What dire threat he would have uttered, Peter Pettigrew was destined never to learn. For at that moment came an interruption. From the doorway behind them came a sound that caused both man and demigod to spin. The sharp, incisive cry of a voice raised in command.
"Achtung! Turn quietly, swine, and lift your hands! Ach, zu! Now, Franz ... Otto ... to your work!"
Peter's eyes bulged wide, and his lips loosed a tiny moan. For standing in the doorway, armed to the teeth, stood three men from whose eyes gleamed the fanaticism of the creed for which they labored. These were no supernatural and benevolent creatures, but flesh-and-blood men; their purpose here was evident. The destruction of this Armory and its stores!
The underling Nazi agents needed no second bidding. With the grim, mechanical purposefulness of their race, they leaped to their task. One sprang to the nearest hogshead of gunpowder, smashed loose a stave and began scattering the barrel's contents about the chamber. The other ripped open a carton of dynamite sticks, hastily unreeled and adjusted the wires of a detonator.
While his underlings labored, the leader enjoyed the luxury of gloating over his accomplishment.
"So," he gibed, "there you stand, foolishly agape as sheep! You wonder at our being here, nichts wahr? Ach, you verdammt Amerikanische! You are all fools! Not only do you advertise in the public papers your idiotic practice blackout, but you leave your Armory unguarded!
"In the Fatherland such madness would not be tolerated! Our Fuehrer weeds out the weak and incompetent. That is why we will soon rule the world!" He personalized his scorn, directed it squarely at Peter Pettigrew. "Little man, you have a revolver at your side. Why don't you draw it? Is it because you fear death? What? You don't answer? You are silent? But why is that? You were voluble enough a moment ago when we entered the room. Standing here alone in an empty chamber, chattering to yourself like an insane ape—"
"A-lone!" The word wrenched itself unbidden from Peter's lips. Like a blinding flash of light, the truth hit him. Of course! The saboteurs wore no ultra-violet glasses. They saw no Ole Luk Oie standing and watching this typically "human" drama with detached disinterest. Peter gulped. "Oh! Oh, yes. A-lone. I was just—"
"Come closer, little man!" taunted the Nazi captain. "I would pinch your scrawny arm to test if you are a man or a mouse. Stop! What are you leaning over for?"
"My—my shoelace—" faltered Peter. "It—it came untied—" But his heart gave a tremendous leap. For now he knew that the Sandman's bag, too, was invisible to the enemy. And that bag of dream-dust was now secure within his hands.