Stan stood staring at the car as it whirled away. "Whitehall," he muttered. "Pelham." Suddenly he began to laugh. He had hitched a ride with one of Winston Churchill's right-hand men. And he had taken the honorable assistant secretary many miles out of his way.
Hailing a jeep Stan hooked a ride to the camp. He walked into operations and up to the desk. A major looked up and then started.
"Wilson!" he exclaimed. "We had you marked down as lost. Sim Jones reported you short of gas."
"I hitchhiked back. Caught a ride with one of Churchill's secretaries," Stan said dryly.
The major looked at him sharply, then shoved a pad across the desk. "Just put that in writing," he said.
Stan made his report, then headed for his hut to change into an unwrinkled uniform. There was no one in the hut, but his things and the belongings of O'Malley had been neatly stacked. Stan scowled.
"They gather a man's stuff up in a hurry around here," he muttered.
He put his own things back and did the same with O'Malley's. There would be no rush about making O'Malley out a dead man. Getting into his uniform he headed for the mess. He was suddenly very hungry.
Walking into the little dining room he halted and his mouth dropped open. At a table, with four youngsters listening open-mouthed to his talk, sat O'Malley. He looked up and for a moment held a big piece of steak poised on his fork. Then he shoved the steak into his mouth and waved a big hand.
Stan crossed the room and seated himself. There was no warm greeting. O'Malley swallowed his steak and grinned at his pal.