espionage work here in Singapore and give them the stepping stone they
needed to attain their real objective? Or would he simply express
sorrow at their plight, but state that it was not up to him to take
care of two stranded Gestapo agents? But, perhaps more important than
anything else, _did Serrangi believe their story_? He acted as though
he did, but that could mean most anything. And, likewise, nothing. What
thoughts were passing through that brain of his behind the hideous
face? Was he sealing their doom ... or what?
As the silence continued it was all Dave could do to refrain from
encouraging the Sumatran to speak. It was almost as though he had sunk
back into the weird trance he'd been in when they first entered the
room. His face was a blank, save for the frown. And the fishy look was
creeping back into his eyes again. Then, suddenly, Freddy Farmer took
the bull by the horns.
"Well, I can see we were mistaken!" he said harshly. "There is no help
to be had here. I believe I'll remember that fact when I do return to
Berlin!"
"Sit down, or there'll be a knife in your heart!"
Serrangi's voice was like the hiss of a deadly snake coiled to strike.
His eyes seemed to flash sparks as he fixed them on Freddy Farmer.
And one hand darted under his dirty jacket like a little shaft of
lightning. Freddy managed to glare but he sat down very quickly.
"That is better," Serrangi said in a softer voice. "Listen to me, you
of the quick tongue! In Germany you may be lord and master over many
slaves, but here in Singapore _Serrangi_ holds a man's life or his
death in his hands. Remember that! Your Fuehrer may be the greatest man
ever born. I truly believe he is. But it is not my love for Germany, or
your Fuehrer's cause that makes me work for you Nazis. It is the price
you _pay me_. I am only interested in wealth, and my own power. So do
not speak your sharp Nazi tongue to me. I will not crawl. Instead I
will slit your throat and throw you to the street dogs, and forget all
about you by the morrow."
The owner of the Devil's Den nodded curtly for emphasis, and made a
little motion with one hand as though brushing something aside.
"And now that we understand each other," he continued after the pause.
"We can talk of things to do. First, it will be impossible for me to
arrange for you to continue your journey to Australia. There is not
a boat leaving Singapore these days that you could possibly hide on.
And...."
"But as passengers?" Dave grunted to add to the impression that they
really were Australia bound.
"Even more impossible!" the Sumatran grated at him. "The British would
unmask you in five minutes. No, I cannot help you at all to continue to
Australia."
"Then, perhaps, here in Singapore?" Freddy Farmer murmured with a world
of genuine hopefulness in his voice. "Perhaps you have work for us? It
does not matter where one serves, so long as one serves the Fatherland."
Serrangi shook his head and took a fresh cigarette from a carved ivory
box on the desk.
"There are too many of you Nazi agents in Singapore, as it is," he
grunted. "The dog British are not stupid all day _and_ night. They feel
war in the Far East is not far off, and their Intelligence Service is
on the alert. No, I could not give you anything to do in Singapore
that would make you even worth your food and drink. It was indeed most
unfortunate that you were torpedoed at sea."
Serrangi nodded and sighed as though that ended everything. Dave's
heart dropped down into his paper thin soled shoes, and so did Freddy
Farmer's. It was as though the gods had kidded them along this far just
for the added pleasure of slapping them down just a hair's breadth
short of the mark. If Serrangi tossed them out, there would be nothing
to do but go back to Air Vice Marshal Bostworth and report complete
failure. And the suspected deadly menace that was creeping slowly but
surely around the British in the Far East would remain as much of a
mystery as ever.
"Well, that is the way with war!" Dave said in a bitter voice that was
far from all sham.
"True words you speak," Serrangi said almost kindly. "Who are we to
pick and choose, and say when and how we will accomplish a task? But
there is no room for you here in Singapore. If only you were Luftwaffe
pilots, then that would be a different matter."
Both Dave and Freddy came close to falling off their chairs in stunned
amazement at the man's words. They stared wide eyed at him as though
they could not, or did not dare, trust their ears. It was Dave who
found his tongue first.
"If _we_ were Luftwaffe pilots?" he cried. "Why do you say that?"
"There is a task," Serrangi said with a shrug. "But the men must be
able to fly airplanes. True there is one here in Singapore who could do
the task. But he cannot leave his post. Rather he would undo much that
has been prepared, if he were to do so."
"It is the will of _Der Fuehrer_ again!" Freddy Farmer cried wildly and
sprang to his feet. "_Heil Hitler!_ His thoughts are always with one
and all. You are always in the Leader's heart. Serrangi! Look at us.
