"Well, I guess this is the parting of the ways, Captain," Agent Carter of the F.B.I. said as the taxicab rolled to a stop on front of a War Department Building in Washington. "Hickson and I will keep the cab for the ride over to the Bureau. Sorry we all missed an evening in New York together, but there'll come another day, I hope. Best of luck, you two. It's been nice knowing you."
"Same thing, the other way around, sir," Dawson said as he shook hands and climbed out of the cab. "And thanks for the protection—or whatever it was supposed to be."
Agent Carter laughed and raised a protesting hand.
"Now let's not go into that again!" he said. "The answer is still that I don't know. Maybe Colonel Welsh will tell you. We can't, because we simply don't know. What's the matter, Captain Farmer?"
Freddy was just straightening up after sticking his head back in through the cab door opening. He shrugged and grinned.
"Just looking to see if you had your fingers crossed, sir, while you said that," he replied. "But I see you didn't, and so that's that. Well, cheerio, and good hunting, and all that sort of thing. Sorry I didn't speak to you sooner."
"That's the kind of tough break we get in our kind of job," Agent Carter said, and made a flip wave with his hand. "So long, until we meet again."
"And let's hope that'll be soon!" Dawson called out as the cab rolled away.
The two air aces stood on the curb until the taxi turned the corner toward Pennsylvania Avenue and was lost to view. Then they impulsively turned and looked at each other.
"Swell fellows, those two," Dawson said. "Wish we could have had more time together. I've always wanted to ask a real honest-to-goodness F.B.I. man a few questions."