“Done with, already,” Freddy grinned. “And how about you stepping on it this time? I’m anxious to hear what those two agents of Colonel Welsh’s have to say. But I can’t say they look much like agents.”
“And just what does an agent look like?” Dave chuckled.
“Oh, rather homely looking,” Freddy said. “Flat-headed, flat feet, and bow legs. Just an ordinary horrible looking chap. You’re an agent, aren’t you—of a sort?”
“Why, oh why do I keep opening my big mouth?” Dave wailed. “That’s twice in as many minutes. You’re catching on too fast, my little man.”
“Could be I was really ahead at the start, you know?” the English youth shot back at him.
Dave made noises in his throat and clamped his lips shut tight. In silence the pair walked the rest of the way to where the two Intelligence agents in mechanics’ garb were wiping off the wings of the Vultee. When Dave and Freddy came up they continued wiping the wings, but both edged over so that they could talk in low tones without appearing to be talking at all from more than fifty feet away.
“What’s that about the two Wacos?” the tall one asked. “What happened?”
Dave bent over to inspect a section of the wing and in rapid sentences told of the little adventure on the way down. The two mechanics whistled softly and shot both Dave and Freddy looks of frank admiration.
“I say, anything new at this end?” Freddy murmured.
“Nothing yet,” replied the shorter of the other two. “We’ve checked and rechecked, but as yet we haven’t got a nibble.”