as Freddy ran out of breath. "One of them fired at me. Then you called
out. And then, bingo! One of them must have circled around to my side
somehow, and let me have it on the head. Then what?"
"Then the very unsatisfactory ending," Freddy Farmer said gloomily.
"I heard them both at the rear of the roof. I went toward there as
silently, and as fast as I could. I bumped into you. While I was
trying to find out if you were dead, both of the blighters went down
the fire escape and lost themselves. The only thing for me to do then
was to get you back through the window and in here where I could have
a look at you. And that took some doing. You weigh a ton, Dave. I
sincerely recommend a strict diet. Lord, but you're heavy when you're
unconscious."
But Dawson wasn't listening. He was scowling at his scratched and dirty
hands, and at his own uniform that was almost as badly torn as Freddy's.
"I wonder who they were?" he presently said aloud. "You didn't get a
look at either of them?"
"Only that one chap's hand," Freddy replied. "The rest was just moving
shadows. It was my fault for making a mess of it, Dave. I shouldn't
have let that chap get out the bathroom window. How--?"
The fuzzy note of the front door buzzer stopped the rest of Freddy
Farmer's sentence. Both boys looked at each other, and then got up off
the bed in a hurry.
"The guys from British Intelligence!" Dawson said, and headed for the
living room door. "From the time it took them to get here, this joint
must be up in Scotland!"
"Well, we'll soon know where it is, anyway, thank heaven!" Freddy
Farmer breathed as he followed Dawson through the door into the living
room. "I certainly--_oof!_"
Young Farmer's lungs were emptied of air as he plowed face first into
Dawson, who had pulled up to an abrupt stop. With an effort Freddy held
his balance and stared past Dawson.
"What--?" he began. Then, with a gasp, "I say, Dave, what did you do
with them?"
"I didn't!" Dawson mumbled, and stared popeyed at the completely vacant
living room. "I--They--I mean, one was dead, and the other two were
trussed up for keeps. But they _aren't here_, Freddy! They've gone!
Doggone it! That guy, Erich, was dead, I tell you. But he's upped and
walked away. Away where?"
The door buzzer rang again, more insistently this time, but neither of
the youths paid any attention to it. Like men struck dumb they gaped
at the living room floor where the figures of three Nazis should have
been, but where actually there were only some bloodstains to mark where
they had once been.
"I think I'm going nuts!" Dave mumbled, and drew a hand across his
forehead. "Stark raving nuts. Now you see it, and now you don't.
I--Hey! The buzzer!"
With a yelp Dawson snapped out of his trance, raced to the foyer door,
went through it and hurried to the front door and unlocked it. And just
in time, too. A British colonel out in the hallway was just stepping
back, service revolver in hand, preparatory to shooting out the lock.
The officer lowered his gun the instant he saw Dawson, but his eyes
widened at what he saw.
"What the devil's going on, Captain?" he demanded. "We traced a phone
call from this apartment. We're British Intelligence."
The officer nodded to a captain and a lieutenant standing just behind
him. Dawson swung the door open wider and stepped to one side.
"Yes, sir, I know," he said. "And plenty's happened. You'd better come
in, sir."
"Quite," the colonel grunted, and walked into the foyer, followed by
his two junior officers. "Where to now?"
"This way, sir," Dave said as he led the way toward the living room.
"But I guess there's some explaining to do first."
Dawson was continuing talking, but decided not to and led the way into
the living room. Marked relief showed on Freddy Farmer's face as he saw
the snappy British uniforms. He stiffened and clicked his heels, but
did not salute as he did not have his hat on. Then suddenly his dirtied
face cracked in a glad and welcoming smile.
"_You_, sir!" he cried. "Did you take my call, sir? But it's so long,
sir, that of course I wouldn't have recognized your voice."
"What's that?" the colonel said sharply. Then his jaw dropped and his
face lighted up. He looked from Farmer to Dave Dawson, all smiles.
"Well, bless me!" he cried. "It has been years and years, hasn't it?
And what you've two done for the cause since then!"
As the colonel grasped Freddy Farmer's outstretched hand Dave looked at
him in puzzled amazement. Then memory came rushing back in a hurry.
"Well, knock me for a--!" he gulped, and then checked himself. "Colonel
Fraser, Chief of British Intelligence! Gee, sir, but it's good to see
you. Why--why, it was way back in Forty that you sent us on that show
at Antwerp, wasn't it?"
