moment he stood there trembling like a leaf. Then he got a firm grip on
his jangling nerves and started thoroughly searching the parked cars. He
had searched seven cars before Lady Luck cast her smile upon him. In the
eighth car he found what he wanted. It was a staff car and in back was
an officer's duffel bag. The bag was covered with dirt and smelled to
high heaven, it had been left there so long. Inside the duffel bag Dave
found his prize: a spare uniform of the owner, who was perhaps dead or
maybe hundreds of miles away. And Lady Luck smiled on him twice, because
he discovered with mounting joy that the uniform wasn't a bad fit at
all. The service cap was a perfect fit.
Some ten or fifteen minutes later the poor little Belgian peasant
refugee had disappeared from the face of the earth. In his place stood a
young sub-lieutenant of German infantry. True, his uniform was badly
creased, but the crease and the smell of age, Dave hoped, would come out
in time. He fumbled through the rest of the duffel bag in the hope of
finding the officer's Luger. However, Lady Luck wasn't letting him have
everything his own way. There was no Luger, nor anything else that would
be of any use.
He grinned and carefully folded his tattered peasant clothes and put
them in the duffel bag. Then he fastened the bag tight and put it back
exactly where he had found it. Finally he slipped out from under the
pegged down tarpaulin.
"Will you get the shock of your life if you ever come back for your
spare uniform!" he whispered to some unknown German. "And how, my Jerry
lad, _and how_!"
A moment or so later he started to move away from his hiding place, but
on second thought he checked himself. The uniform he wore would of
course serve as a certain amount of protection, but he would be foolish
to stretch his luck. After all, Antwerp was well patrolled at night.
There was a curfew law for the civilians, and there was a good chance
there was a curfew law for German soldiers and officers, too--for all
troops save those assigned to night patrol duty.
"Hold it, pal!" he told himself. "Daylight is your best bet. Then nobody
will give you a second look. The streets will be full of troops and
officers, then. Right! What's a few more hours of waiting? They might
mean the difference between success and a Luger bullet. No, fellow, hold
your horses. Play it absolutely safe from here in."
It was hard to slip back in among the parked cars and sit down on a
running board, but he forced himself to do it. He'd been receiving too
many lucky breaks lately, and he was afraid it would all come to an
abrupt end if he didn't watch his step. And so, while every part of him
screamed to get into action, he resolutely and doggedly stayed put and
waited for dawn.
Just a few hours to wait, but Dave lived his whole life over a hundred
times. He thought of everything he had ever done, and recalled hundreds
of minor incidents in his life that he was sure he had completely
forgotten. He thought of Freddy, and of the R.A.F., and of his friends
and relatives back in the States. He thought of everything possible, and
played a million games with himself to kill time. But when eventually
the light of dawn came oozing up out of the east and the shadows fled
westward, and the rooftops of Antwerp began to take definite shape and
meaning, his nerves were dangerously close to the breaking point. And it
was all he could do to stop himself from leaping to his feet and
screaming at the top of his voice, just to do something to let off pent
up emotional steam locked within him.
Finally he couldn't stand it any longer. It was still early dawn, but
the light was growing brighter all the time. And when he paused and
listened intently, he could hear the sounds of the Nazi-occupied city
coming to life. He got up off the running board and smoothed out his
uniform as best he could. Then he walked nonchalantly out of the parking
area and along a street that would lead him in the direction of the
river front.
"Here I come again, Pierre Deschaud!" he whispered softly. "And this
time I hope it counts!"
CHAPTER TWELVE
_Quick Thinking_
The city was wide awake and getting up steam for a new day of war when
Dave finally turned off the main waterfront drive into a winding,
shadow-filled lane that was marked Rue Chartres. He paused at the corner
and stared hard into the shadows, searching for Number Sixteen. His
heart was pounding with excitement, and the blood was throbbing through
his veins. Rue Chartres! The end of one trail, and the beginning of
another--the air trail that led back to England!
The trip across the occupied city had been absolutely uneventful. He had
met groups of Nazi soldiers and had not been stopped once. As a matter
of fact, every soldier he met had saluted smartly as Dave walked by.
Haughty-eyed, he had returned every salute but inwardly, he was nearly
bursting with laughter. It had given him quite a kick at first to
receive the salute of Hitler's troops, but after a while it had become
tiresome. From that point on he had played the stiff-necked German
officer to the limit. He had simply given passing soldiers a curt nod as
a reply to their salutes.
