The vice-admiral paused as though to take time out to select his next words. "Another reason," he went on a moment later, "is that by sundown tonight we will be within eight hundred miles of Truk. Unless you find your man by then ... if such a man _does_ exist in my force ... you will be assigned to one of the squadrons for active duty, and are to forget all about this other business. We will be going into action tomorrow, and ... well, nobody in my command is taking this cruise just for the ride. Do I make myself clear?" "Yes, sir," Dawson replied instantly. "As a matter of fact, sir, just before your aide summoned us to your quarters, we had decided to request permission to see you so that we could ask to be put on active flying status. We admit it, sir. We just have been along for the ride. And we appreciate more than we can say the freedom of movement that you have permitted us. So if we still haven't accomplished anything by sundown, sir, we both will be willing and eager to serve in any capacity you deem fit." The vice-admiral nodded, and then glanced questioningly at Freddy Farmer. "Captain Dawson speaks for both of us, sir," the English-born air ace said at once. "I am not only willing and eager to serve in any way you wish, but I will consider it a great honor, sir." For the first time since their entrance the vice-admiral gave them a smile. It was warm, sympathetic, and full of understanding. "Thank you, gentlemen," he said. "The entire force will be glad to have you flying with us. Your past records are not exactly secrets, you know. Very well, then, you can carry on as you have been until sundown. After that you are flying and fighting for the Navy. That is all, and thank you again." The two youths took their leave of the force commander and returned thoughtfully to the Trenton's flight deck. "Until sundown," Dawson murmured, and squinted at the sun sliding down the western sky. "I'd say two hours, or maybe two and a half. Well, back to the old question. What do we do about it now, Freddy? A swell suggestion hasn't suddenly hit you, has it, by any chance?" "What suggestion?" young Farmer sighed. "All I'm thinking about right now is that I hope tomorrow I get a crack at a hundred of the Jap beggars when we hit Truk." "Well, it will take more than a hundred cracks at them, and successful cracks too, for me to feel even one degree better," Dave said. Then, as though talking to himself, he murmured, "We'll be eight hundred miles from Truk in a couple of hours or so? That means we must be about eight hundred and eighty miles from there right now." "You're probably correct," Freddy Farmer said. "But why all the sudden figuring? What of it?" "Only this," Dawson said, and gazed along the deck at the planes of the sundown patrol being made ready for flight. "It means that this carrier force is plenty close enough right now for our Nazi spy to get there in his Grumman Hell Cat, if he's flying one of those babies."