desk. "I want to have a talk with you."
Dave and Freddy exchanged quick looks, then sat down as ordered.
"Now," the Colonel said and clasped his big hands together on the edge
of his desk. "Our Leader is a man of peace. He _loves_ peace, and would
gladly give his life for peace among nations. You, my little Englisher!
Did the Fuehrer declare war on your country, or on France? No! They
declared war on him, on Germany. Listen to me! Don't you want peace?"
"Certainly,"' Freddy replied. Then he added, "At the right time."
"No, peace as soon as possible," the German said. "Now is the best time.
Before there is more bloodshed. You two boys can help bring this war to
an early end. You will be doing a favor to Germany's foes. Now, why not
be good boys and tell me the truth? Then everything will be fine."
Neither of the boys said a word. As for Dave, it all sounded as though
he were listening to a broken phonograph record. "Tell me the truth....
Tell me the truth.... Tell me the truth!" It was like the title of a
song. He sat silent and kept his eyes fixed on the huge map on the wall.
He stared at it hard and tried to memorize the dates he could read
there, and the names of the towns and cities, and the locations of the
pins and flags. One town on the map was well smudged by finger and thumb
marks. It was named Estalle and was close to the Belgian-German
frontier. He suddenly had a hunch that that was where they were. At
Estalle, close to the German frontier, but how far behind the advanced
German lines? He thought of the long ride in the motored transport last
night and his heart sank down toward his boots.
"Well, for the last time!" the German Colonel suddenly thundered. "Do
you tell me the truth?"
"For Heaven's sakes, we already have!" Freddy shouted at him. "We've
told you nothing but the truth a dozen times. What must we do to get you
to believe us?"
The German didn't answer at once. He slammed both hands down flat on the
desk, hoisted his huge bulk forward, and glared at them.
"Very well," he said. "I have tried to be gentle and kind with you,
because you are only young boys. But, you refuse my kindness. So, I
shall treat you as grown men. I shall have you both _shot_!"
CHAPTER SEVEN
_Shoot!_
If the roof had suddenly fallen down on top of his head Dave Dawson
could have not been more astonished or surprised. Shot? He gaped at the
German officer half expecting to see the man burst out laughing. Colonel
Stohl did not laugh, however. He remained leaning forward over the desk
and raking them with eyes that looked like twin cubes of ice.
"Shot?" Dave heard himself speak the word. "You can't shoot us. We
haven't done anything! Gee whiz, why do you want to shoot us?"
"Of course we haven't done anything!" Freddy Farmer spoke up loudly. "I
think this is all just a bluff!"
"A bluff?" the German snarled. "Do you take me for a fool? I do not
bluff at a time like this. Take a look at this that I hold in my hand,
so! Ah, you recognize it, eh?"
The officer had suddenly whipped up something off the desk. Dave took a
good look and saw that it was a rolled up map.
"It's a map," he said, "but I never saw it before."
"Nor have I," Freddy said stoutly.
"It was found hidden under the seat of the ambulance," the German said
in a flat voice that made Dave shiver inwardly. "There are certain marks
on it. Numbers and figures written in pencil near the names of towns you
passed through before you were caught. So you told me the truth, eh? No,
you lied. This map contains information that would be very useful to
Germany's enemies. You thought you could protect yourselves by driving
an ambulance ... but you can't. But ... and listen to what I say ... you
_can_ save your lives!"
Dave tried to speak but his tongue was sticking to the roof of his
mouth. He felt his knees go weak, and it was all he could do to force
himself to stand upright. He had the feeling that this was all a crazy
dream, a nightmare. In a few moments he would probably wake up and find
himself safe and sound in bed in his room at the Hotel de Ney. He didn't
know anything about a map. He'd never even seen it before.
He half turned and looked at Freddy Farmer. The English youth's face was
a little paler, but his chin was firm, and his eyes were filled with
scornful defiance.
"I haven't any idea what you are talking about, sir," Freddy said to
the colonel. "I was not trying to protect myself, or my friend, from
anything. I was simply delivering the ambulance to Courtrai. And, for
the hundredth time, _I lost my way_!"
The German made a movement with his hand as though brushing the words to
one side.
