“Just in time, boys,” he observed, “There is one scoundrel groaning on the floor, and another with his hands in the air. But you are a little late. This young lady and myself are entitled to all the honors.”

  The man in the doorway threw back his head and laughed long and loudly, and Jimmie Brooks stared at him in astonishment.

  “My hands are tired!” came the voice of Hamlin.

  “Well, you’ll keep them up in the air, just the same!” Brooks told him. “A man who has done the things you have done—”

  “It’s all right, Jimmie! Let him put his hands down,” said the detective at the door. “He’s as innocent as a new-born babe.”

  “Oh, is he? I know it’s a facer to find a railroad man engaged in treason, but here is one.”

  The men outside crowded into the room. Hamlin dropped his hands and sank on a box.

  “Innocent as a lamb,” the detective went on. “It is all finished, Mr. Hamlin. Jimmie, I’m sorry, but you’re not wise to the whole thing. You certainly worked well, and swiftly, but you were off the track. And Miss Burns-”

  “Miss Burns almost—er—spilled the beans,” Hamlin said.

  “What’s the proper meaning of all this?” Brooks demanded.

  “Let me explain,” said Hamlin. “Kenderdine approached me some time ago and tried to get me to play traitor. I took the railroad’s operatives into my confidence. They suggested that I ‘play’ him in order to discover his accomplices.

  “So I pretended to fall in with Kenderdine’s plans. I arranged for the cards to be sent to Miss Burns, and I arranged for Baker’s lamp to flash the messages. Baker already was in Kenderdine’s pay. I was to telephone him information regarding the movement of troop-trains, and he was to flash the messages across to Kenderdine.

  “The information I furnished was fake, of course—but the information flashed across the street was genuine! I would say that a train was to start Monday morning, but the lamp would flash Tuesday morning, the correct time of departure. That mystified us. We knew there was a real traitor somewhere. Kenderdine was getting genuine information. So we kept at work, trying to capture the guilty man. I got money from Kenderdine, acted the part well, met him here a couple of times. You see, we wanted to know the whole plot before we made a move. We wanted to get the entire gang.”

  “And we’ve landed them,” said the chief of the railroad’s operatives. “The guilty man is the alien janitor in the railroad building. He had a dictaphone arrangement stretched from your private office to the boiler-room. He knew of your deal with Kenderdine, and he was in it with Baker, the druggist. We nabbed him to-night, and he confessed. He knew you were giving false information. He gave Baker the correct information to be flashed across the street, and Baker split with him. They were afraid to notify Kenderdine that you were fooling him, afraid he would grow alarmed and call off the whole plot— and then the money would stop. So Baker disregarded your information and sent what the janitor telephoned.

  “We nabbed Baker, too, and got a confession out of him. Then we hurried here to catch Kenderdine—and found that Jimmie Brooks had been mussing around. We’ve found a small wireless outfit here on the island that Kenderdine used to convey his information to his confederates in other parts of the country, and there’ll be a lot of men in jail before another night. Sorry to spoil your triumph, Brooks.”

  “How can you ever forgive me for doubting you?” Betty Burns asked her employer.

  “It was natural for you to suspect me,” Hamlin replied. “I experienced several bad minutes when you made your appearance here. I feared Kenderdine would— And when Mr. Brooks appeared, I was about ready to collapse. I knew I would be cleared at once, of course, but we would lose our chances to take Kenderdine’s confederates and discover the real traitor.”

  “Anyway, Brooks, you get credit for nabbing Kenderdine,” the railroad’s chief said. “That ought to help some. Let’s take him to the launch and go back to town.”

  “Oh, I fancy I haven’t lost out entirely,” Jimmie Brooks answered.

  He was looking at Betty Burns as he spoke. And later, when they sat in the stern of the launch, he said:

  “Stupid of me not to have noticed it at noon when I bumped into you. I was thinking that red and white without the blue wasn’t proper at all. And you were showing your whole colors all the time. Blue? Huh!”

  “What do you mean?” she asked.

  “Your eyes,” he replied. “Blue as you can find ’em! I always did like blue eyes!”

