“It doesn’t matter who I am,” came slowly. “It will pay you to stay where you are. I am not alone.” Jack remained where he was. He seemed to catch sight of shadowy figures in the brush. Visions of flying spears and arrows haunted him. “We’re two fliers from the United States Navy,” he said, having decided to tell the truth. “Our plane was wrecked. We came ashore on a rubber raft. Now, who are you?” he repeated. “How are we to know that you are speaking the truth?” the girl asked, ignoring his question. “There’s a Jap raft drawn up on the beach,” she went on. “Yes. We drew it up.” Jack’s throat went dry. “Then perhaps you came in it.” “Do I look like a Jap?” He played his flashlight on his own face. “Not like a Jap, but you might be a German. All the traders were Germans before the war.” “All right. Have it your way!” He threw a flash of light into her eyes. By doing this, he discovered an added pair of eyes—small, monkey eyes. The monk was on her shoulder. “Is that your monkey?” he asked. “Yes.” “How did you get that American nurse’s identification tag the monkey wears?” He asked without thinking. “That!” There was anger in her voice. “That’s none of your affair.” She went on after a moment, “We want to know about you.” “And now you know.” He laughed softly. “Do I?” She returned the laugh. “Do you know all about those fellows who come here in that queer sort of plane?” he asked. “Do you?” she came back at him. “No.” “Well then, that makes two of us. Thanks for listenin’. Good night.” She was gone. She’s heard that farewell off here on the radio, Jack thought. Did missionaries have radios? He supposed they did. Queer little world he had dropped into. So she didn’t know much about those two men and the mystery plane? Well, one way or another, _he_ was going to learn more. If they turned out to be Australian, British, or Dutch, they might give the boys a lift to some spot held by the United Nations. Then Stew and he would get back in time for the big push against Mindanao, he thought. Worth taking a chance for that, he assured himself. A very long chance. When Kentucky and two of his night fighting comrades made their way back to the carrier they were greeted with enthusiasm. “You did it!” The Commander gripped Kentucky’s hand. “You broke up their formation! Not a torpedo found its mark. But where is Ted?” His voice dropped. “We don’t know, sir,” said Kentucky, wrinkling his brow. “We had to scatter, and go on our own.” “Of course.” “Red saw him climbing for altitude, sir—thought his motor might have been smoking.” “Yes, sir. That’s the way it was,” Red put in. “After that the moon went under for quite a while. When it came out his plane was gone. I thought I saw a white gleam like a parachute in the moonlight quite close to the water, but I wasn’t sure.”