Dave and Freddy looked questioningly at each other. Then they both looked at the base commandant and shook their heads.
"No, sir," Dave spoke for them both. "The name of his carrier wasn't mentioned once. But I can tell you what one it was, sir. I mean, he said that it was sailing tonight. I mean, last night. So all you have to do is ..."
Dawson stopped as the vice-admiral shook his head.
"No, sir?" he echoed.
"No, Dawson," the base commandant said bitterly. "We can't find it out that way, unfortunately. All three carriers sailed last night. That pilot didn't know. He only knew that his carrier was to sail, naturally. But all three were scheduled to sail. And they did."
"But his was sailing for Pearl Harbor, sir!" Freddy Farmer spoke up. "So the one that ..."
"That's no good, either," the vice-admiral interrupted. "The entire three-carrier force is bound for Pearl Harbor. En route they will work out a battle problem, and then proceed to Pearl Harbor to take aboard two torpedo and two dive-bomber squadrons, that are waiting there. This ensign pilot—this rotten Nazi—just what did he look like? If either of you can give me a detailed description, perhaps a radio to each of the carriers will make it possible for us to catch our man before the force reaches Pearl. Just what did he look like?"
"That's just the point, sir," Dave Dawson said sadly, when Freddy Farmer didn't speak. "We saw him only in profile, and the light was bad. I didn't see a single thing unusual about him. I mean, sir, he looked just like hundreds of other pilots in Naval Aviation uniform. What about you, Freddy? Did you notice any outstanding features?"
Young Farmer frowned, sighed, and shook his head.
"No, sir," he said to the vice-admiral. "I'm sure I'd be able to recognize him, if I ever saw him again, but I really didn't see anything about him that would help anybody else to identify him."