“Yes, sir,” said Beany, and Porky almost giggled as he heard his brother scuffling violently around trying to sound like a squad. But he dared not look away from the men below, who were hastily tying up the man called Fritz. They did a good job, eager to make good with the unseen and most unexpected captors. If the officer above with the boyish voice wanted Fritz tied up, tied up he would be so he could not move. When they finished, the bulky form looked like a mummy.
“Is that a door in the side?” Porky demanded of Fritz.
“Yes, sir,” said Fritz.
Porky waited a little. The worst was coming now.
“Tell those men to open that door, and step outside, and if they value their lives, to keep their hands up.”
Fritz spoke rapidly in German. What he said was, “These are Americans, you fools! The officer says to step outside, and keep your hands up. You had better do it, if you want to live. They would rather shoot than eat. I know them! Obey, no matter what they tell you.”
When he had finished, one of the men, lowering one hand and keeping the other well up in the air, pressed a long lever and a narrow door opened, dislodging a little shower of stones and earth as it moved outward.
“Vorwarts zwei!” cried Porky, making a wild stab at German.
It was understood however. Fear makes men quick, and the two walked briskly out and stood side by side. One of them had stepped through a loop of the rope, and it came trailing after him.
“Tie those men’s hands and tie them together, Sergeant,” said Porky. He watched, cold with a fright he would never have felt for himself, while Beany, keeping as much out of the light as possible, tied the men, and sawed off the end of the rope.