That was all ancient history now. Here he was at last at Rue Chartres,
and somewhere up that shadowy lane was Number Sixteen and Pierre
Deschaud. He took a step forward and then hesitated again as the words
of Freddy Farmer flashed by in memory. _Was Pierre Deschaud still
alive?_ It was for that reason that he stopped short and hesitated. Up
that street lay the success or the failure of his dangerous mission, and
for a moment he was almost too afraid to move forward and find out which
it was.
Thought of the possibility that failure might be the answer seemed to
hold him in an iron grip and refused to let him move his feet. Then
suddenly a voice cried out harshly off to his right and along the main
waterfront thoroughfare. He turned to see a German soldier leap out of a
doorway and pounce upon a Belgian slinking past. The Belgian tried to
break away, but the soldier tripped him up and then hit him with the
barrel of his rifle as the figure fell to the ground.
In that split second the whole world seemed to explode inside Dave's
head. A red film dropped down over his eyes, and his whole body trembled
with berserk rage. The sprawled figure whom the German now covered with
his rifle was none other than Freddy Farmer!
Dave's first impulse was to race forward and hurl himself at the
soldier, but he managed to check the crazy urge in the nick of time.
Though his heart was trying to crash right out through his ribs, he
slowly turned and sauntered calmly up the street. As he walked along, he
shot quick glances in all directions, and heaved a sigh of relief when
he saw that there was nobody else about. He quickened his pace slightly
and came to a stop a couple of feet from the soldier who was standing
straddle-legged with his back to him.
"What's all this?" Dave demanded in harsh German.
The soldier jumped as though he had been stuck with a pin, and wheeled
around. When he saw Dave's uniform he clicked his heels and saluted with
his rifle, then quickly brought the gun to bear again on the prostrate
Freddy Farmer.
"I have captured a missing prisoner, _Herr Leutnant_," the soldier said.
"He escaped from the Central Detention Prison. All night long patrols
have been searching the city."
Dave grunted and stared down at Freddy. The English youth opened his
eyes. They stared blankly back at Dave for a moment, then swift
recognition streaked through them. Dave frowned as Freddy unconsciously
started to open his mouth. Quickly Freddy closed it and let a look of
terror and fright spread across his dirty and sleepy-eyed face. Dave
grunted again, and looked at the soldier.
"The Central Detention Prison, eh?" he growled. "Why did he escape? Who
let him escape? There are guards there."
"That is true, _Herr Leutnant_," the soldier gulped. "But I had nothing
to do with it. I am stationed at the western barracks. I was called out
to help in the hunt. I do not know the details, _Herr Leutnant_, only
that he escaped."
"So?" Dave snapped and fixed the soldier with a scornful eye. "So the
first Belgian you meet, you decide he is the one, eh?"
The soldier swallowed hastily a couple of times, and a look of worry
crept into his eyes.
"We were given a complete description, _Herr Leutnant_!" he said. "This
boy wears the same clothes. I was sure that he was the one, the way he
was slinking along. And I clubbed him to the sidewalk, _Herr Leutnant_,
because he tried to run away from me."
"Yes, that is true," Dave said gravely, and nodded his head. "I saw him
try to run away. But these Belgian fools frighten easily, like rabbits.
You, there! Get up on your feet! What is your name?"
As Dave barked the last, he glared down at Freddy. The English youth got
tremblingly to his feet, clutching his cap between his fingers.
"My name is Henri Duval," Freddy said in hesitant French.
"So?" Dave growled. "And why did you try to escape? Did you want to be
shot? Why did you try to escape, eh?"
Dave put a lot of emphasis into his words and looked hard at Freddy. The
other R.A.F. pilot stared back blankly for a moment, then played up to
Dave's lead.
"I did not escape from any place, _Herr Leutnant_," he said.
"You live here in Antwerp, of course?" Dave demanded, and made just the
slightest sign of a nod with his head.
Freddy caught onto the tip instantly.
"But of course!" he cried. "I live on the other side of the city, on the
Rue Troyes. I was on my way home when the soldier stopped me. I came
down here early to see if I could buy a little fish. We have not much
food at our house."
While Freddy talked, Dave had been watching the German soldier out of
the corner of his eye. The man had scowled at first, but little by
little a puzzled look had come into his eyes. By the time Freddy had
finished, the soldier was wearing a worried look, and was obviously
afraid he had made a mistake. Dave turned and gave him a hard stare.
