether he
should call Wing Commander Farrell and have secret agents put on
Garret's trail. Garret would undoubtedly have an airtight alibi. And he
certainly had backing that went high up. Stan might just make a fool out
of himself. After all, the whole thing sounded like a tall story.

He finally decided to go on to the navy base and then send for Allison
and O'Malley at once. They would believe him and help him. He would have
a good crew of mechanics at the field to slap the Hawks together quickly
and might be able to get them off in one day. Then there was one other
thing that tipped the balance in favor of going on. This was pretty much
a personal matter between himself and Arch Garret. This was the second
time Garret had tried to wipe him out.

Heading north he drove along and did not see any more Heinkels. He was
hailed by a scouting squadron from the fleet arm.

"Where to, Spitfire?" called a very English voice over the radio.

"Navy base. Shetlands," Stan called back.

"Good luck and cheerio, Yank," came back the English voice.

Stan grinned broadly. His western accent sure marked him well. He bored
ahead, his eyes seeing far into the distance, his mind working upon the
crooked plotting of Arch Garret.

He spotted the naval base and circled around to give the boys at the
batteries a chance to see who he was, then set down and turned the
Spitfire over to a ground crew. Taking his file of papers he headed for
the commander's quarters.

The commander was an affable man, ruddy-faced and square-jawed. He had
heard about Stan and O'Malley's attack upon the pocket battleship.

"I was so inquisitive about those ships I had them unloaded and
uncovered. They are beauties, sir. But I can't see what you'll want
with so much motor."

"I'll show you," Stan promised. "Now I want to make a call back t