German boots. Instead, though, he took advantage of the moment to glance
keen-eyed about to see if anybody was watching him, or if by chance
anybody was trailing along behind him. There was not a single sign of
anything like that, however. The military and civilian population of
that part of Antwerp was going about its business, and leaving one Dave
Dawson strictly alone.
Presently he straightened up, got a firm hold on his jumping nerves, and
boldly pushed in through the ancient door of Number Sixteen. A bell
tinkled somewhere as he stepped inside. Its sound was echoed by the
pounding of his heart, but he only clamped down harder on his nerves. He
closed the door behind him and looked around. A gasp of amazement almost
spilled off his lips. In all his life he had never seen such a mixed up
conglomeration of junk. There wasn't even a suggestion of order about
the room. Coils of rope, parts of marine engines, navigation charts,
books, boxes, dirty sea clothes, and goodness knows what were scattered
over the place. Shelves along the walls were broken and sagging, their
contents long since dumped down onto the floor.
A single oil lamp with a smoke-smudged shade was on a table with only
three legs. In a chair by the table sat an old man in the most
disreputable-looking clothes possible. His face was thin and the
features so pointed as to give the whole a hatchet appearance. Shaggy
white hair adorned his head, and a dirty grey beard reached down to the
second button of the torn shirt he wore. He held a length of rope in his
gnarled bony hands, and had obviously been working on it with a splicing
spike when Dave entered. Right now he was staring up at Dave out of the
brightest, most piercing set of eyes the young R.A.F. pilot had ever
looked into in all his life. They were like X-ray eyes that could look
right through your brain and count the hairs on the back of your head
from a distance of twenty feet.
For a brief instant the two of them locked glances. Then the old man
dropped his rope and splicing spike and got to his feet.
"Good morning, _Herr Leutnant_," he said in flawless German. "Is there
something I can do for you this morning?"
Before Dave could reply, a curtain over an opening at the rear of the
disordered room was pushed aside, and an old woman, perhaps even more
aged than the man, stepped through. Her eyes flew to Dave's uniform, and
the corners of her thin mouth tightened, and stark fear flickered in her
eyes.
That sudden look of stark fear in the old woman's eyes made Dave's heart
leap with hope. He felt sure that this old man was the real Pierre
Deschaud. He was sure of it because the old woman's flash of sudden
terror told him she was afraid that, as a Nazi officer, he had come
there to do them harm--perhaps to take her husband away. He did not jump
at that conclusion, however. He was still on mighty ticklish ground. He
had to be sure, _really_ sure. He took his eyes off the woman and looked
again at the man.
"I was with a friend," he said stiffly. "We became separated and I am
now hunting him. I was wondering if he came in here."
"No one ever comes in here," the old man said quietly, and kept his
burning gaze fixed on Dave's face. "Perhaps if you could describe your
friend, _Herr Leutnant_, I will recognize him if he should come in."
Dave shrugged as though he didn't think that very important, but it was
simply a movement to cover up the tremendous quiver of excitement that
rippled through his body. The moment of moments was now at hand!
"I will probably find him some place outside," he said, and started to
turn. "We are leaving soon for Houyet, and I would not like him to be
left behind."
Dave glanced at the old man as he spoke the secret code word, but there
was not so much as a flicker of the eyelids. Bitter disappointment and a
tingling sense of fear crept into Dave's heart. He hesitated a brief
instant and then continued turning toward the door. In fact, he had
taken a couple of steps when the old man's quiet voice stopped him.
"I am sorry you have lost your comrade, _Herr Leutnant_," he said. "It
is not likely that he will come into a place such as this. I have
nothing to sell but my humble services. I was a marine engineer in my
day, but that was long ago. You are interested in boats, _Herr
Leutnant_?"
Something caused Dave to stop and turn around.
"I have done a little sailing," he said.
"And so have I, but many years ago," the old man said with a sigh. "But
I did my design work on big boats. My masterpiece was the Fraser. She
was built right here in Antwerp for an American company. She was
beautiful."
Fraser! Colonel Fraser! The mention of that name wiped the last of
Dave's fears away. His eyes widened with joy, and he started to open his
mouth, but a sudden fierce warning look leaped into the eyes of the old
man.
"I have never heard of that boat," Dave said. "For me, the most
beautiful boats are built in Germany."