"It looks like your prisoner who escaped has yet to be found," Dave said
sternly.
"But perhaps he lies!" the soldier protested weakly. "Perhaps he does
not live on Rue Troyes at all."
Dave could have hugged the German for saying those words. They played
right into his hand.
"That is quite possible," he said. "Naturally I shall find out if he is
lying. I will take him in my own car and go to his house. Give me your
name, and the name of your company commander. If this boy tells the
truth, we will forget about this little incident. If he has lied, and is
the escaped prisoner, I will see that he is returned to the prison. And
I shall also see that your _Kommandant_ hears of the part you played in
recapturing him."
The soldier hesitated a brief instant, but the fear that he might be
wrong was too much for him. He didn't dare insist that he accompany this
officer.
"Very well, _Herr Leutnant_," he said, and gave Dave his name, and the
name of his commanding officer.
Dave nodded gravely, then repeated the names aloud to indicate that he
was making sure he would not forget them. Then he took hold of Freddy's
arm.
"Come along with me!" he said sharply. "My car is in the other block. We
shall soon find out if you lied to us or not!"
"On my word of honor, I did not lie, _Herr Leutnant_!" Freddy whimpered,
and let Dave pull him along.
As they walked along toward the next corner, it was all Dave could do to
stop from looking back to see if the soldier was following. He checked
the impulse to do so and walked stiff and straight, keeping a tight grip
on Freddy's arm.
"You're breaking the blinking thing in two!" he heard Freddy whisper
under his breath. "But God bless you, Dave Dawson! That was a jolly
close shave."
"Think nothing of it, my little man," Dave shot out of the corner of his
mouth. "Any time you get in a jam, just give me a buzz. I'll always be
glad to help out a pal. Now, around this corner. Then hold it while I
take a look to see if the boy friend is tagging along."
They wheeled around the corner and stopped dead. Dave flattened himself
against the building wall and gingerly stuck one eye around the corner
and looked back. The soldier had stopped looking after them, and was
turning around to head off in the other direction. Dave let out the air
in his lungs and turned to grin at Freddy.
"The boy friend is gone," he said. "Now, we've got to do something about
you, pal. We've got to find some place where we can hide out for a
spell."
"What do you mean, do something about me?" Freddy asked with a frown.
"I--"
"Use your bean!" Dave reprimanded him, and plucked at Freddy's peasant
clothes. "In that get-up you'd advertise yourself as much as though you
had a brass band following you around. A peasant did escape, see? It was
_me_. But we can't stand here and talk. We've got to duck in some place
and get you fixed up some how. Darn! I wish I knew this section."
"Oh, you just want a place to hide, eh?" Freddy said in a voice of
superior scorn. "Why didn't you say so? Come along. Follow me. And mind
those big feet of yours!"
Dave opened his mouth to ask questions, but Freddy had started moving
along the narrow street. He traveled half a block, then darted down
into an alley still untouched by the light of dawn. It was so dark that
Dave plowed straight into Freddy's back before he realized that his
friend had stopped.
"Clumsy ox, I must say you are!" Freddy grunted, and then softened it
with a chuckle. "Here, give me your hand. The going's a bit tricky from
here on."
"Hey!" Dave whispered. "Where in--"
"Shut up!" Freddy whispered. "Everything's all right. I know what I'm
doing."
Dave checked all other questions and grasped Freddy's hand in the dark.
After some ten minutes of climbing over things, and climbing down the
other side, and turning this way and that, Dave suddenly found himself
in the bare room of a house. Freddy let go of his hand, closed the door
through which they had entered, and made a little apologetic gesture
with his hands.
"Sorry, sir, there's no furniture," he said. "But I only took the place
night before last, you see. And I haven't had time to send a van for my
furniture. Now, if you'll just try the floor, sir."
"Cut the comedy!" Dave said gruffly, and squatted down on the dusty
floor. "How come, anyway? What happened to you? And what have you been
doing? And how the dickens did you find this place?"
Freddy raised his hand for silence.
"If you'll just close that big mouth of yours, I'll explain," he said.
"And though I don't think anybody can hear us here, as the whole place
is deserted, let's not shout, anyway."
"You've got something there," Dave said in a much lower tone of voice.
"My error. But, gee, it's good to see you again, Freddy! Boy, oh boy,
I'll say it is!"
