The other's eyes popped a little, and his jaw sagged in befuddled amazement.
"I say, did I hear you?" he echoed. "The original course? But that message from Air Vice-Marshal Leman said that that course might be known. And—"
"And I hope it is, frankly," Dave replied. "It always throws the Nazis out of step when you do exactly what they expect you to do."
"Oh yes, quite," the bomber's pilot grunted with a frown. "But I'm afraid, old chap, that I don't quite follow you."
"Well, it's like this," Dave said, and made a little gesture with one hand. "Of course you can guess by now that Farmer and I are on a little business that would, and does, interest the Nazis plenty. They want us to stay home, but we're not going to. Anyway, in this cockeyed war you can look for enemy agents any place, and usually find them. By that, I mean that ten to one Nazi agents back at Aberdeen know darn well I got a message from Air Vice-Marshal Leman. And ten to one they know what was in the message. So, from Leman's warning and suggestion, they are bound to figure that we'll fly a different course. So we just fool them, and don't."
"Good grief!" the Squadron Leader gulped. "You mean, of course, they knew of our original flight course?"
"I don't know for sure, naturally," Dave replied with a shrug. "I'm just playing it that way. And besides—"
"Besides, what?" the Squadron Leader prompted when Dave didn't continue.
"I don't like the weather six hundred miles from the Pole," Dawson said with a grin. "Also, you fellows are counting on a little Jerry plane action. Farmer and I wouldn't want to cheat you out of your fun. Nor would we want to cheat ourselves out of it."
The Squadron Leader beamed silently for a moment. Then he gave a little shake of his head, and an emphatic grunt.