"Seems that you two chaps were in a bit of a hurry, what?" he said with a faint smile, and tapped the paper with the fingers of his other hand. "This is a special radio request from the Air Ministry—a request to launch you two chaps off in one of our planes, and let you finish your journey by air. A bit of courier work, eh?"
Dawson almost shook his head, but just in time he recalled his little bluff scene with Herr Miller in that empty torpedo store chamber aboard the U-boat. At that time Squadron Leader Hixon and the others had of course tumbled to the fact that he and Freddy were supposed to be carrying something of importance—something that Herr Miller had been ready to kill to obtain. So it would be silly to deny it now.
"Yes, sir," he said instead. "Yes, you might call it that, sir. But how did the Air Ministry—"
"Find out about your rescue?" the cruiser's captain interrupted with a chuckle. "Routine, I fancy. Any reports on our aircraft, and flying personnel, we radio to the Admiralty are immediately telephoned over to the Air Ministry. Obviously the Air Ministry wants you to get on with the job at once, and can't wait for us to get to the States. Hence, this request."
"And—and are you granting it, sir?" Dawson asked as casually as his inner eagerness would permit.
The cruiser's captain looked stern, and scowled darkly. And then, perhaps because of the fading hope he saw in Dawson's eyes, he smiled broadly, and nodded.
"I fancy so," he said. "After all, you two chaps have got just so much leave coming, you know. Haven't the heart to make you spend any more of it than you have to aboard my ship. Probably never hear the end of it from the R.A.F. chaps. Get enough ragging from them as it is. So right you are, then. You can take one of my planes. But see that you deliver it in New York in good shape, mind you! We'll pick it up in a week or so. Not that a cruiser really needs aircraft, you understand. However, the blasted things do have their uses now and then."
"Yes, of course, sir," Dawson replied, refusing to rise to the bait. "And thank you, sir, for granting the request."
"Quite, sir," Freddy Farmer echoed politely. "At any other time both Dawson and I should love to—"
"Not likely, you would!" the senior officer growled. "You flying chaps hate blue water. Much prefer blue sky. But you're all a little balmy, of course. Give me a good solid deck under my feet, and—But never mind. Birds of different feathers, and all that. Hop along below, and clean up. I'll have flying gear routed out, and one of the seaplanes made ready. Good luck, and all that sort of thing."