“Nor with radar, either.” Gale laughed softly.

“What is it then that radar does? And how does it do this?” The little native girl’s voice was eager.

“I can’t tell you much, Than Shwe.” Gale’s voice was kind. She liked this native girl. Gladly would she march at her side on the way back to Burma, and beyond. “This much I can tell you,” she went on. “It has been printed in a magazine and is no military secret. With radar we send out radio impulses, like little sparks, only you can’t see them. We send out thousands and thousands of them. Most of these go on and on like lost sheep. We never hear of them again.”

“But some of these,” Than Shwe whispered.

“Yes,” Gale agreed, “some of these run into a solid object like a ship or an airplane. Then they bound back like a flash to tell us that so many feet or inches away they ran into something and got a terrible bump.”

“Oh!” Than Shwe gave a leap. “Then you know where the enemy ship or plane is! That is quite wonderful!”

“Yes, Than Shwe, it is wonderful. But that’s all I can tell you, absolutely all.” Gale’s tone was fearfully final.

“I will not ask you one more question,” said the native girl. And she kept her promise for a long, long time.

“Than Shwe,” said Gale. “That colonel you were talking about a little while ago, the one who waded the river in shorts with a tommy gun on his shoulders and brought you all safely out of Burma—was that our colonel, the one we have here now?”

“Yes, the same one.” Than Shwe’s voice was low.

“And he is going back?”

“Yes. Very soon.”

“And you are going?”

“Very soon. That is all I must say.”

“Thanks, Than Shwe,” Gale whispered. “Thanks a lot.”

A moment later Than Shwe’s chair was empty.

As Gale resumed her meditations, it was with a disturbed mind. Somehow the story of her afternoon’s adventure had gotten round. It had not yet been definitely connected with her. Or had it? In the end it would be. And then?

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