"That's right," he said. "We're not afraid to die. We don't want to die, but we're not afraid to. The job is done. That's all that mattered.

We knew the chances we took, and ..."

Dawson paused almost dramatically, and then shrugged a little.

"And our luck has simply run out," he went on a moment later. "But the job is done. That is, the part we had to do. Just stick your nose outside this place, if you don't think so! Honolulu isn't such a terribly big place, you know. And ... well, thanks for the meal here.

Mind if I finish it before you have your fun?"

It took every ounce of will-power and self-control that Dave Dawson ever possessed to fling a questioning look at the j.a.p, and then calmly turn and start eating. His insides were on fire with fear. He could feel cold drops of sweat running down his back, and oozing from his armpits. He wanted to shout wild things at the top of his voice. He wanted to try and lunge up on his bound feet, and throw himself barehanded at this killer giant, and get it over with as quickly as possible. But there was that in him which forced him to play his part. Win, lose, or draw, he had to play his part, because common sense told him that was all that he could do, and maintain a fighting chance for his life. And a fighting chance for Freddy Farmer's life, too.

"There's lots left, Freddy," he said calmly, and grinned stiffly at his pal. "Go on, dig in, boy. Eat while you can."

Young Farmer's frozen face relaxed, and even lighted up. The English-born air ace returned his grin, and nodded.

"Oh yes, quite, Dave," he said, "Might as well eat. The job's done, anyway. Wonder what time it is? They must all be in position now."

Both air aces sensed rather than saw the swift, tigerish movement of the big j.a.p leaping forward. A brown foot caught their tray of food and sent it skimming across the floor to crash up against the wall in back of them and shower uneaten food all over the place. Then the j.a.p backed up, virtually foaming at the mouth, and glared at them out of eyes that held all the devilish hate in the world.

"Fools, swine, pigs, dogs of dogs!" he screamed furiously. "I will teach you to sing a different tune. I will teach you many things before you die!"

The j.a.p nodded his head violently, spat at them, and spun around to hurl a strange tongue at the two brown men still cringing on the floor over by the wall. Dawson tried to catch just one of the words that the big j.a.p flung off his lips, but he failed utterly. The j.a.p spoke a language, or at least a dialect, that he had never in his life heard before.

The two brown men heard it, and understood it, however. Their prominent-boned faces still alive with fear, they got quickly to their feet, and went over to Dawson and Freddy Farmer, flung them flat on their faces and bound their wrists behind their backs once more. This time, though, they did not attach the end of the ropes to those about the ankles. And Dawson held his breath in fear that they would realize it and promptly do so. But they didn't. They straightened up, and then at a snarling sound from the big j.a.p ducked quickly out of the room like a couple of terrified brown rabbits.

The big j.a.p himself started to leave; then he hesitated on the threshold and turned his huge close-shaven head to glare back at them.

"Consider well what I have spoken, dog of dogs!" he boomed. "And prepare to die ten thousand times ten thousand times."

And with that he went out the doorway and yanked the door shut with a crash that made the whole room vibrate like a violin string.

"Cute little guy, isn't it!" Dawson presently broke the quivering silence. "Too bad his folks didn't drown him at birth!"

"Too bad for us, too," Freddy Farmer said soberly. "Frankly, I don't like the looks of things, Dave. I mean ... well, it's all so blastedly mixed up, if you get what I mean?"

"Yeah," Dawson grunted. "But we're still alive, so that's something."

"That's just the point!" Freddy said quickly. "We _are_ still alive. But why? That beggar was mad enough to eat us alive. I was certain he was going at least to kick us in the stomach, just as j.a.prats love to do so much. But the rotter didn't do a thing, except curse at us!"

"I know, and it doesn't seem to make sense," Dawson said slowly, and frowned. "But maybe it does at that. Maybe his nibs isn't the big shot around here. Maybe the way we shot off our mouths threw him out of gear.

Maybe he didn't dare go to town on us without the big boy's okay."

"Let's say that that's right," young Farmer grunted. "Then what does this big boy want with us? In short, Dave, what earthly use are we to anybody, trussed up here as we are?"

"If that's the sixty-four dollar question, then I lose all I've built up," Dave groaned. "I don't know, Freddy. I don't know from nothing about this crazy mess. The only thing we can do is wait and see what happens."

"Yes, I'm afraid so," Freddy said with a heavy sigh. Then with an angry groan, "The dirty blighter, kicking all that nice food away!"

That Freddy Farmer could even think of his stomach at such a time made Dawson chuckle in spite of the torturing thoughts that stabbed their way through his confused brain. Then they both lapsed into silence, and continually shifted this way and that in a desperate effort to relieve the numbing pains that crawled up their arms and legs. Neither of them succeeded, and presently they both lay motionless, silently enduring their pains, and staring blank-eyed at each other as the gloom of death seeped in to flood their throbbing brains.

After a while fatigue rubbed out the numbing pains with sleep, and the next thing either of them realized the big j.a.p was back in the room and kicking them into wakefulness.

