"I guess you went wrong on this one, Dave," Freddy gasped. "This stuff is heavier than water, and it will never rise." "It's got to, it's got to, Freddy!" Dawson said grimly. "It's our only hope of getting out of this place. And of maybe getting the rats here in this nest caught." "Small chance of that, I fancy," Freddy said with a groan. "But even if the police and the fire department do come busting in here and free us, then what? The way we've messed up this job, it will certainly take something to face Vice-Admiral Stone and Commander Drake. They certainly won't love us for this business, I can tell you!" "Maybe not, but we'll just have to take our medicine, Freddy," Dawson replied. "But the big idea right now is to get _out_ of here. You know there's always a chance that we may be able to do something. After all, the carrier force is only two days at sea. It's going to take longer than two days for them to get within flight range of Truk. At least, near enough for that Nazi rat to skip off and get going. I ... doggone, I could cut my throat for the way things have turned out. After all the tight places we've been in, and wiggled out of them, to be caught cold like this. Boy, do I feel lower than a heel!" Freddy Farmer didn't reply for a moment. He moved a bit closer to Dawson on the floor, and then reached out a hand and touched his flying pal on the arm. "We'll get out, Dave," he said quietly. "We've got to, old chap. And you and I aren't licked until we're dead and buried six feet under, as you would say." Dawson looked at him, and some of the telling strain went out of his smoke-streaked face. He grinned and winked knowingly at Freddy. "Now you're talking, kid," he said. "For a moment there I was afraid that you had given up the ship for keeps. But you were just fooling me, and I should have known better. Sure we'll get out, and we'll still win somehow. You just wait and see." As Dawson finished the last he got slowly up on his hands and knees, and crawled over toward the wall on his right. He was playing a hunch, and his hunch proved to be correct. There was a draft of air over on that side that was lifting the yellow smoke upward. As a matter of fact the smoke was beginning to pour out through the skylight. "Give the gentleman a cigar; it's working, Freddy!" he cried out in a low voice. "Crawl over here and see for yourself. It's working, Freddy." A few seconds later young Farmer was by his side and peering upward out of smoke-reddened eyes. He gasped happily, and instantly crossed all the fingers of his two hands. "For luck, Dave!" he breathed. "This and a prayer that they will see it outside. I mean, that there aren't tall buildings around here that will hide it off from those in the street. Gosh! Dave! Look at that stuff pour out. I never knew that just a bundle of clothes and things could throw off so much smoke!"