“He was put in charge of our hangar by the O.C. But you can bet he covered his dirty work carefully. We’ll just have to trap him.” Allison spoke grimly.
“And in the meantime we better check our ships before we go out each time,” Stan said. “If I’d done that this time I’d have brought my Spitfire back whole and wouldn’t have had to take a bath in the channel.”
“I’ll bet the spalpeen will get a scare when you walk into that hangar,” O’Malley said with a grin.
Stan got to his feet. “I’m going out there just as soon as I get some clothes. I warn you, O’Malley, this is my fight. You stay out of it.”
O’Malley’s eyes glittered. “I niver could stay out of a good scrap, but if you wade into him I’m thinkin’ there won’t be anything left for me to do but pick up the pieces.”
“You better keep a tight hand on your temper, old chap,” Allison warned.
“I will. I’ll have the low-down before I sock him,” Stan promised.
A half-hour later, dressed in one of Allison’s uniforms, and looking little worse for his ducking, Stan strolled into the hangar. Garret was not about so he went to the crew that had handled his ship. They were really glad to see him, he was sure of that. He looked them over and had a feeling none of them had had any part in the plot.
“Who gassed my Spitfire before she went out on the last raid?” His eyes moved from man to man.
A corporal stepped forward. “I did, sir.”