"Ah, yes, they build beautiful boats, indeed, in Germany," the aged one
said, and started fishing around in the drawer of the table next to him.
"The Fraser, of course, was not a big boat like the Bremen or the
Europa. But she was a lovely boat. I think I have a picture of her some
place. You would please me by looking at it, _Herr Leutnant_. You can
spare the time?"
As the old fellow spoke, he shot a quick meaningful glance at Dave. The
young R.A.F. ace caught the meaning and shrugged.
"I have a moment to spare," he grunted. "Show me the picture."
"Ah, here it is!" the old fellow said triumphantly, and pulled something
from out of the table drawer. "Here, you can see better under the light.
This is not a very good picture, but it will give you an idea of what
the Fraser looked like."
As the old man spoke, he beckoned Dave over to the table and blew some
dust from an old photograph he had taken from the drawer. Dave stepped
over and looked down at the picture. It was one of a single funnel cargo
steamer, and not a very trim-looking vessel, at that. It was quite short
and stubby-looking, and seemed to be riding exceeding high in the water.
"Is she not a beauty, _Herr Leutnant_?" the old man said eagerly, and
then suddenly slid a piece of paper over the lower half of the
photograph. "She was four thousand tons, and built sturdy as a rock. I
myself was aboard on her maiden cruise."
The old man continued talking about the maiden cruise of the
funny-looking ship, but Dave wasn't listening. Every ounce of his
attention was focussed on the old man's right hand. He held a stubby
pencil in his hand and was scribbling on the sheet of paper he had
placed over the lower half of the photo which he held in his left hand.
Dave's brain was on fire with excitement by the time the man finally
finished and he was able to read the message. The message read:
"Take care! Their eyes and ears are all about. One mile west along
the river, there is an old coaling wharf. Just beyond is an old
river boat half under water. The bow is above water, and there is a
hole on the port side. One can wade out to the hole. Meet me inside
that hole at nine tonight. Now ask questions about this picture,
and then leave this place."
Dave was forced to steel himself for a second or two to make sure he
would keep the wild excitement out of his voice. He reached out a
finger and pointed at the bow.
"That doesn't look right," he said. "It seems to ride too high. It does
not look to me like a comfortable boat in a heavy sea."
As Dave spoke, he quickly took the stubby pencil from the old man's
hand, and wrote, "There are two of us," on the slip of paper. The old
man nodded, glanced up at him and nodded again.
"Ah, that proves you know about boats, _Herr Leutnant_!" he cried, and
nodded some more. "You are quite right. She was not a very good sea boat
at first. We had to make some changes. Afterwards she could ride out any
kind of a gale. But perhaps this old man is boring you. So I will stop.
I hope you find your comrade, _Herr Leutnant_."
Dave straightened up and went through the motions of smoothing out his
uniform.
"He is probably about some place," he grunted, and turned toward the
door. Then, on sudden thought, he kicked aside a coil of greasy rope,
and turned his head toward the old man. "You have a dirty place here,
old man," he said. "You had better do something about it, or you may
get into trouble."
As the old man mumbled apologies and promises, Dave stepped outside and
slammed the door behind him. Hot and cold chills were taking turns
racing up and down his spine. His first impulse was to take to his heels
and race madly back to Freddy with the news. He curbed the impulse,
though, and started along the street at an even gait. So Pierre Deschaud
_was_ alive? He and Freddy were to meet him in secret at nine o'clock
that night! What would Deschaud tell them? Did he really have
information about a Nazi attempt to invade England? Colonel Fraser had
said that he was willing to stake his life that Deschaud knew, but that
wasn't proof that Deschaud actually did know. And it was strange, that
note Deschaud had written--and, by the way, had made disappear as if by
magic as Dave had left. Deschaud had warned him that Nazi ears and eyes
were all about. Where? There in Deschaud's place? But that was a crazy
thought. Yet he had had the feeling that Deschaud had been scared stiff
that he would say something that would be a tip-off to anybody listening
near. But could there be Nazi agents in that place?
Dave shivered at the thought and was forced to swallow hard a couple of
times. Before he could stop himself, he turned his head and took a quick
glance back over his shoulder. However, there still wasn't a single sign
of anybody following him. Just the same he increased his pace slightly.
A few minutes more and he had crawled and scrambled over the piles of
rubble in the alley next to the deserted house where Freddy was waiting,
and was walking into the room.