"Absolutely, Dawson!" the colonel said as he shook hands. "And a
splendid job you two did. My word! Fancy meeting you two. I heard you
were with the Yanks and going great guns. But let me introduce my
officers. Captain Small and Lieutenant Faintor, I want you to meet two
chaps who did an awful lot for England back in the dark days. Captains
Farmer, and Dawson."
There was hand shaking all around, and then Colonel Fraser got right
down to cases again.
"But what's all this?" he demanded, and waved a hand at their torn
uniforms. "What happened? You said something on the wire about catching
three Nazi agents, and needing help at once. We came hopping it across
London, but the blasted blackout, and the detours, took time. Now,
what's it all about?"
"That's the sad part of the story, sir," Dawson said, making a wry
face. "But we'll give all of it to you that we can."
Some ten minutes later Dawson and Freddy Farmer had finished their
combined word picture of their crazy adventure. Colonel Fraser and his
two junior officers listened in wide-eyed silence. By the time the two
U. S. Army Air Forces aces finished speaking a strange look had come
into Colonel Fraser's eyes, and his face was noticeably paler and more
strained than it had been when he arrived. He stared at them for a
moment without speaking, then put out his hand to Dawson.
"Mind letting me see those papers you say you took from them?" he said.
"Sure, of course, sir," Dave replied, and fished them from his torn
tunic pocket and handed them over.
Colonel Fraser spent a good five minutes going through them while the
other four in the room waited with mounting impatience plainly stamped
on their faces. Finally, Colonel Fraser stacked them all together and
stuck the lot in his pocket.
"The rotters!" he said in a withering voice. "The dirty rotters. But
that Herr Baron is a clever devil, blast his black heart. I'd give my
crown and pips to lay that one low. And you had him right here all tied
up? What rotten luck!"
"I could cut my throat for not making sure he was trussed up for
keeps!" Dawson said bitterly. "But as a matter of fact I was so sure
that he was there to stay put."
"Well, I feel even worse because I tied up the beggar," Freddy Farmer
said. Then, with a little gesture of one hand, he added, "But I wonder?"
"Wonder what?" Colonel Fraser asked when the English youth didn't
continue.
"I wonder if he did get loose by himself?" Freddy said with a frown.
"After all, we know that there were two more of them on the roof.
Perhaps there were others. Others who sneaked in here and freed the two
live ones, and helped cart the dead one away."
"No soap on that, I'd say," Dawson said slowly. "I mean, I don't think
they'd have lighted out without finishing us off first."
"No, I think you're wrong there, Dawson, old chap," Captain Small said
with an apologetic side glance at his superior. "I don't think they
bothered about you two because they knew the jig was up. I mean, you
see, they knew that Farmer had phoned us, and that we were on the way.
I fancy that their first thought was to get away from here as soon as
possible."
"But why take the dead man?" Dave argued.
Captain Small shrugged and smiled.
"You have me there, old chap," he said. "But no doubt, it was so that
we wouldn't be able to obtain positive identification of the beggar."
"But how they did it, and where they went, is really the important
part," Freddy Farmer said with a frown. Then, looking at Colonel
Fraser, he said, "If I may make a suggestion, sir, why not have this
whole building searched? There's no telling what you might gather up."
"Ahead of you there, Farmer," the senior officer said. "I have men
doing that very thing right now. They are going from floor to floor,
and checking up on everybody. They'll be up here to report before long,
I expect."
"Do you mind a direct question, sir?" Dawson suddenly asked him.
"Why, no, not at all. Fire away, Dawson."
"About this Karl Stoltz, and Paul von Heimmer, sir," Dave said. "Do you
know if your department has ever heard of either of them?"
The colonel smiled broadly, and nodded.
"I've been waiting for that question," he said. "Yes. We know all about
Herr Karl Stoltz and Herr Paul von Heimmer. They arrived in England
about six months ago. By parachute from a German night reconnaissance
plane. But they didn't get very far because we had been informed by
one of our own agents in Germany of their coming. They were given a
military trial, and shot. Unfortunately, though, we were unable to
learn anything of the work they planned to do in England. However, it
undoubtedly was to have something to do with the American Air Forces,
because they were both dressed as captain pilots when we gathered them
in."
Colonel Fraser paused, and a slow smile curled his lips.
"And you need not ask the next question," he said. "I'll answer it for
you now. Stoltz and von Heimmer bore a very startling resemblance to
you two. I can quite readily see how Herr Baron and his two henchmen
mistook you for them."
There was a moment of stunned silence; then Dave burst out laughing and
looked at Freddy Farmer.
