"That's right," he said as he withdrew his hand. "Numbers. The numbers on the copper disc I'm interested in add up to forty-three. Would you like to see it?"
A cold chill shot through Dawson's chest, and a strange dryness came into his throat. Forty-three? But if Major Parker really was Colonel Welsh's agent down here at San Fernando, the numbers on his copper disc should add up to forty-one.
"Why, yes, yes," he finally got out with an effort. "I'd like to see it very much."
"Then have a look, by all means, Dawson," the major said, and with a slight movement of his hand he tossed a brightly polished copper disc down on the table top.
Dawson picked it up with fingers that were trying desperately hard to stop trembling. He could hear Freddy Farmer's heavy breathing, as the English youth leaned over to take a look. Dave had picked up the disc with the smooth side showing, so he had to turn it over. On the other side stamped into the metal were the numbers 9 1 2 7 8 6 8. He stared at them, and suddenly the truth came to him. The numbers did not add up to forty-three. They added up to forty-one, just as they should have.
The major's soft chuckle made Dawson jerk up his head.
"Sorry I couldn't resist the temptation, Dawson," the officer said. "You just added them up, didn't you? And reached the Pearl Harbor figure, eh?"
"Yes," Dawson said, and handed back the copper disc with a grin. "But you sure had my heart fluttering for a moment there."
"Frankly, I was just about to reach for my service automatic," Freddy Farmer added.
"Well, forgive me my rather flat little joke, and let's skip it, eh?" Major Parker said with a little wave of his hand. "I noticed that Tiger stuff gave you a little start, so I thought I'd kid a bit. Maybe that's what this darn sun down here does to a fellow. To be serious though—and out of order, I guess—anything in Tiger's message that I should know?"