The grin on his face faded, and the words rising to his tongue clogged
in his throat. Freddy Farmer wasn't there. The room was completely
deserted. Panic gripped Dave, and his first thought was to spin around
and beat a quick retreat. Somebody had found out their hiding place.
Somebody had sneaked up and grabbed Freddy while he was talking with
Pierre Deschaud. And he had walked right back into the trap.
Cold sweat broke out all over his body. His heart became a chunk of ice
that slid down toward his boots. His mouth and throat went bone dry and
it was desperately hard to breath. Like a man struck dumb, he stood
there, unable to move, unable to decide whether to stay or flee. Then
suddenly sounds on the other side of the door he had just closed broke
the spell. They were the sounds of footsteps. He took one wild look at
the windows and saw that escape was impossible in that direction. The
room was rather high above the ground. He whirled around and crouched,
fists clenched, and his body tensed to spring forward. Come what may, he
wasn't going to be taken without a fight, even though he was unarmed.
An instant later the door was opened and Freddy Farmer stepped into the
room. He stopped short and gaped pop-eyed at Dave.
"Good grief, Dave!" he gasped. "Are you ill? What a face!"
Dave released air from his lungs in a whistling sound and straightened
up slowly. Reaction set in at once, and his legs felt so rubbery he had
to put a hand against the wall for support.
"Ill?" he choked out. "Man, oh, man! I'm practically dead from fright
right this minute. Gosh, Freddy, where've you been? Jeepers! Did I get a
belt when I came back here and found you gone! I thought the Nazis had
nabbed you."
Freddy started to laugh, then instantly cut it off short as he saw the
look on Dave's face.
"I say, I'm terribly sorry, Dave," he said. "I should have thought of
that, but it completely skipped my mind. To tell you the truth, I got to
thinking after you left, about my clothes. I can't go out in them, and I
certainly can't stay here in this place forever. So I got to thinking
about it. Well, you were lucky, so why shouldn't I be lucky, too?"
Freddy stopped and held out a suit of clothes he had flung over his arm.
The suit was covered with dust and even raised a cloud as Freddy moved
his arm. But it seemed to be in fairly good condition, even though it
wasn't exactly 1940 style.
"I stayed at the window until I saw you leave Number Sixteen," Freddy
said. "Then I did a bit of scrounging. The Kind Fairy must have been
right at my elbow, for in the third room I looked into I found these, in
an old box in a closet. Some other clothes were there, too. These looked
the best, though. So here we are. But never mind about me. What about
Deschaud? You saw him? You talked with him?"
Dave wiped sweat from his brow, heaved another long sigh of relief, and
nodded.
"Right," he said. "And it's Deschaud. I'm sure of that. We are to meet
him at nine o'clock tonight. Now, cut the questions, pal. Just give me a
chance and I'll tell you everything. And while I'm talking, change your
clothes. Just looking at that peasant get-up gives me the shivers. Take
it off, quick, and ditch it."
While Freddy changed into his new disguise, Dave told detail by detail
about his visit with Pierre Deschaud. Freddy didn't interrupt once, but
there was a worried look in his eyes by the time Dave had finished.
"I guess it was Deschaud, all right," he said. "But I certainly don't
like that 'eyes and ears about' stuff. Do you think he meant the old
woman with him?"
"No," Dave said, and shook his head. "She was scared stiff when I walked
in. She stood where she could see him writing. And when I left there was
a look of hope, not fear, in her eyes. No, I'm positive that she's his
wife, or his sister, anyway."
"Nine o'clock tonight, eh?" Freddy murmured as though to himself. "And
it isn't nine o'clock in the morning yet. What'll we do in the
meantime? Just wait?"
Dave gave him a scornful look.
"Well, we could go call on the Nazi Commandant at the City Hall, and see
how he's getting along," he grunted. "I've got two better ideas,
though."
"They'd better be!" Freddy said, and gave him a dark scowl. "What two
ideas?"
Dave slipped his hand under his German officer's tunic.
"First a bout with our emergency rations," he said. "My stomach's just
about decided my throat has been cut. After that, a few hours of
shut-eye. I've got a hunch that it won't hurt a bit to stock up on some
sleep."
