deck. They were edging in beside a pier. Stan was the first over the side. He shook hands with the British officer and waved to the crew, then he headed for a row of cars parked along the street near the wharf. Picking out a car with a uniformed girl at the wheel he walked over to it.

"Hi, Yank," the girl greeted him. "You look a bit wrinkled."

"I just had my daily bath in the channel." Stan grinned at the girl. "My butler forgot to pack my bathing suit so I went in as is. How about a lift?"

"This is Sir Eaton Pelham's car. I'm afraid it isn't available." She smiled sweetly when she said it.

Stan glanced at the other cars. There were no other drivers about. He looked back at the girl.

"Sir Eaton a kindhearted man?" he asked.

"Very," she assured him. "He carries a pocketful of cracker crumbs for the pigeons."

At that moment Sir Eaton Pelham appeared. He was a burly Englishman, wrapped snugly in the folds of a greatcoat. His ruddy face beamed and he nodded to Stan.

"Jolly nice weather for one day," he said as he opened the door of the car.

"Very," Stan answered. "How about a lift?"

Sir Eaton looked at Stan closely for the first time. "I say, a Yank flier. What could you be doing here?"

"I was just fished out of the channel by one of His Majesty's patrol boats and want to get back to base."

"Hop in, old man. Where is base?"

"Take me to Diss," Stan said as he climbed in.

"Right-o." Sir Eaton did not ask any more questions. He spoke about the country they whirled through, but never mentioned the war at all. When Stan got down at Diss, Sir Eaton waved his thanks aside. "Good hunting, my boy," he said. Turning to his driver he said, "Whitehall, London. We'll have to hit it a bit fast to be on time for my meeting."

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 

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