The first thing the two R.A.F. aces saw as they opened the door and stepped inside was a long badly lighted corridor. It was more of a lobby; the lobby of an office building that hadn't been used for quite some time. The second thing they saw was the figure of a man in civilian clothes who seemed to pop out of nowhere and advance toward them. He was a nice enough looking man, about middle age, and with just the faintest hint of the military about him. He fixed them both with a keen searching stare, then seemed to relax a bit, and smiled.
"Dawson and Farmer?" he murmured. And without waiting for either of them to so much as nod: "Come along with me."
They followed him over to an elevator bank, and into the nearest car. Without speaking a word, or even so much as looking at them, the man took them up six floors. Dave studied the man hard, and the result of his study netted him just one thing. The man wore a shoulder holster, and there was a gun in it.
At the sixth floor he stopped the car, opened the doors, and stepped out, crooking his finger. They went down a hall halfway to the rear wall of the building, and stopped before a door. The man pressed a button three times, then twice more, and then looked at them as the latch made a clicking sound.
"Go on in," he said. "They're waiting for you. Good luck!"
"Same to you," Dave grunted. "What is it, a new slogan for the war? Everybody's been wishing us good luck. But for what, for cat's sake? Do you—?"
"Inside," the man cut him off, but grinned. "I only work here. Good—No, make it 'happy landings,' for you two."
For a brief instant Dave had the wild impulse to stand his ground and get a few explanations before he took another step in this seemingly screwball journey that had begun outside Air Vice-Marshal Stoneham's Air Ministry Office. However, he killed the desire even as it was born, and after a quick side glance at Freddy, twisted the door handle and stepped inside.
He had no idea what he expected to find inside, and what he did find had all the effect of a bucket of ice water dumped down over jangling nerves. In short, inside was just a rather dusty room, a desk, a chair, and another man in civilian clothes sitting in the chair. Oh yes, there were some cleaning mops, and a couple of pails in one corner. And on the left wall was a calendar of the year before, torn off only as far as the month of April. There was a door on the right, and the man behind the desk pointed at it.
"Through there, Gentlemen," he said, and immediately returned to a book he was reading.