"Rather pleasant meeting you, too," Freddy said, but his ear to ear grin
spoke far more than his tongue. "I can jolly well tell you I've been in
a fine funk worrying about what could have happened to you. In prison,
you say? Not that that isn't a good place for you sometimes. But what in
the world happened to you?"
Dave started to ask for Freddy's story first, but he checked himself. He
told of his experiences since the moment he had stepped out of the
Wellington right up to the present time. He skipped some of the details,
but gave a fairly complete account of his movements.
"And now, what about you?" he finished up. "You weren't stopped at all
coming through that forbidden area they've got around the city? That
sure was something I hadn't even guessed or dreamed about. A neat way to
keep a check on people going in and out of the city by land, anyway."
"Typical of German thoroughness," Freddy said dryly. "It didn't even
occur to me, either. Fortunately, though, I was luckier than you. I
spotted one of the patrols before they spotted me. Besides, it was dark.
I came down in a field about two miles from the outskirts of the city. I
hid my stuff and started out at once. I slipped through the forbidden
area under the cover of darkness. As I said, I spotted the roaming
patrol first, and hid under some house steps until they had gone by. It
was even more ticklish business getting over here to the waterfront. I
fancy I must have ducked in to hide while patrols passed by a couple of
hundred times at least. It was just after dawn when I reached the
entrance to Rue Chartres."
"And?" Dave questioned eagerly as Freddy paused for breath. "Then what?"
"Then I did some heavy thinking, as you would say," Freddy said calmly.
"Not knowing whether or not Number Sixteen was a trap, I decided to take
a good look around. Then, too, I wanted to wait and team up with you
before tackling the place. Well, I nosed around as much as I could. I
walked past Number Sixteen several times, but you can't see anything
through the windows or doors. I don't think they've been cleaned in
years."
"But is anybody living there?" Dave asked. "Could you tell? Could you
see anybody? Deschaud?"
"Yes, there's somebody there," Freddy nodded. "An old man who _looks_
like Pierre Deschaud, and an old woman. I suppose she's his wife. I've
seen them several times. Well, all day yesterday I nosed around as much
as I dared. Several times, when you still failed to show up, I was
almost tempted to go into Number Sixteen. I thought that perhaps you
were already there, and that I had missed you somehow. But I didn't go
in. There were quite a few troops about yesterday. They came across the
river in boats and were streaming through this section of the city all
day long. They were Bavarian troops, and there were thousands and
thousands of them. I tell you, Dave, something important must be afoot
for all those troops to be around. And they all had full war kit, too."
"Boy, my hat's off to you!" Dave grinned. "I get grabbed by the first
Germans I meet, but you wander around among thousands of them! You're
good, pal, you're good."
"Rot!" Freddy scoffed, but his face lighted up with pleasure. "I was
just lucky enough to slip through the forbidden section at the start.
Once you're inside the city, it isn't so hard."
"It's plenty hard, now, for guys in peasant clothes!" Dave said grimly.
"But go on. Then what?"
"Well, I hung around close to Number Sixteen as much as I dared, but it
was just no go trying to slip inside," Freddy said. "Then when they
turned the light out last night, and probably went to bed, I gave it up.
I came back here and decided that I'd go in there first thing this
morning and take my chances. I was on my way there when that blasted
beggar jumped on my neck. Man, was I glad when I opened my eyes to see
your homely mug glaring down at me!"
"For that crack I should have walked away and left you to your fate!"
Dave growled. Then, with a frown: "The old fellow looks like Pierre
Deschaud, huh? Did you see anybody else go in there?"
"Not a soul," Freddy said. "And that's what makes me think that we may
be in luck--I mean, that Pierre Deschaud is really alive. I didn't see a
single German, or Belgian, so much as glance at the place. Anyway, we've
got to take a chance, Dave. We've got to contact Deschaud as soon as we
can. I'm worried about seeing all those troops yesterday. And maybe you
didn't have the chance to notice, but I did. The harbor is filled with
all kinds of barges and strange-looking boats."
"For the invasion!" Dave breathed. "Ten to one they've been making them
here."
"That's my guess, too," Freddy nodded solemnly. "They could fill them
with those troops, and tugs could take them down the river in no time at
all. Of course, we may be all wrong. But I can tell you I'm more than a
little worried. We've got to get in touch with Pierre Deschaud as soon
as possible. Wait a minute."