  PRIVATE WAR, by Norman A. Daniels

  The Vultee V-12 was idling along at about two hundred miles an hour, high above the pacific. The nine-hundred-horsepower Roberts motor purred like a dream. Two heavy bombs were in the racks below. On each wing were two machine-guns of .30 and .50 calibers each. There was also a pair of flexible mounted .30s, the mechanism of which Second Lieutenant Mike O’Malley was fingering. At the controls First Lieutenant Bob kept a sharp eye over the spreading vastness of the Pacific. His fuel supply was getting low and the distance back to the secret base had to be calculated to a particular fineness. “All we do is ride around,” O’Malley complained. “The ocean is full of Brown-bellies, but they sure keep out of our way.”

  Roberts grinned. “Maybe they know how you can handle those guns, Mike. Seriously though, we’ve got to turn back. Can’t afford to undershoot our base.”

  O’Malley hunched forward a bit. “Look, Bob, I was transferred to this job only a couple of days ago. Since then, I’ve done nothing but fly. No chance to check up on what this is all about. Why the secret base and why this constant patrolling?”

  “I figured you’d guess by now,” Roberts said. “We’ve a small force on that island. The Japs could take us for a terrific buggy ride if they could find us. Our job is to stay there and patrol this area which regular Army and Navy patrols can’t include. The reason? This is a nice direct route to Hawaii, Mike. The brown-bellies would love to take a hop across this spot, especially in a couple of plane carriers and launch their birds before dawn, just as they did at Pearl Harbor.”

  “Oh!” O’Malley nodded. “I get it. So long as we keep the island base a secret, the Japs won’t have any idea we’re around. If they come, we just pile into ’em and hand ’em all we got.”

  “The devil we will,” Roberts said. “We run for it, my friend. Run like old Nick was after us. Then we radio the news and keep running. The carrier will find itself trapped and our job is done. In this war, Mike, it isn’t all fighting. Not yet.”

  O’Malley looked glum. “Say, those islands just below us. Must be a dozen of ’em. They’re even closer to Hawaii than the regular Jap bases. Why don’t the Japs grab themselves a few, rig ’em up and shoot from there?”

  “Because you and I are up here,” Roberts declared. “That’s another of our jobs. Some of those islands were in the process of being fortified by our own forces before Hirohito yanked that knife out of China’s back and used it on us.… Well, looks like the end of the run for you and me. We’re going back, Mike, but keep your eyes open. It’s a long way to home.”

  Mike O’Malley kept his eyes wide open. That was why he spotted the thin spiral of smoke miles to the west. He tapped Roberts on the shoulder and pointed. Roberts instantly nosed up, seeking all the altitude he could get.

  “Might be a Jap destroyer or a merchant ship,” he said. “I can’t think of any reason why it should be prowling these waters unless it’s a raider. We’ll just run over there and find out. Use the glasses, Mike, and keep me advised.”

  “I am using ’em.” O’Malley had a cheer in his voice. “Boy, oh boy, we’re going to have a party, Bob! Whatever that ship is, she’s escorted by two planes. Uh-huh—I can see the old Rising Sun. How about setting her, pal?”

  Roberts glanced at the fuel gauge and groaned. Why hadn’t those rats turned up an hour sooner? If he battled it out now there wouldn’t be fuel enough for the flight home. If he tried to run, those faster fighting jobs were bound to catch up with him. He kept on climbing and cursed the fuel supply.

  The outlines of the ship were becoming more visible with every passing minute. The Vultee was doing two hundred and fifty m.p.h. There was about thirty-seven m.p.h.s. felt in her.

  O’Malley put down his glasses.

  “I’m Tojo’s pet monkey if that isn’t a transport loaded to the gunwales, Bob!” he exclaimed. “And those two planes were catapulted. I saw the sling-shots just a minute ago. We’re going to have some action! I’ll take care of our rear with the two flexibles. You mow ’em down with the forward guns. And, Bob—if you cross me up and I don’t get a crack at those yellow bums, so help me, I’ll skin you alive!”