"Enough of that!" he said. "This is a serious business. I am not saying
that you collected the information about our advance units I find here
on this map. Perhaps you were only taking it to somebody else. Yes,
perhaps you did not even know you were being used for such work. Let us
say that is the truth. We Germans do not make war with boys, but.... But
this information _was found on you_, and that is most serious. Answer
the questions I ask you, and I promise that you will not be treated as
spies. I also promise you that you will be made comfortable until
arrangements can be made to send you home. Now!"
"What are the questions?" Freddy asked.
The stern look fled the German's face, and he smiled.
"Ah, that is better!" he said and spread the map on the desk. "Now, here
you have marked a line showing the route you traveled from Paris. Each
town you passed through is marked. Those towns are French troop and
equipment garrisons. This town here, close to the Belgian border, what
did you see there? French troops? British troops? And what was their
equipment? Tanks? Big ones, or small ones? Were there motorized
anti-aircraft batteries? Were...?"
The German suddenly stopped and looked up from the map.
"You are not listening?" he said softly.
Freddy's face seemed actually to grow thin as Dave looked at him. The
English boy licked his lips just once and then put his shoulders back a
little more.
"Certainly I'm listening," he said. "But I won't answer a single one of
your questions even though you do shoot me!"
Dave felt like throwing his arms about young Farmer and hugging him.
Here was the kind of cool, calm courage for which the British were
famous the world over. Instead, Dave turned his head and looked at the
German.
"We're not saying a thing!" he shouted. "I demand that we be permitted
to see the nearest American Consul!"
The German officer ignored Dave's outburst as though he had not spoken.
He looked steadily at Freddy for a moment and then sighed heavily and
raised both hands in a gesture of despair.
"Very well," he said. "That is all for now. I will give you until
tomorrow morning to think it over ... and change your mind. Guard!"
The side door popped open and in popped the guard. Colonel Stohl pointed
a finger.
"Take them back," he said, "and stand guard outside the door. If either
of them attempts to escape ... _shoot!_"
The Colonel gave them an angry stare and a curt nod, and then busied
himself with some papers on the desk. Two minutes later the boys were
back in their prison room. The door was closed and bolted, and they
could hear the boots of the guard pacing up and down the hallway
outside. Freddy sat down on a cot and started to shiver violently. Dave
went over to him instantly and put a friendly arm about his shoulders.
"Steady, Freddy!" he whispered. "We'll get out somehow. He was only
bluffing. He wouldn't dare shoot us. I'll make him let me see the
nearest American Consul. I'll ... I'll make him let me telephone the
American Ambassador in Brussels."
"I hope you do for your sake, Dave," Freddy whispered. "But England is
at war, and I'm an Englishman. And, Dave ... that map was mine. I used
it and marked my route until it got too dark."
Fingers of ice clutched at Dave's heart and pressed hard. He sucked air
sharply into his lungs.
"Holy smokes!" he breathed. "Then you did put down all that stuff he was
talking about?"
"Oh no, not that!" the English youth said and shook his head vigorously.
"I just penciled in the route I had taken until it got too dark.
Besides, I lost my pencil when I tried to do it in the glow of the dash
light. The rest of the things he must have marked in."
Dave gave a shake of his head and looked puzzled.
"I don't get it!" he murmured. "Why?"
"Don't you see?" Freddy said. "It's really very simple, Dave. They did
it to frighten me, to make me answer their questions. They'll hold a
military court and use that map as evidence. There'll be an awful row.
They'll make one, hoping to scare me into talking. I knew a Jewish boy
in England who escaped with his family from the German Gestapo and he
told me about the tricks they play to scare you into telling them
things. That's what he plans to do with me. But, I won't tell him a
thing, not a thing! It's my map all right, but they're not going to
frighten me into telling anything that would hurt the Allies. They can't
make me!"
"You bet they can't, pal!" Dave said. "And they won't get anything out
of me, either."
"I don't think he means any harm toward you, Dave," Freddy said after a
long pause. "You just insist on seeing the American Consul and I think
he'll let you. When you spoke of your father's trip to London he seemed
surprised. You're an American, Dave. You'll be all right."
"But what about you, Freddy?" Dave exclaimed.
"I won't tell them a thing, no matter what they do," the English youth
said determinedly. "Never!"
Dave started to speak, checked himself, and stepped back a pace.
"So that's the kind of a pal you are, huh?" he grunted. "You just up and
let me down!"
Freddy jerked his head up in blank amazement. Tears were dangerously
close to his eyes.