"Well, what do you know!" he chuckled. "Here I've been palling around
all these years with a guy who has a mug like a Nazi's. No wonder my
best friends wouldn't tell me! And me worrying because I was afraid it
was B.O.!"
"Very, very funny!" Freddy snapped, and then looked at Colonel Fraser.
"Von Heimmer was rather a good-looking chap, wasn't he, sir? And Stoltz
had a face like a jammed bomb bay door?"
The senior officer looked puzzled for a moment, and then raised both
hands in protest, and shook his head.
"Now, none of that, Farmer!" he said with a laugh. "I can see that you
two haven't changed much in that respect. Oh, no! I'm jolly well not
going to let you drag me into this thing. Fact is, I've quite forgotten
what either of them looked like. So don't either of you try to trap me
into being on your side."
"Speaking seriously for a moment, sir," Dawson said, "what about this
Herr Baron? You spoke as though you knew quite a bit about him, too."
"I know a lot about that cunning devil!" the colonel said as his face
darkened. "But how much is truth, and how much is fiction, I must
confess that I do not know. I do not even know what his real name is.
No doubt it is one of the dozen or more that we have in his file at
the office. But which one I don't know. However--"
The sound of the door buzzer interrupted the colonel. Everybody looked
startled for an instant; then Colonel Fraser nodded at Captain Small.
"Haines, no doubt," he said. "Answer it, will you, Small?"
"Yes, sir," the captain said, and went out into the foyer.
He was back in a moment or two with a slightly disappointed frown on
his face.
"It's Haines reporting, sir," he said to the colonel. "Save for this
apartment the entire building is vacant. They forced entrance into all
of them. Not so much as a stick of furniture, sir. They found a Daimler
in the garage, and Haines has detailed a man to watch it. The rear door
was open, and there's an alley that leads to the street in the next
block. No doubt our little friends made their exit that way, and there
was a car waiting."
"Of course," Colonel Fraser nodded gloomily. "Too late, again. But I'll
lay that blighter by the heels some day soon. Very well, Small. Tell
Haines to keep searching around. Might come across something that will
help us. I think you'd better lend a hand. I'll be at the office if
you want me."
"Very good, sir," Captain Small said, and went out again.
As the man closed the door behind him, Dawson glanced at his wrist
watch, and started. The hands showed that the time was well after
midnight.
"Migosh!" he gasped. "We've been here for hours. We'll never make that
Kingston train, Freddy."
"Don't worry about the Kingston train," Colonel Fraser said, before
Freddy Farmer could open his mouth. "I want you two with me for a
spell. I'll phone your C.O. and explain. Right now we're going down to
my office. There's a chap whom I want to hear your story. All right,
let's be off, eh?"
Some five minutes later Dawson, Farmer, Lieutenant Faintor, and Colonel
Fraser were out in front of the building on the sidewalk. Dawson looked
back up at the place where death had whispered by so close, and then
looked up and down the blacked out street in a half-hearted effort to
determine what part of London they were in. He saw nothing but shadowy
outlines and silhouettes that didn't tell him a thing.
"Just where is this place, sir?" he asked the colonel as Lieutenant
Faintor slid in behind the wheel of a car at the curb.
"Out Golders Green way," the senior officer replied. "Get into the car,
you two."
"Golders Green?" Freddy Farmer gasped as he climbed in back. "The start
of the Midlands Road? Lord! They did give us a ride, didn't they?"
"Well, this night has spared me one thing, at least," Dave Dawson
grunted, as he sank down on the leather cushion beside Freddy.
"What, I'd like to know?" the English-born air ace demanded.
Dawson looked at him and grinned in the blackout.
"I don't have to worry about explaining the jokes in that show to you
now," he said gently.
Freddy Farmer didn't even comment. He simply kicked Dawson in the ankle
as though it were accidental, but omitted an apology.
CHAPTER SEVEN
_Uncle Sam Steps In_
The long ride back to the War Office Building was made more or less in
silence. And when Colonel Fraser ordered Lieutenant Faintor to put the
car away, and led Dawson and Freddy Farmer up to his huge office, he
simply waved them to comfortable chairs and promptly disappeared into
an adjoining office.
Dawson looked at his own uniform and then at Freddy's.
"Boy, I hope he's gone to call a tailor!" he said. "Come the light of
day and we'll be picked up by the first M.P. who spots us."
"Frankly, I hope he's gone to get us something to eat," Freddy replied.
"I'm absolutely famished."