Your wish has been granted. Your desire has been fulfilled!"
The Sumatran looked, but the expression on his face was like that of a
man waiting for the rabbits to come popping out of the high silk hat.
"More words!" he finally snapped. "What do you mean, my loud mouthed
friend?"
"_Der Fuehrer's_ solution of your problem!" Freddy cried and pointed
to Dave and then at himself. "My friend and I are seasoned veterans
of the great and glorious Luftwaffe. Not until after Crete were we
assigned full time duty under _Herr_ Himmler. _Gott!_ Fly airplanes? My
new found friend, we can do that in our sleep. So you see? It is the
Leader's will that we be given work to do for him, though we cannot
continue our journey to Australia!"
"But absolutely!" Dave shouted, taking the cue from Freddy Farmer. "Fly
airplanes? The joy of my life. And after all, it is not an impossible
flight from here to Australia, given the correct plane."
A happy look that had gradually spread over Serrangi's face as the two
boys "raved" was suddenly banished by a look of sharp annoyance.
"Impossible!" he grated. "The flight that must be made is in the
opposite direction. To the north. Besides, there is more than _Herr_
Hitler's desires connected with the matter. But this is true? You two
are airplane pilots?"
"But of course!" Dave shouted right back at him. "And my comrade here
is one of Germany's greatest. He has been decorated by _Der Fuehrer's_
own hand. It was for unbelievable gallantry in the Norway campaign.
But, a flight to the north, you say? Why to the north? And what is the
task that is to be undertaken?"
"You suggested I communicate with Berlin!" Serrangi snarled with heavy
sarcasm. "Perhaps it would be a good idea for you to communicate with
Tokio!"
Dave felt as though he had suddenly been slapped across the face with a
bolt of lightning. In spite of his efforts his eyes flew open wide with
amazement. In a flash, though, he realized his mistake and hastened to
cover it up.
"Tokio?" he breathed eagerly. "So it is to come _soon_, eh? So perhaps
it will not be a complete loss if my friend and I do not reach
Australia. After all, it seems that the tasks are connected."
A bright light shot through Serrangi's eyes, and he gave Dave a
searching look that seemed to probe right into his brain.
"So that was the kind of work you would do in Australia, eh?" he
murmured. "But, of course. Berlin and Tokio are working together.
And the fat fool in Rome thumps his chest, and shouts stupid things
to his stupid soldiers. Well, this is all very different. Much, much
different."
Serrangi paused and nodded his head, and came as close to beaming with
pleasure as it was possible for a man with his face to do so. Dave and
Freddy practically hung on the edges of their chairs waiting for the
Sumatran to say more. But when the words finally did come they dashed
high hopes back down again on the cold, cold ground.
"I do not know the details of the task," the Devil's Den owner said.
"I only know that there is a task to be accomplished. That there is a
flight to be made to the north. And I also know this!"
The man stopped abruptly and fastened the two youths with a steady
stare.
"I know that it may mean death even before the flight is begun!" he
snapped.
"We are not dead, yet," Dave said with true Nazi bravado, and airily
waved a hand. "And for that matter, neither of us expects to be
dead for a long, long time to come. But if you know nothing of the
details...?"
Dawson let the rest trail off significantly, and waited.
"No, I know nothing of the details," Serrangi said. "But I do know
where the details are to be obtained. Two streets north of where we
are, now, there is a small rug merchant's shop on the corner. The name
on the hanging sign is Agiz Ammarir. I will give you a coin presently.
You will go to the rug merchant's shop, ask for Agiz Ammarir. There
will be a native girl who greets you at the door. Tell her that you
have a bill to settle. She will summon Agiz Ammarir. When he appears
give him the coin. The coin will tell him all he wants to know. From
him you will learn more of what is to be done. What _must_ be done ...
and soon!"
The man almost shouted the last. His face clouded with fury and he
smashed both clenched fists down on the arms of the chair. The cold
anger in his eyes caused a tiny shiver to ripple up and down Dave's
spine. Here indeed was the real Serrangi coming to the surface.
The savage beast within him breaking through the thin veneer of
civilization in which he cloaked his true self. Dave thought of being
a helpless prisoner in the hands of a man like Serrangi, and the very
thought made his blood run cold.
"Have no doubts about us, Serrangi," Dave heard Freddy Farmer speak up.
"If it can be done, we will do it."
The Devil's Den owner snorted through his thin hawk-beak nose and flung
the English youth a withering glance.