"Let you down, Dave?" he gasped. "But, Dave...!"
"Sure, let me down," Dave snapped at him. "I thought we were pals? I
thought we were going to see this through together?"
"But, Dave, you...!"
"Me walk out and leave you behind?" Dave interrupted the English youth's
speech. "Quit a pal just because I'm American and he's English? Not a
chance. We're sticking together. You can't toss me off like that!"
"But I was only thinking of you, Dave," Freddy protested. "After all I
really got you into this, you know."
Dave suddenly stopped acting hurt and angry. He bent down and grinned
broadly.
"So what?" he whispered. "So I'll get you _out_. We've got until
tomorrow morning to think things over. That's what he said. Well, we're
not going to think things, we're going to _do_ things. Are you game,
Freddy?"
For an answer Freddy put out his hand, and the two clasped hands warmly.
The color came back into the English youth's face, and that made Dave
feel almost happy.
"Okay, Freddy," he whispered. "I saw something besides airplanes out the
window awhile ago. Come over and I'll show you."
For a couple of seconds Dave stood still listening to the footsteps of
the guard outside, then he motioned to Freddy and tiptoed over to the
window.
"Look out, and down," he breathed in Freddy's ear. "See? The bottom half
of this building sticks out. See the roof? It's not more than six feet
below this window. And it's not more than ten feet from the edge of the
roof to the back yard. Think you could jump it?"
"Easy!" Freddy whispered. "But what about this window, here? It's
screwed in."
"Got that all figured, too," Dave said and pulled an army canteen spoon
from the pocket of the old clothes he wore. "Swiped this from the
breakfast tray," he said. "A hunch made me stick it in my pocket. A
spoon makes a swell screw driver sometimes. I found that out once when I
was a kid. I used one of my Mother's to open an old chest I found up in
the attic. I got a licking for it because I marked up the wood pretty
bad. But the spoon did the trick. Now, here's what you do."
Dave paused and slipped the tip of the spoon handle into the groove of
the nearest screw head and applied pressure with both hands. He turned
the screw a sixteenth of an inch or so and then stopped.
"Hot dog!" he whispered. "I was scared for a minute the darn things
would be so rusted with age they wouldn't budge. But, it's okay. Now,
you go over to the door and start talking to me. Talk about anything.
Sure, let's talk about baseball."
"But I don't know anything about baseball!" Freddy whispered.
"That's swell!" Dave said. "You can ask me questions and I'll give you
the answers. But keep an ear open for that guard. If he starts to open
the door you ask me, What's a home run? See? That'll give me time to get
away from this window. Okay, got it?"
"Yes, I understand," Freddy said and nodded eagerly. "Gee, you're a
great friend, Dave!"
"You too, Freddy," Dave said and gave him a push. "Now, get over there
and start asking questions. Thank goodness this window is dirty and
nobody can see me from outside."
The instant Freddy went over near the door Dave gave his attention to
the first screw. The English youth asked question after question and
Dave answered them without half thinking. Every second of the time he
worked feverishly with the spoon on the screws. There were eight of them
and he guessed it was well over an hour before he had seven of them out
and the eighth well loosened. That one he let stay partly in so that the
window would remain in place. The last thing he did was to cover the
screw holes with bits of cobweb so they wouldn't be noticed. Then he
walked over to the cot and sat down.
"Okay, that's enough baseball talk!" he said in a loud voice and winked
at Freddy. "Gee, how you can ask questions. Well, it looks like we're
not going to get anything to eat. So I'm going to try and get some
sleep."
Stretching out on the cot Dave pointed at the window and grinned. Then
clasping his hands together he put them over his head and shook them
like a prize fighter being introduced to the fight fans. Freddy looked
puzzled for a moment, then realized what Dave meant, and went through
the hand-shaking motions himself.
"Well, I guess I might as well try to get a little sleep, myself," he
said loudly and walked to the other cot.
A moment later the two boys listened to the sound of the guard's
footsteps outside and looked at the gradually fading light of day
outside the dust and cobweb smeared window.
CHAPTER EIGHT
_Escape!_
Somewhere in the distance a church clock tolled the hour of ten. Dave
absently counted the strokes, and then slowly sat up on the army cot.