  “You’ll get a shot at them all right.” Roberts was biting his lower lip. “They’re trying to climb above us, but we’ve got a ceiling range they can’t top. So they’ll wait for us to come down, separate and try to take us from two angles. That’s where you come in. Hang on, we’re going to see the sun!”

  Roberts climbed rapidly. All idea of conserving fuel was gone now. Perhaps they would be lucky enough to make it short and be able to land on one of the numerous islands about two hundred miles south. They could radio the secret base and just wait for help—if they were lucky. Roberts kept repeating that phrase over and over.

  He topped the two Jap fighters, but they waited for him, ready to pounce the moment he came down. They were able to outfly him because of their greater speed, but they were vulnerable, too.

  Roberts felt reasonably secure. The Vultee V-12 was heavily armored, and the thick sheets of steel had never looked so good to him. He settled deeper in his chair, raised one hand and signaled O’Malley that he was going down to fight.

  It was a tough break not having a navigator along. The middle seat was empty and another pair of hands to help with the guns would have been useful. But at the secret base there were none too many Army flyers, and navigators were at a premium.

  The Vultee started to rip a hole in the atmosphere. Roberts’ idea was to sweep past those two fighters so fast they would miss with their guns. Then he could come out of that dive with the precision and speed the Vultee could stand, nose up and do some belly-shooting.

  He did not forget that transport either. She was beginning to zigzag already and the smoke from her funnels was thicker than ever, indicating that she traveled under forced draft now.

  * * * *

  They flashed by the two fighters which banked and started to dive after them. Roberts gave a yelp of elation. That was just what he wanted. They could never come out of their dive as fast as he could—not if they wanted to still fly with wings.

  A few bullets ripped through the plane somewhere aft. The young pilot could feel the ship shiver as they penetrated. Nothing seemed to be damaged. He slowly tugged at the wheel. The plane came out of its dive perfectly. Both enemy ships zoomed past, guns spitting.

  Now Roberts was on top again and within the ceiling of the enemy craft. He plunged down again, this time with his finger at the firing buttons. One of the Jap planes veered off and started to fight for altitude. The other didn’t dare.

  Roberts had a bead on him, but held his fire wisely. When he could actually see the shining helmet of the pilot, he cut loose. That shining helmet didn’t reflect the late afternoon sun any longer. The plane gave a lurch, like a wounded animal, coughed a stream of thick smoke, then burst into flame.

  Something rattled like hail on the armored side of the Vultee. The second Jap was plunging down in a suicidal attempt either to shoot his prey out of the sky or ram him. These Jap pilots had nerve, and death seemed to mean nothing to them.

  O’Malley gave a yelp of delight and cut loose then. His flexible guns created a dangerous arc of steel in the sky, but the Jap sideslipped through it, banked and came back for another try. This time he came head-on.

  Roberts didn’t stop to wipe sweat off his face. The fighter craft was plenty faster than this Vultee, but she was not armored and she carried only half the guns of the bigger dive bomber. That gave him an edge, but a precious little one. Also, the fuel gauge was getting lower and lower. Any chance of reaching the secret island base was all gone now. This was a fight to the finish.

  He aimed the ship, just as he would a gun. The Jap came into his sights. As he pressed the firing button, he felt the Vultee give a heavy lurch, but she came back on an even keel. The Jap didn’t. The cross-fire of those four guns caught him dead center.

  The prop broke into a hundred pieces. One wing buckled. Her nose pointed toward the Pacific and oblivion. The pilot made a grim attempt to climb out and chute to safety, but he was trapped in the cockpit, probably by a jammed cowling. A thousand feet above the water, fire must have reached the fuel tanks. The plane exploded.

  “Now for that transport!” Roberts shouted. “You okay, Mike?”

  “Never felt better in my life,” O’Malley answered. “We did okay, too, eh, pal? You going to dive-bomb that ship?”

  “I’m not going down and slap her commander’s wrist,” Roberts said grimly. “But I would like to know what in blazes a transport is doing here—unless they intended to take over one of those islands back there. Sure, that must be it. This is a full war party. Raiders must have captured one of the islands. Some have a lot of Yankee workers busy building fortifications. Get on that radio and call headquarters. Tell ’em to reconnoiter the island group carefully. And a couple of destroyers wouldn’t do us any harm either.”

