The flight lieutenant chuckled and gave them both a keen look.
"I say, drop me a line after it's all over, will you?" he suddenly asked as they started walking toward the planes. "You know my name and squadron address. It should reach me right enough."
"A line about what?" Dave asked in an innocent voice.
"Come off it, my lad!" Flight Lieutenant Wiggins snorted. "You know what I mean. The show you two are scheduled to pull off. We've been pulling out our hair wondering what it's all about. That goes for the squadron leader, too. He swears he doesn't know a thing."
"But that's rot!" Freddy exclaimed, and buckled his helmet strap tight. "Didn't Hitler say he phoned, just now?"
"The blighter didn't say a word, except that the weather was wonderful and would we please get on with it?" Wiggins chuckled.
"Well, there you are!" Freddy cried. "He's just a shy sort of chap, you know. Probably was afraid that you'd pull his leg about it."
"Oh, quite," the flight lieutenant said with a gesture. "But just what would I pull his leg about? Of course, if it's a deep secret, and you've sworn to Winston Churchill not to breathe a word, why then—"
"But we thought everybody knew!" Dave said in mock surprise. "Hitler's become fed up. And he's mad at Goering, besides. Goering won't lend him any of his medals any more. So Hitler's mad. He wants to come over here and fight in the British army. Well, you could have knocked me down with a feather when King George asked my pal and me to go over there and bring him back."
"So there you are!" Freddy said. "All very simple. Nothing to it, really."