“Where are you calling from?”
“Ramsgate.”
“Get in touch with British Intelligence there. We can’t put you through to the general.”
“Then get me Colonel Holt.”
“He is in conference. Now clear the wire.”
“Don’t hang up or I’ll have your stripes!” Stan shouted.
“Yes, sir,” the voice said quickly.
That meant the operator was a non-com which would make it a little easier.
“Get me Lieutenant Allison at Mess 187. Make it quick.”
The operator did some plugging and after a bit came back with a report.
“Lieutenant Allison has shifted to fighter group. He is at 155, Interceptor Base.”
“Get him!” Stan snapped.
The operator began plugging again and Stan waited. He saw the man shadowing him standing out at the counter drinking a cup of tea. After a long wait he heard Allison’s voice.
“Hello there?”
“This is Stan. Hold it! Listen! I’m at Ramsgate and have to get to headquarters at once. Can’t tell you how I got here, but I’m about to be grabbed by British Intelligence. I’m dressed like a German business man.”
“I say, old man, this is topping.” Stan heard him shout to O’Malley.
“Is Sim Jones there?”
“Yes, he was here. I don’t see him, but I’m sure he’s around. Want to talk to him?”
“No, but either you or O’Malley keep an eye on him. Don’t let him get out of your sight. If he leaves the mess, follow him!”
“I say, what’s up?” Allison was clearly startled.
“Do as I say, and get Colonel Holt. Tell him to pick me up here at once. Even if he has to come himself. I’m about to be grabbed by a plain-clothes man. But I’ll be at British Intelligence here at Ramsgate.”
The Intelligence man was in the door of the booth. “That will be enough talk,” he said gruffly. “Any other messages you have I’ll send for you.” He reached over and hung up the phone before Stan could say another word.
“Listen, Officer. Take me back to the Intelligence Office,” Stan said. “My commander will call for me there.”
“You are acting very strangely, my man. Why didn’t you make this call from the office? It could have been checked there.” The officer laid a big hand on Stan’s arm.
“I’ll make one from there,” Stan said. “I’ll admit I should have put this one through from your office, but I did not know I was to be followed and I didn’t stop to think how I would look in these clothes.”
“I have orders to handle this myself in case you showed any suspicious actions. I think you have acted plenty suspicious. I’m taking you to the London office. We’ll have to check this call you just made and get you identified.”
“I can’t waste all that time,” Stan protested. “I have to get out to my outfit.”
The officer smiled. “I think I’ve landed one of the boys we’re after. We have had a tip that the Germans have planted a group of the smoothest men they have over here. So far we haven’t been able to put a hand on a single man of them. But you fit the picture neatly.”
“Why?” Stan asked.
“Well, you are an escaped pilot. That’s the way they have been coming in. They are always able to slip through because they know all about the outfit they were supposed to have been with. They’re even supposed to look exactly like the officers lost over Germany.” The officer laughed. “The more I look at you, the more convinced I am that we’ve landed one of them at last. Come along.”
Stan walked beside the officer. He felt like kicking himself for bungling. If the time were not so short everything could be straightened out. But he was sure the first waves of the giant air attack were about due to start, possibly before midnight. Allison had said Minter was not around. He and O’Malley might not be able to locate the spy.
“Here’s my car,” the secret-service man said.
Stan paused beside the sleek roadster. The officer opened the door. Stan stepped inside. The officer walked around the car. Stan leaned over the side.
“Aren’t you going to do anything about this flat tire?” he asked.
“Another flat?” the officer said in disgust. “That’s the third one this week. It’s about time I had some new tires.” He got out and started around the car.
Stan reached over and flipped on the switch. He slid under the wheel and stepped on the starter. The engine hit at once and Stan slammed the gears into mesh. The roadster leaped ahead, then stalled. Stan opened the choke and the car leaped again, its tires showering the agent with gravel.
“Stop or I’ll fire!” the officer shouted.
Stan bent down and hit a near-by corner. He did not want to have a real blowout. He wanted to get as near headquarters as he could before the British police headed him off. The car careened around the corner and headed down a tree-lined street. Dusk was beginning to settle and Stan switched on the lights. He was disgusted to see that the lights were hooded for blackout driving.
Stan knew exactly how to get where he was going, but he avoided the main road and went careening down lanes and along narrow trails hemmed in by hedges. The car attracted little attention since it was an official vehicle and clearly marked.
Just when he figured he was going to make it in spite of the dim headlights and the fact that darkness had settled, he burst out of a lane into a village. He recognized the place at once. He was just two miles from his objective, but two military cars blocked the road ahead. Stan was sure they were waiting for him. He did not drive on to find out. Cutting the switch he slid out of the car and ducked over a hedge.
The car rolled on in the darkness while Stan sprinted along the hedge. He passed through a back yard two jumps ahead of a shaggy dog and headed up an alley. A few minutes later he was hurrying down the blacked-out street.
Reaching a tavern Stan saw two bicycles shoved into a rack beside the door. One of them was locked but the other was loose. Stan slipped it out and headed up the street again. He was mounting the cycle when he heard shouts down the street and men running. Dimmed car headlights gleamed. The officers were on his trail again. Stan ducked into a narrow path and pedaled away as hard as he could.
The officers chasing him drove along the road, which ran parallel to the lane. They had a spotlight on one of the cars which they kept moving in wide circles. Finally the light passed over Stan and the men began shouting for him to halt. The light came back and held on him.
Stan sent the bike into a cross path and was out of the beam and headed away from the road. He pedaled furiously. The men were out of the cars and running after him. At the first left-hand turn Stan headed back in the direction he wanted to go and kept pumping away.
The shouting behind him died down and he began to think he had evaded his pursuers. Suddenly the lane broke out into the main road. Stan headed down the road. He could see the looming bulk of a hangar against the sky and knew that he was nearing headquarters. Suddenly he heard a car behind him. Looking back he saw that one of the cars was close upon him. He kept on pedaling but the car rapidly gained on him. It was very close when he saw a gate ahead.
With five British officers on his heels, Stan ditched the bike and sprinted for the gate. Under shaded lights he saw two Yank soldiers. He reached them ten yards ahead of the Britishers, having outrun the secret-service men. The guards barred the way.
“Get a guard and take me to headquarters,” Stan snapped.
“We turn all civilians over to the local police,” one of the guards said. He grinned at Stan. “Looks like they were right on the job, too.”
“They think I’m a spy, but I’m an Eighth Air Force officer and I have important information for Colonel Holt, my commander.” Stan spoke sternly.
The British officers closed in. Their leader said:
“Come now. You led us a hot chase but you won’t get away again.”
