"No, you tell me, Colonel," the redhead said with a chuckle. Then, before Colonel Welsh could get a word in edgewise: "You know, I'd never tab you for head of the Intelligence, Colonel. You don't look the part to me at all. But maybe that's what's made you the great man of mystery, eh? Well, the mystery is over as far as I'm concerned. And to tell you the truth, I'm kind of disappointed. When we got the radio flash that you were aboard a plane heading west with these two kids, I got kind of all excited. I got kind of sorry, too, that I'd have to shoot you down without having a look at you. But—well, I did get that look after all. And I'm disappointed."
"And you are a complete and utter fool!" Colonel Welsh said, tight-lipped. "I told you once, and I tell you again! You'll never get away with this. You'll be caught and either strung up, or shot. You'll get—"
"Didn't I tell you to shut up? Well, do it. We can't be bothered listening to your junk. Shut up! Do you hear me!"
It was the voice of the pilot, who had suddenly appeared in the doorway. He stood glaring at Colonel Welsh out of eyes that held a wild, glassy glitter. Two white spots appeared on either cheek, and as the last left his lips they came together to form a thin cruel line. Then before Colonel Welsh, or Dave, or Freddy Farmer could so much as move a muscle, the man leaped forward and slammed his upholstered gun against the Colonel's left temple. The chief of U. S. Intelligence slumped over, but caught himself and straightened up slowly. A trickle of blood ran down from the cut on his temple, but he made no effort to raise his hand to it. He looked at the pilot and smiled grimly. Dave marveled silently at the man's courage and ability to take it. The blow he had received was enough to knock over a horse.
"Swing again, you rat traitor!" the Colonel got out evenly. "You know in your heart that you're sunk. And it's making you lose your grip."
For an instant Dave thought the pilot was going to go stark raving mad with rage and hurl himself at the Colonel. But he didn't. With a visibly tremendous effort he regained control of himself and forced a harsh laugh off his lips.
"That's what you think!" he snapped. Then out of the corner of his mouth to his partner: "Get that rope, and we'll tie them up. We'll gag this big slob. I'm sick of hearing his yapping."
Less than five minutes later Dave and Freddy were bound hand and foot. Colonel Welsh was bound hand and foot, too, but he was also gagged. The pilot made sure that the ropes were tied right, then turned his back on them and walked over to a table on the other side of the room. He picked up a whiskey bottle there, took a long drink and choked on it. He coughed so hard he almost dropped the bottle. He would have if the redhead hadn't jumped quickly forward and grabbed it.
"Hey, what's the matter with you?" the redhead demanded angrily. "You getting the jim-jams? This is no time to fall apart. Snap out of it. Get hold of yourself. Boy! Wouldn't the big boss like to see you, now. I knew he should have put me in charge of this station."
The pilot suddenly went white about the corners of his mouth, and there was cold murder in the eyes he fixed on the redhead. He reached out and tapped the redhead on the chest with the barrel of his automatic.