"I know all about your Nazi boasts!" he snapped. "But the Far East is
not Germany. And Singapore is not your Berlin where you can demand the
help of any man on the street, whether it costs his life or not. But it
is I who talks too much, now. Enough! Here is the coin you will give to
Agiz Ammarir. Leave here within the next fifteen minutes and go to his
rug shop. Perhaps we shall meet again. But, whether we do or not ...
_Heil Hitler!_"
Both youths sprang to their feet and returned the Nazi Party cry and
salute. Serrangi shrugged and then waved them away as though they
were two pieces of merchandise in which he was no longer interested.
As they stepped outside the door into the hall of pitch darkness,
two shapes materialized at their side, took them each by the arm and
silently led them to the door of the coffee shop. When they passed
through into the dim, smoke filled room their two escorts melted back
into the darkness. Ignoring a few questioning glances that were cast
their way, Dave led the way to their vacated table, started to slump
down in his chair, but checked himself and gave Freddy a meaning look.
"Why drink more of this poison?" he growled in thick French. "Let us go
somewhere else, eh?"
The English youth nodded glumly, and the pair slouched nonchalantly
toward the front door.
CHAPTER TEN
_The Touch Of Death_
In the matter of a few seconds Dave and Freddy were once more out in
Bukum Street. The street of a million different smells and all bad.
Nevertheless, after the inside of the Devil's Den both boys stopped and
dragged night air deep into their lungs.
"Sweet tripe, I know my nose will never be the same again!" Dave
muttered. "Imagine spending a whole evening in that place. I wouldn't
be surprised but what that's the answer to the mysterious disappearance
of Bostworth's agent."
"What do you mean by that?" Freddy asked as the pair started moving
slowly up the street.
"The poor devil probably had to spend four or five hours in that stink
hole, and just naturally passed out cold," Dave said. "They got scared
and threw his body in the harbor, and he drowned. No fooling! I feel
like I'd been drugged for a year."
"Well, we're out of the horrible place, anyway," Freddy said. Then
after a short silence, he said, "Darnedest thing ever, wasn't it, Dave?"
The American youth grunted, and shrugged, but didn't reply directly. He
walked along in brooding silence.
"Well, was it anything like you expected?" Freddy demanded when no
comment by his friend seemed forthcoming. "Was it, I ask?"
"Yes, and no," Dave said. "I mean, I went into that place expecting
anything. Fact is, Freddy, if you must know, I'm just a wee bit worried
about these last couple of hours. They passed off smooth as silk. Too
smooth, I'm thinking."
"Good Lord!" the English youth gasped. "Do you think Serrangi is wise
to us? But.... But that doesn't make sense, Dave!"
"You tell me one thing about our war experiences that _did_ make sense
_at_ the time!" Dave said. "Now don't get me wrong. I don't mean that
we fell flat on our faces as far as convincing Serrangi that we're Nazi
agents. If he had suspected us at all, found any flaw in our story, you
and I would have sharp steel in us right now. No, I honestly think we
put our story over okay. But I don't think scar faced Serrangi took
it hook, line and sinker. After all, Freddy, that bird has to play a
very slick game or his name will be mud in nothing flat. I.... Darn
it, Freddy, I have a feeling that the test isn't over by any manner or
means."
"You mean Serrangi is passing us along to this Agiz Ammarir for his
inspection and approval?" Freddy suggested.
Dave hunched his shoulders and made a clucking sound with his tongue.
"Could be," he said. "Something like that, I think. There's one thing,
and it's this. Serrangi is pretty much burned up about not getting
action on something big. Something that has to do with a mysterious
plane flight to the north. And does the guy mean a flight to Tokio, I
wonder? Anyway, he wasn't play acting at the last. He was plenty sore.
And, brother, I wouldn't want any guy like that to get sore at me.
Slicing your ears and nose off would be just a warm-up for his type.
And there's another thing that struck me as queer, too."
"Such as?" Freddy Farmer encouraged when Dave lapsed into another spell
of brooding silence.
"His not knowing anything of the details of this mysterious flight,"
Dave murmured after a long pause. "If he's the paid Nazi agent big
shot in this part of the world, you'd think he'd know everything about
what's planned as well as what's taking place. Don't you figure it that
way, too?"
"Yes, I guess I do," Freddy Farmer replied slowly. "But I got the
impression, Dave, that this flight to the north in a plane is not
all Nazi. I have a very good feeling there's more Tokio to it than
Berlin. And, by the way, you carried off that secret work in Australia
top-hole, Dave, old fellow."
