He turned to the tray of food, picked up something that looked like a messy salad and stuffed it into his mouth. It tasted surprisingly good. In fact, it tasted exactly like a highly spiced salad. "Not bad," he grunted. "Definitely good," Freddy Farmer said with his mouth full. "Which of course adds to the crazy mystery. Why do the blighters feed us, I'd like to know?" "And I'd like to know who they _are_!" Dawson said with emphasis. Then, reaching out his hand, he said, "Wonder what this stuff is in this cup? Looks like pineapple juice. I ... well, what do you know, it _is_ pineapple juice! But good, too!" "Why wouldn't it be pineapple juice?" Freddy Farmer murmured as he drank from the other cup. "We're in the Hawaiian Islands, aren't we? And I suppose this other stuff is what they call poi, what?" "Search me," Dawson said with a shrug, "It's not bad, but I'd rather have a nice juicy steak with French fries, and ..." "Dave, stop!" Freddy Farmer groaned, and made an anguished grimace. "That's definitely torture to me, and you know it. Besides, you're not thinking of that sort of thing at all. I wish we could get these two beggars to talk. I fancy they look a bit frightened to me." "Check," Dave said, and looked at the two brown men, who stood there like a couple of wooden Indians. "And mostly too frightened to talk. I think ..." Dawson didn't continue to say what he thought. The air outside wherever they were suddenly became filled with the roar of many planes. He judged that there were a good fifty or more planes up there in the sky. He impulsively threw back his head and stared up at the high window. The light seeping down through was considerably less pale than it had been before, but the glass was still too dirty and covered with cobwebs for him to see the sky above. "Yank planes," he said, lowering his gaze to the two brown men. "I wonder if it's the welcome escort for the carrier force. I ... Oh-oh! Take a look, Freddy! Our brown friends are scared of planes, too." And it was seemingly true. The two brown men were virtually cringing back, and their jet black eyes were flitting from their prisoners to the high window, and back again. Their actions suddenly filled Dawson's brain with a mad idea. "Bombs!" he suddenly shouted at the top of his voice. "Get out of here, _everybody_!" The two brown men jumped as though they had been shot, and their faces turned a milky chocolate with fear. They both shivered violently, and then one, the taller of the two, gasped something in a tongue Dawson had never heard. Both of them spun around and leaped frantically toward the door. They jerked open the door and went through it like a couple of brown streaks of lightning.