All was pitch dark inside as well as outside. For a couple of minutes he
sat perfectly still listening to the various sounds that came to him
faintly. He heard the guard outside in the hallway cough and then strike
a match. He heard the muffled sounds of hobnailed boots marching along
in the street outside, and the clanking sound of tank and scout car
tractor treads on the stones. Somewhere in the distance a whistle was
blown. He heard the occasional dull boom of heavy guns, or of bombs
exploding. And once a flight of planes droned by high up in the night
sky.
He held his breath and listened to all those various sounds. He listened
to another sound, too, A sound he could feel as well as hear. It was the
pounding of his own heart. His chest ached from the pounding, and his
throat and mouth were bone dry from the excitement and the suspense.
For almost five hours he and Freddy had remained stretched out
motionless on the cots. Every second had seemed like a minute, every
minute like an hour, and every hour like an eternity. A hundred times it
had been all he could do to restrain himself from leaping to his feet
and shouting at the top of his voice. Anything to give release to the
charged emotion pent up within him.
Four times the guard had opened the door and played the beam of his
flashlight on them. The first time Colonel Stohl had been with the
guard, for Dave had heard the German officer's voice. He had muttered
something about "making them sing a different tune in the morning," and
then had gone clumping down the stairs.
Five long hours, and now Dave couldn't stand the waiting any more. Every
fiber of his entire being screamed for action. He had waited long enough
to make their captors believe they were done in for the night. The guard
had taken another look at them only a couple of minutes ago. It would be
awhile before he looked in again. It was now, or never. It had to be!
He slipped silently off the cot and crept over to Freddy's cot. He held
one hand ready to clap it over the English boy's mouth in case he woke
up with a startled yell, and put his lips close to Freddy's ear.
"Freddy, wake up!" he breathed, and shook the youth gently with his
other hand.
"I'm awake, Dave," came the whispered reply. "Shall we try it now?"
"Yes," Dave said. "The guard just took another look at us. He won't
again for awhile. Have you been asleep?"
"Not a wink, Dave. I couldn't, possibly. Look, Dave. You don't want to
change your mind and have a go at it alone? I'll understand. You might
get to an American Consul before they caught you. They'll come looking,
you know."
"That's out!" Dave hissed. "Pipe down! Take off your shoes. We can't
risk making a single sound. That guard may have big ears. Okay, Freddy,
let's go!"
Taking hold of the English youth's hand Dave led the way across the room
to the window. There he let go, and took out his spoon screw driver and
went to work on the one remaining screw. The instant it was out he
started to pry out the frame with his fingers. It wouldn't budge. He
sucked air into his aching lungs and then worked the end of the spoon
into the side crack and used it as a lever. The window still didn't
move, and Dave's heart sank as he felt the spoon bending under his hand.
He groaned softly.
"The darn thing's stuck!" he whispered. "Swollen tight by the weather, I
guess. But.... Gee!"
"What's the matter, Dave?" Freddy asked in a tight whisper.
Dave fumbled for his arm in the darkness and pressed it reassuringly.
"There's a nail, here at the bottom," he said. "I didn't see it, but I
can feel it, now. Am I dumb! Hold everything while I bend it down flat.
It's a thin one. Then I think the window will slide over it."
Two long minutes later Dave had the nail pressed flat on the base board
of the sill. Then he applied pressure with the spoon again, and the
window began to move. His face was wet with nervous sweat, and his whole
body was trembling. He fought back his rising fear and nervousness and
stuck doggedly to his task. Eventually he had worked the window out
enough so that he could get his fingers under one corner. After that it
was simple. But, as he finally pulled the whole frame clear a corner of
it caught on a splintered sliver of the sill. The sliver snapped off
with a sound that was as loud as a pistol shot in Dave's ears. He froze
stiff, ears straining for sounds of the guard in the hallway.
There was no click of the bolt or rattling of the latch. The sliver of
wood snapping had not been heard. Dave slowly released the cramped air
from his lungs and gently lowered the window frame down onto the floor
and to the side where they would be sure not to hit it when they climbed
out the window. Then he took hold of Freddy in the dark.
"You first, because you're shorter, Freddy," he whispered. "I'll make a
fireman's step with my hands. Put your foot in it and I'll boost you up.
But for Pete's sake, be careful. If we make any sound we're sunk. Okay,
give me your foot."
Dave crouched slightly and laced the fingers of his two hands together
with the palms facing upward to form a step. Freddy put one stockinged
foot on it, and one hand on Dave's shoulder to steady himself.
