"Frankly," the senior officer replied gravely, "very slim indeed."
"But we were lucky enough to get back, sir," Dawson said quickly. "So why shouldn't we be just as lucky this time?"
"No reason at all," Colonel Fraser said. "Only you put it wrong when you speak of luck. With you two luck plays only a minor part. Very well, then, let's get down to thinking out this thing, and planning the operation right down to the minutest detail. I have here all the latest maps and Recco plane photographs of that area."
The sun had long since burned through London's early morning overcast when Lieutenant Faintor drove Dawson and Farmer to a hotel and secured rooms for them. He hung around until they had downed a good breakfast and were tucked away in bed. Then he grinned, gave them the V salute and went his way.
"Well, did I win my bet, or did I win my bet, pal?" Dawson yawned, and pulled the covers up around his neck.
"Eh?" Freddy Farmer mumbled. "Oh! That we wouldn't go to Kingston, or back to the Squadron, because the colonel had something in mind for us? Well, you lost it!"
"What do you mean, lost it?" Dave demanded.
"Quite!" Freddy said sleepily. "It was you who had something cooking for us, not the colonel. And now that we're alone, old thing, let me say that you are definitely mad, and absolutely balmy. But I'm quite used to that side of you by now. So don't feel hurt. And go to sleep, will you?"
Maybe it was intentional, or maybe not, but the comment Freddy Farmer received on his words was a gentle snore.