"Thanks, and I sure hope so," Dave said in a fervent voice. "But I hope
this Agiz Ammarir doesn't get too curious about it. And.... Holy smoke!"
"What, Dave?" Freddy gasped in alarm as Dawson stopped short and gulped.
"Wouldn't it be just too, too ducky if that's what Serrangi is checking
up!" Dave groaned. "Supposing this Ammarir knows all about Nazi work
in Australia, and is going to pass on us for Scar Face! Freddy, don't
look right now, but I think you and I are walking the rim of a volcano
that's liable to ring the gong on us at any moment. Yeah! I don't think
I ever wanted to see tomorrow's sun as much as I do tonight. But....
Oh, what the heck! A fellow can't live forever, so why worry?"
"You mean by that that we should of course carry on, don't you?" Freddy
asked.
"Heck, yes!" Dawson snorted. "It's a mess all around, but there's only
one thing to be done about it. Stay in there and keep pitching. To use
that Nazi boast I pulled on Serrangi, we're not dead men, yet. But it
certainly would have helped a lot if Bostworth had known just what he
was shooting at. After all, he just about gave us zero-minus to work
on. True, the Devil's Den tip looks like it might get us some results.
But that's just the idea. What _kind_ of results?"
"Quite," Freddy murmured. Then as though in justified defense of one
of his countrymen, he said, "If Bostworth had known a lot, Dave, he
wouldn't have needed us at all. I really take it as an honor that he
selected us to help him in this mess."
"Oh, sure, sure, me too," Dave hastened to soothe his friend's
feelings. "Don't mind me. You should know me better than that. I'm just
the beefing kind. Heck! I wouldn't quit now even if Air Vice Marshal
Bostworth should suddenly pop out of one of these shacks and order me
off the job. And you know it, pal. So stop ribbing me."
"Then use that big mouth for talking sense only," the English youth
growled. Then after giving Dave's arm a quick squeeze of friendship,
he said, "I think there's one thing we should do, Dave. I've got a
feeling. Sort of one of your famous hunches, you might say."
"Let's have it, my little man," Dave said. "I'm all ears."
"Yes, I know, and big ones at that," Freddy Farmer came right back at
him. "Seriously speaking, though, Dave. If we're to pose as a couple
of Nazi agents, let's try to actually feel that we are. I mean, when
you do a thing by halfway measures you sometimes bump into more trouble
than if you made no effort at all to act a part."
"Okay, by me, Herr Fritz von Farmer," Dave whispered with a chuckle as
they reached the first of the cross streets. "From here in we're more
German than old Uncle Goering."
"I mean it, Dave!" Freddy said grimly. "We don't know what kind of a
trap we're walking into. One slip of the tongue, when either of us is
not thinking, and it might be curtains for both of us. _Think_ that
you're a German, Dave. Make yourself _feel_ it! I can't put it into
words, but.... Well, blast it, I simply sort of sense something in the
air. Like a coming storm, or something."
"Okay!" Dave said gently. "I'll be as dumb as any Hun you ever saw, my
boy. But lay off this hunch stuff. That's my racket, pal!"
Freddy didn't make any reply to that crack and the two youths walked
along Bukum Street in silence. Every now and then a native or two
glided past, and every so often they passed an open shop out of which
poured the babble of high keyed voices. As they neared the corner of
the second street on which they would find Agiz Ammarir's rug shop the
lights became less and less until they were walking along in more or
less murky darkness.
And when they were but fifty yards from the single electric lighted
sign of the rug merchant ... it happened!
Dave sensed rather than saw movement on Freddy's right. But he did hear
the sound of swift movement, and as he automatically half spun and
grabbed for his friend he saw the dull gleam of a long bladed knife
that seemed to hang poised directly over the English youth's head.
A wild cry of alarm rose up to Dave's lips, but for some reason he
didn't spill it off. Perhaps it was because by then he was in the
middle of wild furious action. In what was really one continuous
movement he thrust one hand against Freddy's shoulder, kicked out a
foot to trip his friend and send him spilling to the sidewalk, and
lashed out blindly with his other clenched fist. White pain streaking
from his knuckles clear up to his shoulder socket gave him the wild
satisfaction of knowing he had hit human bone and flesh.
Then in the next instant he had leaped over Freddy's squirming body
on the sidewalk and was slamming out with both fists, and connecting
with a shadowy figure that screamed with alarm and pain. That there
was still a knife some place didn't even occur to Dave. That his pal,
Freddy Farmer, had come within a few short inches of being killed was
the one and only thing uppermost in his mind. And for that reason alone
he fought with the fury of a cornered jungle tiger.
