"And our luck has simply run out," he went on a moment later. "But the job is done. That is, the part we had to do. Just stick your nose outside this place, if you don't think so! Honolulu isn't such a terribly big place, you know. And ... well, thanks for the meal here. Mind if I finish it before you have your fun?" It took every ounce of will-power and self-control that Dave Dawson ever possessed to fling a questioning look at the Jap, and then calmly turn and start eating. His insides were on fire with fear. He could feel cold drops of sweat running down his back, and oozing from his armpits. He wanted to shout wild things at the top of his voice. He wanted to try and lunge up on his bound feet, and throw himself barehanded at this killer giant, and get it over with as quickly as possible. But there was that in him which forced him to play his part. Win, lose, or draw, he had to play his part, because common sense told him that was all that he could do, and maintain a fighting chance for his life. And a fighting chance for Freddy Farmer's life, too. "There's lots left, Freddy," he said calmly, and grinned stiffly at his pal. "Go on, dig in, boy. Eat while you can." Young Farmer's frozen face relaxed, and even lighted up. The English-born air ace returned his grin, and nodded. "Oh yes, quite, Dave," he said, "Might as well eat. The job's done, anyway. Wonder what time it is? They must all be in position now." Both air aces sensed rather than saw the swift, tigerish movement of the big Jap leaping forward. A brown foot caught their tray of food and sent it skimming across the floor to crash up against the wall in back of them and shower uneaten food all over the place. Then the Jap backed up, virtually foaming at the mouth, and glared at them out of eyes that held all the devilish hate in the world. "Fools, swine, pigs, dogs of dogs!" he screamed furiously. "I will teach you to sing a different tune. I will teach you many things before you die!" The Jap nodded his head violently, spat at them, and spun around to hurl a strange tongue at the two brown men still cringing on the floor over by the wall. Dawson tried to catch just one of the words that the big Jap flung off his lips, but he failed utterly. The Jap spoke a language, or at least a dialect, that he had never in his life heard before. The two brown men heard it, and understood it, however. Their prominent-boned faces still alive with fear, they got quickly to their feet, and went over to Dawson and Freddy Farmer, flung them flat on their faces and bound their wrists behind their backs once more. This time, though, they did not attach the end of the ropes to those about the ankles. And Dawson held his breath in fear that they would realize it and promptly do so. But they didn't. They straightened up, and then at a snarling sound from the big Jap ducked quickly out of the room like a couple of terrified brown rabbits.