Dawson smiled and kneeled down beside the bed. For some unknown reason he was positive now. The man in the bed was well over six feet tall, but his hair was not straw-colored. It was almost snow white. But his eyes were blue, and it was perhaps the eyes that made Dawson so certain. They were defiant as they stared at him, but in their depths there seemed to burn a tiny spark of faint hope. "Harvard Nothing," Dawson said softly. "We're Yanks, Dartmouth. Yank Air Forces, but trying to do a job for Major Crandall, your chief. He only got word of your new address yesterday, just before we took off. It was ten days getting through to him. Look, Dartmouth, you've--" Dawson stopped speaking as the other's eyes became aglow with a wild light of unbounded joy, and tears welled out of his eyes and trickled down through the dirt and caked blood on his face. Then his thin lips moved, and he whispered words that were like the bells of doom in Dawson's ears. "You are too late! Too late! They cannot be stopped now. By dawn they will be in the air. I tried, but they saw me. I ran, but one of them shot me. I thought--if I could only get back here. Perhaps a little rest, and then I could try again. But I lost too much blood. I--I can't make it now. And--and it is too late--too late...." The words trailed off into a gurgling sound in the dying man's throat. His eyes fluttered closed, and a horrible fear curled icy fingers about Dawson's heart. He turned to speak to Freddy Farmer, but the English-born air ace was not there in the room. In alarm Dawson started to his feet, but at that instant Freddy Farmer came slipping through the door. "Freddy! What--?" "Making sure, naturally," young Farmer cut him off, and quickly crossed over to the bed. "Slipped outside to see if there were others. We could be caught like rats in a trap in this place. But there were just these two. They've a small Army car outside. I took the ignition keys, and straightened the front door as I came back in. How's--?" Freddy stopped and groaned as he fixed his eyes on the man in the bed. "It's Dartmouth," Dawson said softly. "He talked for a moment, but about all he said was that we were too late. That nothing can stop them now. And that by dawn they'll be in the air. Before I could ask him what he meant, he passed out. He's dying, Freddy. Look at that neck wound. It's a miracle that he's lasted this long. He's--Wait! He's coming to again." The last was not necessary. Freddy Farmer also saw the eyes flutter open, and the thin lips move. But no sounds came from between them. Dawson leaned close. "You've got to hang on, Dartmouth!" he whispered fiercely. "You've got to hang on and tell us about it. Maybe we can help. Maybe we can still lick them. Why can't they be stopped? Who are they? And _what_ planes in the air by dawn? Hang on and tell us, Dartmouth! Hang on, please."