“When one is sure to be turned over to Colonel Glotz as a spy, one is apt to be quite successful as a mechanic, what?” Domber beamed.
“If I don’t make good on this I’m to be shot?” Stan looked Domber squarely in the eye.
“I’m afraid so. It would be very painful to me, I can assure you. I do not like to see men shot. But we won’t think of that. We’ll have lunch and then we’ll get at the job.” He turned and spoke to his secretary in German, then shot a glance at Stan.
“He wants to see if I understand German,” Stan thought. He did not show any interest and Domber smiled broadly.
“We will go out to lunch now,” he said.
Outside the door the two guards fell in behind them. Stan smiled as he thought of the appearance they made. Domber was dressed in a natty suit. He wore spats and carried a small cane, which his secretary handed him as he walked out. There was a red feather in the bow on his snap brim felt hat. Stan was dressed in a wrinkled and soiled outfit that was streaked with mud.
They walked out of the building and entered a big car. The guards got in with the driver and the car pulled away. Stan noted looks of hate and fear on the faces of the Dutch people in the street as they watched the car slide past. He had a hunch Domber was known to these people; he also had a hunch the plane maker was hated and feared by them. They stopped outside a big house where four guards stood watch over the entrance. The guards saluted as Domber got out. He puffed up like a pouter pigeon and shouted:
“Heil Hitler!”
They walked up the steps and entered the house. A man met them in the vestibule. He took Domber’s hat and cane and stared at Stan.
“See that Lieutenant Wilson is furnished a complete outfit of clothing. Show him to the east room.” Domber spoke in English.