  * * * *

  The transport was a tiny dot in the water, much smaller than the streams of smoke she was giving off. Roberts had two bombs, the heaviest a plane of this type could carry. One hit would sink that ship like a ton of bricks.

  There were, perhaps, a thousand or more men aboard her, but war was not a matter of mercy. The Japs had shown none at Pearl Harbor. They were entitled to none here.

  Roberts raised his hand and swept it down as he put the plane into her furious dive. He knew that unless he sank this ship quickly that he and O’Malley would get themselves buried at sea, in a watery shroud. The gas was being used up fast.

  The air brakes were set this time, keeping the dive under four hundred m.p.h. Roberts saw his target grow larger and larger. Rifles and submachine-guns started throwing up a futile barrage. Forward, a single antiaircraft gun let loose shrapnel that burst high above them and far to one side.

  He tripped a bomb, nosed up sharply and streaked to a safe distance. It was all O’Malley’s show now. He could watch the effects of the bomb from his berth aft.

  O’Malley saw debris, flame and death burst loose amidships. The funnels were knocked half over. The sea was full of swimming Jap soldiers.

  Roberts climbed again and surveyed the damage himself. It was bad—enough to sink the ship, but not fast enough. There might be more on the way and Robert’s job was to annihilate. Each one of those Japs who went down meant an American, Dutch, British or Chinese life saved.

  The next attack was easy. The antiaircraft gun had been rendered useless. A few rifles spat, uselessly. Roberts dropped his second bomb and was no more than five hundred feet above his target when he let go.

  This one burst in almost the same spot as the first. The ship was literally blown in half. Her stern sank in two minutes. The forward section held on a little longer. But Roberts didn’t know about that, because he was heading for that island group. Seconds were precious now for seconds ate up fuel.

  “There goes the rest of her!” O’Malley shouted. “A few life-boats are scooting around. I guess we did that job right.”

  “Yeah—now see about calling headquarters, will you?” Roberts asked.

  “Sorry, pal. It can’t be done. One of those Jap slugs had the radio’s serial number on it. She’s busted, ruined, shot full of holes. How’s the fuel, chum?”

  Instantly, Roberts throttled the plane down to its minimum speed to conserve fuel. Adding to his troubles, the sun was going down fast. They would be flying in total darkness within thirty minutes. That wasn’t so bad except that there was a chance they would overshoot the islands. And those tiny dots offered the only haven for eight hundred miles.

  Roberts did not even speak as he nursed the ship along. O’Malley was whistling cheerfully. Even if they dived to the bottom of the sea, he was satisfied. They had cleaned out a potential rat’s nest before it was lined with yellow mice.

  Suddenly Roberts killed his engine. O’Malley gave a nervous start of excitement.

  “I just saw lights down there,” Roberts said. “We’re going in—silently. Mike, I think the Jap transport was headed this way. According to my map, the island where I saw those lights was being rigged as a plane base. The Japs must have been wise to it and captured the whole shebang. No telling how many of ’em are down there, but we’re going to find out.”

  O’Malley got busy. He slipped one of those .30 caliber machine-guns loose and prepared all the ammunition he thought they could carry. If there were Japs below, he wanted to give them a taste of good old U.S. steel—and O’Malley didn’t mean bonds.

  * * * *

  Roberts maneuvered the silent ship for a landing that would beach the craft, with luck. He didn’t dare try to sit down on any of the landing fields. He didn’t know whether they had even been started, and what was more, it might be an open invitation for the Jap garrison to close in.

  The plane splashed through shallow water, ground against sand and came to a shuddering halt within wading distance of the island. Roberts hoped she had dug a deep enough hole to keep her from going out with the tide.

  He and O’Malley slid back the cowling. Roberts jumped into the water, shoulder high. He reached up and supported the heavy machine-gun while O’Malley held the ammunition above his head as he jumped.

  They waded ashore, streaked for the thick brush, and dropped flat, breathing hard from their exertions. Not so far away they heard a tinny radio blaring forth Japanese. Roberts dug an elbow into O’Malley’s ribs.