"Okay," he whispered.
Bracing his feet Dave slowly boosted the English youth up the wall. As
soon as Freddy had half his body through the open window he released the
pressure of his foot on Dave's locked hands and squirmed the rest of the
way up like a snake.
"Get your feet out and then let yourself down by your hands," Dave
cautioned. "The roof shouldn't be more than a few inches under your
toes. But, watch out. The darn thing slants down a bit, you know."
"I'll make it, all right," Freddy said and twisted around on the sill so
that he was hanging on his stomach. "Can you make it alone, though?"
"A cinch!" Dave whispered. "Don't wait for me. Sneak down the roof and
drop to the ground. I'll be right behind you. Go ahead, Freddy."
Dave waited until he heard the soft thud of the English boy's feet
touching the roof, then he grabbed hold of the sill with his hands and
swiftly and silently hoisted his body upward. For a brief instant he sat
poised on the sill grinning back into the darkened room. Then he
swiveled over and lowered himself down. In almost no time he had
cat-crawled down the gently sloping roof to its lip. He pressed flat on
his stomach and stuck his head over the edge of the roof. Below him was
nothing but a sea of inky darkness. For some crazy reason a twinge of
panic shot through him.
"Freddy!" he whispered.
"Here, Dave," came the welcomed reply. "I'm on the ground and to your
left. It's all clear down here. The ground's soft. Come on down."
"Here I come!" Dave said, and twisted over and let himself lightly down
onto the ground.
No sooner had his feet touched than Freddy had a hand on his arm.
"Well, that's the first part!" the English youth breathed excitedly.
"Now, what's the next move?"
"Our shoes," Dave said and pulled the other down onto the ground. "Then
we head straight up that hill, there, and keep going north."
"North?" Freddy said in a puzzled whisper. "Why not west toward the
Belgian lines? We want to get there as fast as we can. I got a good look
at that map, Dave. I think this town, here, is called Estalle. And...."
Freddy cut off his words and both boys froze back against the rear wall
of the building as a shaft of yellow light suddenly cut the darkness of
night. Dave's heart rose up to clog in his throat as he waited with fear
in his heart for the shaft of light to sweep over to reveal them in its
glow.
Then suddenly truth dawned and he was almost overcome with an insane,
crazy desire to burst out with hysterical laughter. His taut nerves
twanged like plucked fiddle strings and his whole body seemed to melt
with relief. A light had suddenly been turned on in the building against
which they crouched, and the shaft of light had simply been the inside
light flooding out through a rear window. When it didn't move where it
struck the bottom of the hill slope a dozen yards or so away Dave
realized the truth. And so did Freddy a moment later.
"Good grief, that scared me!" the English boy breathed.
"We'll talk later," Dave said. "Right now we're making tracks away from
here. Got your shoes on?"
"Yes," Freddy replied. "You lead, Dave. I'll stick right at your heels.
Mind your step, though."
"You're telling me!" Dave grunted and started creeping along the rear of
the building to the right.
When he reached the corner he stopped and cautiously peered around it.
Luck was with him. He had half expected to find himself looking down an
alley to the street out in front. But it wasn't an alley. It was just a
small court that connected with the next building. A high fence at the
front blocked off a view of the street. He couldn't see the street, but
the point was that when they started up the hill slope no passing
soldiers in the street could see them and give chase if for no other
reason than curiosity.
"Stick close, Freddy!" Dave whispered over his shoulder. "First stop is
the top of the hill. Here we go!"
Bent over low Dave turned sharp left and went scuttling across some
thirty feet of bare ground, and then into the scrub brush that fringed
the base of the hill. Hands out in front of him to prevent barging
straight into a tree, he started up the slope as fast as caution would
permit. By the time he was half way up his breath was coming in sobbing
gasps, and his legs felt like two withered sticks that might snap in two
at most any second.
He gritted his teeth and called upon every ounce of strength in his
strong young body. It was mighty hard going. From the prison room window
the hill slope had looked not at all steep, but now climbing up it in
the dark, dodging around tree trunks and jutting rocks, it seemed almost
to rise right straight up in front of him. Every so often he half
twisted around to make sure Freddy was still with him. And each time
that was exactly the case. Freddy was right there at his heels, puffing
and panting, but sticking like glue.