"You always are!" Dawson grunted. "Even at the time you're just paying
the check. But that reminds me, Freddy. Remember the funny hunch I had
at dinner tonight? Maybe the old feeling wasn't so far off at that,
eh? Me, I must be psychic, huh?"
"Perhaps!" Freddy snapped. "But you're also a whole lot of other things
that we won't bother to mention here."
"I'll ignore that crack, and simply take it from whence it comes,"
Dawson said loftily. "But would you like to make a bet, my little man?"
"A bet about what?"
"Never mind about what," Dawson said. "You want to bet?"
"No!" Freddy said firmly. "I'm too tired to be roped into anything by
you. By the way, though, how is that cast-iron head of yours? You're
certainly acting chipper enough."
"We Dawsons can take it," Dave grinned. "But lay off unpleasant
memories, will you? So you won't bet, huh? Well, just the same, I'll
bet you anything you like that we don't go on to Kingston from here. Or
back to the Squadron, either. Now, what do you think of that?"
"I think you're balmy!" Freddy snorted.
"Okay, so he thinks I'm balmy," Dawson said, and waved a hand. "But I'm
just telling you, that's all."
"Another one of your wonderful hunches, I suppose?" Freddy growled.
"Call it that if you like," Dawson shrugged. "But it's really a certain
look in Colonel Fraser's eyes that makes me feel as I do."
"And just what do you feel, if I may be so bold as to ask?" young
Farmer snapped.
Dave put a forefinger alongside his nose, winked, and nodded very
mysteriously.
"The colonel has something cooking," he said. "And you can take it, or
leave it!"
And no more than five seconds later Colonel Fraser came into the room
followed by an orderly with a tray bearing a tea pot, cups and saucers,
muffins, Army issue jam, and, miracles of miracles, some of those
English midget-sized country sausages.
"Well, for once you were right, Dave," Freddy murmured softly. "He did
have something cooking. And do those sausages smell good!"
"On the desk there, Parks," Colonel Fraser said, and then turned to
Dawson and Farmer, smiling.
"A little spot of tea and food to appease the inner man, Gentlemen,"
he said. "Pull up your chairs to the desk, here. I've called your
commanding officer and explained that I'm borrowing you for a bit.
I've also called the chap I want you to meet. He'll be along shortly.
But first, a little refreshment, what?"
"By all means, sir!" Freddy Farmer exclaimed, and moved his chair over
to the desk.
For the next few minutes there was an absolute minimum of conversation
in the colonel's office. All three of them truly were hungry, and they
fell to, to do something about it. Then eventually the colonel began to
ask questions about what the two air aces had seen and done since their
last meeting. And Freddy and Dave told him, though every instant of
the time questions of their own hovered on the tips of their tongues.
It was evident to them, though, that the colonel had put the night's
doings to one side for the moment, so they continued to let their
questions hover on the tips of their tongues unspoken.
Then, about fifteen minutes later, there came a knock on the outer
door. The colonel bade whoever it was enter, and an American Air Forces
major came into the room, smiled, and saluted the colonel.
"Good evening, sir," he said. "I came as fast as I could."
"Come in, come in, my dear Major," Colonel Fraser said as he stood up.
"We're just having a spot of tea. Won't you join us? Plenty of fresh
tea, you know."
"Thank you, but no, sir," the major said, and let his eyes flick across
Dawson's and Farmer's face. "I had some about an hour ago. Full up as
it were, Colonel."
"Right you are, then," Colonel Fraser said. And then, gesturing a hand
toward Dawson and Freddy Farmer, he said, "Let me introduce Captains
Dawson and Farmer. Gentlemen, Major Crandall, of your Air Forces
Intelligence."
Both Dave and Freddy shook hands with the major and murmured their
pleasure at meeting him. His grip was firm, and his smile genuine, as
he replied:
"The pleasure is really mine, Captains. I've heard so much about your
fine work that this is really a red letter day for me. Or should I say,
red letter night?"
Everybody laughed, and the major pulled up a chair and sat down.
"Positive you won't, Major?" Colonel Fraser said, and motioned to the
tea pot.
"Positive, thank you just the same, sir," the Yank Air Forces
Intelligence officer replied.
"Right-o, then," the colonel said. Then, his face becoming grave, he
continued, "Let's get on with it. I didn't give you any facts over the
phone, Major, because I thought it best for you to hear it all first
hand. Tell them all you told me, you two chaps. And then we'll see
what's what."