Their glances met and stayed locked for a long minute. Neither spoke,
because each knew what was in the other's mind. Nine o'clock that night
was their Zero Hour. At nine that night they would learn what they had
come through a hundred lurking dangers to find out. Would it be the end,
or, as they both hoped and prayed, would it simply be a glorious
fulfillment of their mission?
Suddenly Dave grinned and broke the tensed silence.
"And there's another reason why I want some shut-eye, too," he said.
"I don't like that grin," Freddy said cautiously. "But I'll bite. What?"
"If my eyes are closed," Dave said, and backed away a couple of steps,
"I won't be able to see that trick suit of clothes you swiped. Boy!
Would your girl friend give you the gate if she saw you in that rig.
Hot-diggity! Ain't you something the cat dragged in!"
Freddy snorted, then leaned forward and sniffed loudly.
"Why not be honest?" he asked. "That staff car and duffel bag story was
just a fib, wasn't it? You really found that Nazi uniform in a garbage
can, didn't you?"
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
_Pierre Deschaud Speaks_
Black night had again settled down over Europe. Layers of cloud scud and
fog completely hit the stars, and to Dave and Freddy, crouched down on a
sandy strip of shore not twenty feet from the waters of the Scheldt
River, it seemed as though they were the only two people alive in the
whole world. All about them was darkness and utter silence. Antwerp was
just a darker blot a mile or so to their left. And although by staring
hard they could catch the flicker of pin point lights, the city was so
dark and still that the little points of light could well have been
their imagination playing them tricks.
It was now exactly eight minutes of nine by Dave's radium dial wrist
watch. A little over an hour ago, when the shadows of coming night had
begun to fall, they had slipped out of their hiding place and started a
roundabout trip to the spot where they now crouched. Death had walked
with them every step of the way, waiting and ready to pounce about them
both and gobble them up. But Lady Luck had also traveled with them. And
although on three occasions they had come very close to stumbling
headlong into Nazi black-out patrols, they had avoided them in the nick
of time, quickly changed their route and hastened onward. And now they
crouched down on the sandy strip of shore and stared hard at the
lopsided darker shadow out there in the water. It was the water-logged
and half sunk houseboat, and by straining their eyes hard they could
just barely make out the jagged hole stove in the bow on the port side.
Presently Dave turned his head and leaned toward Freddy.
"Deschaud said to meet us inside the thing," he whispered in the English
youth's ear, "so I guess we'd better get moving. If anybody is around,
he certainly is a darn sight quieter than the night. What do you
think?"
"Same as you," Freddy whispered back. "We'd better get out there. Only
thing we can do. Watch the noise you make wading."
"You're telling me?" Dave echoed with a silent chuckle. "You bet I'll
watch out. Sure could use a flashlight, though. Okay, let's go."
The two boys slowly stood up and crept down to the water's edge. For
mutual balance and guidance they clasped hands and started wading. The
water was cold and the bottom was very muddy, making it doubly hard to
keep their balance. Neither of them, however, met with an accident, and
eventually they were directly under the gaping hole in the boat's bow.
There the water wasn't more than a very few inches above their knees,
and it was not difficult to grab hold of the jagged ends of broken hull
planks and pull themselves in through the hole.
It was pitch black inside, and everything they touched was wet and
slimy. A thousand different kinds of smells struck them in waves. Inch
by inch they crawled forward until Dave found a sturdy cross beam that
was comparatively dry. He pulled Freddy to it, and together they sat
down and turned around so that they could look out the opening toward
the shore. For a moment or so it was like staring at a black curtain
hung in a room with all the lights out. Bit by bit, though, shadows
began to take shape and they were able to make out the exact shoreline
and the tree clumps and building rooftops beyond.
"Well, it's up to Deschaud, now," Dave whispered. "Gosh! I sure hope
nothing's happened to him! It's ten minutes after nine!"
"I'm thinking the same thoughts," Freddy whispered back. "But you can
bet I sure hope they're all wrong. I--_Dave!_"
Freddy had stopped short and gripped Dave's arm, and was pointing his
other hand toward the shore. Dave said nothing, for he had already
spotted the faint shadow moving slowly along the strip of sandy beach.
The shadow suddenly stopped, and then whirled as a second shadow seemed
virtually to leap right down out of the black sky. The two shadows
merged together and swayed back and forth. Then one of them fell back
and down onto the sand. Freddy's fingers were digging like steel barbs
into Dave's arm, but he hardly felt the pain. His breath was locked in
his lungs, and all the world seemed to stand still as he kept his eyes
riveted on the shadowy scene ashore.
