"This is an air navigator's chart, sir!" he exclaimed. "With a dozen different courses plotted out from the States, from South America, and from England, to here. To Casablanca!"
"That's right," the Colonel said soberly. "Every course plotted on that chart ends at Casablanca! If you look closer, you will see where the Nazi owner of that chart has penciled in the area off the coast of Morocco that he patrolled."
"Nazi owner, sir?" Freddy Farmer choked out. "You mean—"
The English-born air ace stumbled over his words, and before he could start over again, Colonel Welsh answered him.
"That's right, Farmer. That chart was taken from the body of a dead Nazi pilot, whose bomber was shot down in the Atlas Mountains about two hundred miles from here."
"One of Goering's Snoopers, eh?" Dawson murmured absently.
Major General Hawker stiffened and glanced at him sharply.
"What's that, Dawson?" the senior officer asked. "Where'd you hear about Goering's Snoopers?"
"The Officers' Mess orderly was telling us, sir," Dawson explained. "He said there has been a group of Nazi bombers hanging around this base for the last three days, but not too close. He said that your pilots had nicknamed them Goering's Snoopers."
"Oh, I see," the major general said with a nod. "That's right, they certainly are Snoopers. But they'll be a whole lot more than that—if they get their chance!"