For the second time that night Dawson and Farmer related their
experiences, from supper at the Savoy Hotel up to Colonel Fraser's
arrival, with his men, at the apartment building out near Golders
Green. Major Crandall listened attentively, but with no other
expression on his good-looking, sun-bronzed face. And when Dawson and
Freddy Farmer came to the end of their story the major arched one
eyebrow slightly, but gave no other indication as to whether he was
impressed or unimpressed.
"And here are the papers Dawson took from them, Major," Colonel
Fraser said, and pushed the pile across the desk. "My man is right
now checking on the two so-called Englishmen. And I imagine that your
office will want to check on the Yank Air Forces colonel that Herr
Baron pretended to be."
"Yes, we'd like to, sir," Major Crandall said as he took the papers.
"We can do it very easily, too, as we--"
The American Intelligence officer cut his sentence off in the middle,
and his face went white under his heavy tan. Dawson, watching him
closely, saw the major's hand holding the papers shake a little. And he
also saw that it was Herr Baron's picture on the top paper that made
the officer pale.
"Colonel Frank Bowers?" the officer suddenly bit off. "Why, the
low-down, dirty skunk! Posing as old Frank Bowers! Poor old Frank.
I wonder just what did happen? We never heard a single word. And I
personally asked Swiss Red Cross to check and double check."
"Obviously you knew him, eh, sir?" Freddy Farmer murmured politely,
when the other made no effort to explain, but simply stared fixedly at
the picture.
"What's that?" he suddenly said, raising his eyes. "Knew Frank Bowers?
Of course I knew him. Like a brother. He was one of the best friends I,
or any other man, ever had. He's been gone now almost a year."
"Do you mind telling us about it, Major?" Colonel Fraser asked quietly.
"Not at all, sir, though there's not much to tell," the Yank
Intelligence officer replied quickly. "Frank Bowers was the C.O. of a
Flying Fortress Group. And the right kind of a C.O., too. I mean that
he flew on just as many raids as anybody else, and did his paper work
as C.O. to boot. I knew him back home in Detroit, where we both hail
from. Always crazy about flying, and when the big chance came he soon
showed his worth, and went up the promotion ladder fast. Well, it was
May of last year to be exact. I believe the date was the seventeenth.
He led a Fortress raid on Lorient, in Occupied France. Flak and enemy
fighter opposition that day were extra heavy. We lost several planes,
Frank's among them. Pilots who got back reported that his ship suffered
a direct flak hit. The thing went down in pieces. One pilot said that
he saw some parachutes float down from Frank's plane, but he wasn't
positive, as there were a lot of our boys going down by parachute that
day. Well, we received no word at all about the fate of Frank and his
crew. I gave their names to Swiss Red Cross, but they reported that
they could locate none of the fellows in any of the German prison
camps. That was that. A man who was as fine a leader as he was a pilot
was gone forever, with all the members of his Fortress crew. But--"
Major Crandall stopped, tapped the picture with a finger, and looked
questioningly at Colonel Fraser. The British Intelligence chief nodded
slowly.
"Quite, Major," he said quietly. "Perhaps your friend was killed, but
the Nazis _were able_ to get hold of his papers. But tell me, Major?
Would you say that those papers were the property of the real Colonel
Bowers?"
"Definitely," Major Crandall said, and held one up. "All but this one.
This one stating that he was of recent date attached to Air Forces
Intelligence is faked. Frank wouldn't have served with Intelligence,
unless by Presidential order. He wanted to get out into the open and
fight. He was that kind of a man."
"And to think I let that stinking, no-faced Nazi slip through my
fingers!" Dave Dawson groaned. "I should be sent to the rear rank for
that blunder!"
"Oh, no, not at all, Dawson," Colonel Fraser said. "After all, had you
not gone out on the roof after Farmer, he might have met with a very
nasty finish. There were two of them, you know, and--"
The colonel suddenly choked off the rest and gaped wide-eyed at Dawson.
And well he might, for Dave's face had suddenly become the color of a
four alarm fire, and he looked for all the world like a man seeking a
hole into which he could crawl before pulling the hole in after him.
"Good heavens, man, what's wrong?" the colonel cried, and started up
from his chair.
"Me, sir!" Dave replied with a grimace. "I guess I should be broken and
sent back to the rear rank. I clean forgot. Funny, too, considering I
remembered everything else so clearly. Maybe it was that smack on the
head."
"Forgot what?" Colonel Fraser demanded. "Come, come, Dawson! What the
devil is this all about?"