"Wake up, dogs of dogs!" he bellowed. "Wake up, fools!"

Hot angry words rose to Dawson's lips as he instinctively tried to turn his body away from the kicking foot, but the words went unspoken when he saw that the big j.a.p was not alone. Another j.a.p, about half the other's size, was also present. He was impeccably dressed in American clothes. From the top of his finely woven panama to the soles of his brown and white sport shoes he looked as though he had just stepped off Fifth Avenue, New York. Perhaps the most startling thing of all about the man was that he was rather good-looking. His face bore the tell-tale contours of a j.a.p, yes, but his teeth were not so much on the elephant tusk side. And they were the whitest teeth that Dawson had ever seen.

Added to that, the j.a.p wore a warm friendly smile, with just a hint of amus.e.m.e.nt.

"Enough, Kato," he said in a pleasant voice, yet which contained a ring of steel. "Our little American guests are fully awake new. There is no necessity to be cruel always, Kato. Release their hands and feet."

The big j.a.p stopped kicking and turned around to gape wide-eyed at the small j.a.p, and shake his head. The well dressed one smiled into his big flat face, but pin-points of blue light seemed to appear in his eyes.

"Free them, Kato," he said softly. "I have so spoken. If then you are afraid, stand in back of them and keep your eyes on their movements. You have searched them, Kato?"

"Yes, Honored One," Kato replied, as though he were addressing the two-for-a-nickel Emperor himself. "They carry no papers but their own.

Nothing else. Their papers I have already given to you."

"Then release them, Kato," the little j.a.p repeated, and with lazy, nonchalant movements he drew a cigarette and a long silver-banded ivory holder from his pocket. He placed the cigarette in the holder, drew a gold lighter from his pocket and snapped it into flame. Every one of his movements was smooth and effortless, as though he were completely relaxed and enjoying himself at some c.o.c.ktail party, or in some expensive and exclusive club.

The big j.a.p looked at him again, and then without another word freed Dawson and Freddy Farmer of their ropes. He was none too gentle about it, but both air aces were too taken up with the immaculately dressed man to feel the pain much. When they were free they got slowly to their feet, stamped the circulation back into them, and then stood there eyeing the small j.a.p. Kato glided around behind them out of sight, but both could smell his foul breath against the backs of their necks.

The so called Honored One smoked his cigarette and studied them in polite silence for a moment, and then effortlessly took his one quarter smoked cigarette from the holder and tossed it onto the floor away from him.

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Captains Dawson and Farmer," he said.

Then with a flashing smile, he added, "But I fear that neither of you share the same pleasure?"

There was only one reply to that question and neither Dawson nor Freddy Farmer bothered. They simply stood there and waited for him to continue.

"My pardon," he said, and made a little snapping motion with the fingers of his right hand. "I have neglected to introduce myself. I am Mr.

Yammanato. Of course you have never heard of me, so I will not boast by saying that you probably have. In both your countries, though, they will hear much of Yammanato, before many seasons have pa.s.sed."

The little j.a.p paused, but Dawson and Freddy Farmer continued to give him the studied, silent treatment. It did not seem to matter to him much. He raised one eyebrow in polite question, and then gave a little shrug of his narrow shoulders.

"I am sorry," he said, with just the faintest semblance of a bow. "Of course your only interest in me is why I am here. I will tell you. It is interest in your remarks to that one, Kato, who stands behind you ...

and is most eager to take your lives. You told him your job was completed. I am amused, but a little puzzled, too. We three know that your--er--job, was to identify a certain Navy ensign. But you did _not_ identify him. We did not permit you to do that. So there must have been some other job you spoke of to Kato? I should like to have you tell me what it was."

"You probably would, Yammanato," Dawson said evenly. Then with a tight smile, and a shake of his head, "But we're not telling you, and you know it!"

The little j.a.p did not get angry. Not even the light in his eyes changed. He simply smiled and made a waving motion of one hand as though to indicate that the little joke was on him this time.

"I do not expect you to tell me, voluntarily," he said. "I simply asked, just in case, let us say. To be perfectly frank, I really am not so terribly interested in this mysterious job. Rather, merely curious.

Neither of you has been out of our sight since the moment you landed your Flying Fortress on Hickam Field. Several times we could have killed you, and with little effort. But we did not consider such measures necessary. It was obvious that you had not overheard as much as was at first feared. However, it would be foolish to let you be free when the carrier task force arrived, and so ..."

Yammanato paused and smiled slowly.

"And so, thoughtless as you Americans are continually, you gave us an excellent chance to kidnap you," he went on. "To kidnap you, and hold you until the carrier force had come and gone, as it has."

The last made Dawson gasp, and sort of bend over as though the little j.a.p had kicked him in the stomach.

"Gone?" he blurted out. "The carrier force has ... has _sailed_?"

"But of course!" the j.a.p replied, and looked at him in surprise. "Did you...? But naturally. I am being stupid. I am forgetting that only this morning you awoke from the drugs. I am sorry that I a.s.sumed that you knew and understood. The carrier force has been at sea, now, for two days."