"Why?" Stan asked.
"Well, you are an escaped pilot. That's the way they have been coming in. They are always able to slip through because they know all about the outfit they were supposed to have been with. They're even supposed to look exactly like the officers lost over Germany." The officer laughed. "The more I look at you, the more convinced I am that we've landed one of them at last. Come along."
Stan walked beside the officer. He felt like kicking himself for bungling. If the time were not so short everything could be straightened out. But he was sure the first waves of the giant air attack were about due to start, possibly before midnight. Allison had said Minter was not around. He and O'Malley might not be able to locate the spy.
"Here's my car," the secret-service man said.
Stan paused beside the sleek roadster. The officer opened the door. Stan stepped inside. The officer walked around the car. Stan leaned over the side.
"Aren't you going to do anything about this flat tire?" he asked.
"Another flat?" the officer said in disgust. "That's the third one this week. It's about time I had some new tires." He got out and started around the car.
Stan reached over and flipped on the switch. He slid under the wheel and stepped on the starter. The engine hit at once and Stan slammed the gears into mesh. The roadster leaped ahead, then stalled. Stan opened the choke and the car leaped again, its tires showering the agent with gravel.
"Stop or I'll fire!" the officer shouted.
Stan bent down and hit a near-by corner. He did not want to have a real blowout. He wanted to get as near headquarters as he could before the British police headed him off. The car careened around the corner and headed down a tree-lined street. Dusk was beginning to settle and Stan switched on the lights. He was disgusted to see that the lights were hooded for blackout driving.