For a moment, sheer shock immobilized Peter. He had expected cringing capitulation; he had met defiance, instead. It is a different matter to dream of slaughtering hundreds of charging enemies than to pull the trigger on one, small antagonist armed with only a gunnysack. So Peter did nothing.
But the saboteur did an amazing thing. He pencilled a checkmark in his little notebook. Then, quietly crooning a tune that sounded astonishingly like a lullaby, he shouldered his bag and started from the room. Peter roused. His piping voice rang clarion-clear in the echoing chamber.
"Oh, no you don't! Stand still, you! Drop that bag and lift your hands or I'll—I'll—"
And he got what he wanted. The visitor did drop the bag. But his clutch was not nerveless from fright so much as from surprise! A look of blank incredulity widened his eyes, and his jaw dropped slack as he gasped:
"You—you're still awake!"
"You bet your boots I'm awake!" declared Peter boldly. "You didn't think you'd get me with that stuff, you—"
"And you—" gulped the little man—"you see me!"
"See you? Of course I see you! If you take another step, you dirty old Nazi, you—"
"Nazi!" exclaimed the stranger indignantly. "I'm no Nazi!"
"Oh, no? What's your name?"