They had been rifling the plant as we happened in, I guess, because the floors were strewn with a litter of papers and blueprints, diagrams, schematics, formulae. As my bleary eyes opened, one of the foragers was complaining to the chief rascal:
"—nothing here, Schlegel. This has a search of no value been."
"And you," I piped up rather feebly, "a nest of rats are! What's the big idea? Untie us, or—"
The ringleader turned, grinning unpleasantly. "Or," he sneered, "what schweinhund? So, Karl, nothing we can use there is here? Very well; it matters not. When we leave, we shall the plant make useless to the verdammt Amerikanisch."
He called to others of his cohorts, scattered around the room. "You are ready? When I give the word—ignite!"
Polecat No. 2 jerked a dirty thumb in our direction.
"And how about them, Schlegel?"
Schlegel's grin would have congealed hot toddy.
"We leave them here."
"Of course, but—" The other man fingered a blunt-nosed automatic hopefully—"would it not be safer to—?"