"Right!" Freddy replied instantly. "Now, answer me this one. Why would an Italian pilot be dumping something overboard on a spot you could miss at even five hundred feet, eh?"
"I give up," Dave said after a moment's thought. "What is this, anyway? Some kind of a game you've just thought up?"
"Use that stuff in your noggin you call brains!" Freddy said sharply. "Use it, Dave! Think hard. I may be completely off my base, but I think I now know why we didn't spot anything of interest during our patrol. Certain parties took care so that neither we nor anybody else should spot anything. Now, does that give you a little idea?"
"For cat's sake, you're talking in riddles!" Dave growled. "How do you know why we didn't—"
Dave suddenly cut himself short and clapped a hand to his forehead.
"Well, fry me for an oyster!" he breathed fiercely. "Yeah, I think I begin to see the light. That, Freddy, is an enemy desert outpost, and so perfectly camouflaged that you'd never spot it from the air, unless you knew exactly where it was located."
"Absolutely correct," Freddy said. "You may go to the head of the class, my little man. But wait a minute. One more question."
"Boy, how you wear a guy down!" Dave said, and sighed. "Okay, dear teacher, shoot."
Freddy nodded his head toward the odd-looking cluster of humps in the desert.
"Why do you suppose that plane didn't land?" he asked.