Freddy suddenly got to his feet and went over to one of the windows. He
peered out a moment, and then turned and beckoned to Dave to come over.
Dave went over, and Freddy pointed a finger.
"See between those two buildings?" he said. "See the front of that
little shop on the opposite side of that street? The one that has a
window with a broken pane of glass?"
Dave pressed his face to the glass and stared in the direction Freddy
pointed. He looked across some courts at the rear of the buildings on
both blocks and down a short alley to the next street. On the opposite
side of the street he could see the doorway, and a part of the front of
a small shop that hadn't felt a paint brush in a long time. The windows
were so dirty from the weather that he couldn't see inside. Some paper
or a strip of canvas covered a space where the window glass was three
quarters missing.
"Sure, I see it," he said.
"That's Number Sixteen Rue Chartres," Freddy said. "Another bit of luck
for me. This place, I mean. When scrounging around early yesterday
morning, I noticed that this place was all tumbled down, and not a soul
living here. I decided to find a good place to hide in case I had to.
Imagine how good I felt when I discovered that if I wished, I could sit
here all day and keep an eye on Number Sixteen!"
"Luck, my eye!" Dave grinned, and patted Freddy on the back. "It was
using the old bean, and you know it. I bet you'd already spotted that
alley going off Rue Chartres and came around on this street to see what
was what."
"Well, I was lucky to find this place like it is, anyway," Freddy said
with a shrug. "And--Look, somebody has just put on a light over there!
He keeps it burning all day long. An oil lamp, I fancy. With the windows
that dirty, I fancy he jolly well has to have some sort of a light
inside. He's up and about now, Dave! Shall we--"
"Nix!" Dave cut him off short. "Not _we_! Just _me_!"
"I say, Dave--!"
Dave grinned and put up both hands for silence.
"Keep your shirt on, Freddy!" he said. "You're still forgetting about
those duds you're wearing. You might not get ten feet before they'd have
you by the scruff of the neck. I'll go and--No!"
Freddy blinked and looked startled.
"What's the matter, Dave?" he asked.
Dave didn't answer right away. He scowled and went through the pockets
of his uniform. Suddenly his face lighted up with a grin as he pulled
out a German one mark piece.
"I guess I was getting a little selfish for a minute, Freddy," he said.
"After all, we're in this thing together. Tell you what. We'll toss this
coin. Heads you go, tails I go. This uniform will fit either of us."
"Wait a minute," Freddy cut in. "Perhaps we can find some other clothes
for me, and then we can both go. I think the two of us should go
together, Dave, in case there's trouble."
"Maybe you've got something there," Dave said with a frown. "But I don't
know. Maybe it would be best the other way. If the two of us should get
caught, that would be bad. The Nazis would darn well see that there
wasn't any more escaping. Now, if just one of us goes, then the other
fellow can watch from the window here. If something happens, he'll still
be free. See what I mean? No, I really think it's bad dope for both of
us to contact Deschaud the first time, don't you?"
Freddy pursed his lips in thoughtful silence for a moment, then nodded
abruptly.
"Yes, you're right, Dave," he said. "I'll stay here and watch. If you
get into trouble, I'll try and figure a way to get you out of it. No, no
arguments, now. You found that uniform, and you're already dressed in
it. Besides, you look and act just like a Nazi officer. You really do,
Dave."
Dave scowled and gave him a searching look. Freddy grinned impishly.
"Oh, I do, do I?" Dave growled. Then, grinning himself: "Okay, Mr.
Wise-cracker, I'll take a whirl at it, if you insist."
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
_Sixteen Rue Chartres_
As Dave Dawson strutted German officer style along the sidewalk of Rue
Chartres, he had the crazy feeling that he was ten feet tall, twice as
wide, and was wearing a uniform made out of striped red and white silk,
with a lamp shade for a hat. There were several German soldiers and
civilians wandering along the same street, and to tell the truth, not a
single person glanced his way. True, the soldiers saluted him as he
passed, but they did so automatically with their thoughts obviously on
other things. But to Dave's pounding heart, and his tightly drawn
nerves, it was as though he were the most conspicuous thing in all
Belgium. It made him angry to think such silly thoughts, but that
didn't help him any. Every step he took was another moment of tingling
tension. And when finally he came abreast of Number Sixteen, his throat
was dry as a bone, and little beads of nervous sweat were trickling down
his spine.