But it was all over almost as soon as it had started. Dave was in the
act of closing his fingers about a greasy wrist when the shadowy figure
let out one last cry of pain and virtually vanished away in thin air.
Hardly realizing what he was doing, Dave bent over, scooped up a steel
bladed knife that lay at his feet on the sidewalk, and hurled it after
the shadow in the darkness. And, then suddenly, as he stood there
trembling with rage, he realized that his lips were spitting curses
at the fleeing shadow in perfect Hamburg German. The realization was
so startling that he cut himself off in the middle of a word and stood
motionless. Reaction took that moment to set in and he began trembling
like a leaf. He was unable to stop himself until Freddy Farmer managed
to scramble up and grip him hard on the arm.
"Are you all right?" Freddy Farmer muttered in German.
"Fit as can be," Dave grunted and gave a little shake of his head. "Did
you hear me, Freddy. Boy! Was I pouring out the old German, and not
even realizing it. Talk about taking you at your word!"
"As you would say, they don't make them any more perfect than you,"
Freddy whispered and pressed Dave's arm again. "I fancy that's about
the umpteenth time you've saved my life since we first met."
"Nuts!" Dave growled good naturedly. "Save _your_ life? Where do you
get that stuff? I let fly because I thought the guy's knife was headed
for _my_ throat. A fine lot of money that hold-up lug would have found
on us, huh?"
"_If_ he was looking for money!" Freddy Farmer grunted and scowled
around at the darkness. "It could be for a very different reason, you
know."
"Nuts again!" Dave snapped. "You're cutting out paper dolls, Freddy.
Serrangi, you mean? He wouldn't have waited this long, pal. Forget it!
That lad was just hoping to pick up a little small change. The knife
was just to help him do it quicker. Come on, let's get going. Maybe
he's got a pal hanging around. I'm just One Punch Dawson, you know.
Next time I'd probably be the one that got clouted. Come on."
Freddy Farmer mumbled something and dropped into step. They walked the
last fifty yards a little faster and finally came to a halt before Agiz
Ammarir's door. There was light inside but the glass was so dirty and
covered with rugs hung up for display they couldn't see inside. Dave
hesitated, took a deep breath, swallowed hard, and jerked the bell
cord. The echo of a pleasing tingling came to them through the door.
Presently a shadow appeared on the other side, and a moment later the
door was pulled open.
Dave opened his mouth to speak to the girl, but not a sound left his
lips because it was not a native girl who stood holding the door open.
It was Serrangi, instead, and Dave's eyes bugged out as he and Freddy
Farmer both stared in speechless amazement.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
_Flight to the North_
"Serrangi!" Dave finally gulped out. "_Mein Gott!_ What kind of trick
is this you play?"
The owner of the Devil's Den smiled crookedly, opened the door wider
and nodded them in.
"Come inside, my friends," he said. "It is sometimes necessary to be
more than one person. I believed this was one of them. But come inside
before the whole waterfront sees us chattering here. Seat yourselves in
those chairs and be comfortable."
Very much like two awed kids being led through Toyland for the first
time, Dave Dawson and Freddy Farmer stepped into the room, and slowly
seated themselves in a couple of chairs. The shop was filled with rugs
of all sizes, and makes, and all colors. They were on the floor in
piles, hung four and five deep on the walls, and suspended on rollers
from the ceiling. Agiz Ammarir's rug shop looked as though it could
supply the whole world, alone, for the next couple of years. It did
not, however, give either Dave or Freddy that impression, for the
simple reason that their entire attention was riveted on Serrangi.
Silent and wide eyed, they watched him close the door, bolt and lock
it, and then move over to a chair for himself. In return, though, he
didn't give them so much as a single glance. Once seated, he set about
lighting one of his long brown paper wrapped cigarettes, with both his
good and bad eye fixed expressionlessly on space.
Not until he was spewing smoke ceilingward did he lower his gaze and
take further notice of their presence.
"You are entitled to an explanation, so I will give you one," he said
in his sifting ashes voice. "In these days, the man who takes anything
on face value is a fool. And the man who trusts even his own brother
may well be dead tomorrow. For that reason I told you to come here to
speak with one Agiz Ammarir. For that reason I had one of my men make a
show of waylaying you and killing you en route. I...."
"So that was a fake?" Dave gasped out in German. "But that knife was
inches from my friend's throat!"