After a moment or so, the shadowy figure remaining on its feet bent over
and gathered the fallen shadow in its arms and slung it across a
shoulder like a wet sack of meal. Then the shadow moved slowly out into
the water. Hardly daring to breathe, Dave and Freddy watched the shadow
come closer and closer. Presently it was at the opening in the bow. It
paused there motionless, and it was all Dave could do to choke back the
shout that struggled to rise up in his throat. Then suddenly a tiny
needle thin beam of light flashed across his face and went out almost
instantly. Then came a hoarse whisper.
"Give me a hand! Help me lift this traitor inside! Quick!"
The two boys moved forward at once, caught hold of the limp form and
pulled it inside the hull of the boat. A second or so later and Pierre
Deschaud came slithering in like a greased cat.
"Leave him there," he whispered, and touched them lightly on the arms.
"He will be a traitor to Belgium no more. Follow me, and be careful how
you step. This craft was not built yesterday."
Before either of them could ask a question, the old man snapped on the
needle point of light again and glided past them as silently as an eel
in a barrel of oil. They silently followed him deeper into the boat.
After a moment or so he pushed open a small bulkhead door and stepped
into a bare cabin that had eighteen inches of water on the deck floor.
He paused and waited for them to pass through, then stepped inside
himself and pulled the door shut. There were two empty bunks fitted to
the walls of the cabin well above the water line. Deschaud gestured with
his light for them to sit on one, while he sat down on the bunk facing
them. Then he held his light down at the water, which threw back a faint
glow that made it possible for them to see each other.
It was Freddy who spoke first.
"What about that one in the bow?" he asked.
"We can forget about him," Deschaud said, and looked at Dave. "He was
the reason I was so scared this morning. He was in the next room, and
listening, of course. The Nazis do not suspect me, but they do not
overlook anything, either. We have many traitors here in Antwerp, scum
who would send their mothers and fathers to the firing squad for a few
extra loaves of bread from the Nazi brutes. He was one of them. I have
known it for a long time, but I did not dare do anything about it.
Tonight, it was different, however. I knew that he would report this
boat to his Nazi pay-master. There is far more at stake than his rotten
life. And so, there is one less traitor in Antwerp."
As the old Belgian finished, he shrugged his shoulders in a gesture as
if dismissing the thought. Dave shivered inwardly, and there was a
pounding in his head. So it had been true! A traitor, who could have
bought about his death by a single word to his Nazi boss, had been
lurking in the next room all the time. Thank goodness he had not been
such a fool as to ask Deschaud questions right then and there. Thank
goodness the brave and courageous old Belgian patriot had warned him
before he'd made a damaging slip of the tongue!
"Tell me your story quickly," Pierre Deschaud's voice suddenly broke
into his thoughts. "How did you get here? Who sent you? What is it you
wish? Were you seen by the Nazis? Were you followed here? Did you meet
anybody on the way? Tell me everything quickly; then I will decide if it
is best to talk."
Both boys realized instantly that Pierre Deschaud was checking up on
them; making sure that it was safe to tell what he knew. After all, he
carried his life in his hands twenty-four hours of the day. And when you
do that, you have to be sure of everything, no matter how small or
trivial. And so the boys told him everything that had happened to them
from the time they had stepped in Air Vice-Marshal Saunders' office at
the Air Ministry right up to the present moment. Pierre Deschaud watched
them closely out of his X-ray eyes. By the time they had finished, the
old man had visibly relaxed, and there was an expression of profound
admiration on his face.
"The world will long remember the gallant men of the British Royal Air
Force," he said in a voice deep with sincere feeling. "And you two well
represent that splendid organization. In the air or on the ground, your
courage and your fighting spirit are no less. I salute you from the
bottom of my heart. All loyal Belgians salute you. Now!"
The old man paused and leaned forward on the edge of the bunk. As he did
so, he drew a folded sheet of dirty paper from under his torn and
oil-smeared shirt.
"I am convinced you come from the great Colonel Fraser," he said. "Ah,
how I admire that man! How I should like to meet him one day."
"And he feels the same way about you, sir," Freddy spoke up.
The old man smiled, and the warm light of great joy glowed in his eyes.