With her twin engines roaring full out, the Navy Lockheed R40-1, a "cousin" of the famous Lockheed Hudson bomber, shook the dust of the airport runway at Albuquerque, New Mexico, from her wheels, and went climbing up into the night sky on the last leg of the trans-continental flight to San Diego. At the controls was Dave Dawson. In the co-pilot's seat was Freddy Farmer, and between them and just aft in the navigator's seat was Colonel Welsh. For quite some time now conversation between them had been at a very definite stand-still. At the start of the trip they had talked on this and that to help pass the time, but long before Albuquerque was reached all three of them had run down like clocks. There wasn't anything more to talk about, and each was quite content to sit with his own thoughts and hope for a speedy arrival at San Diego. However, when Dave had lifted the Lockheed high enough to clear the mountains ahead by a good margin, he got fed up with the silence, and nudged Freddy in the ribs. "Say something, pal," he said. "Tell me the story of your life, before the silence puts me to sleep. Don't be bashful. Colonel Welsh won't mind. Will you, Colonel?" "Certainly not," the senior officer said with a chuckle. "Fact is, I'll bet it's mighty interesting, and well worth listening to." "There you are, Freddy!" Dave cried. "Both the Colonel and I are all ears, and eager to hear about it." "Very well," the English youth said. "If you insist. There isn't very much to tell, though. Up to May, Nineteen Forty, I led the usual English boy's life. You know, school, play, and all that sort of thing. But in May, Nineteen Forty--it was May Tenth to be exact--I met an American chap named Dave Dawson. Well, that was the turning point in my life. _Downwards_, you know. I've rued the day ever since. And there you are!" "Ouch!" Dave cried. "A bull's-eye for the young man. And he has the nerve to say that after all I've done for him. He's--Hey! What's that?" "What's what?" Freddy demanded as Dave spoke the last sharply. The Yank born war ace took a hand off the controls and pointed off to the right. "Over there," he said. "Thought I saw a flash of light. Guess it was a falling star." "Probably was an airways beacon," Colonel Welsh spoke up. "There's one up that way a bit, I believe. That was all right, Farmer. Now it's your turn, Dawson. See if you can match it."