“I can see. What next?”
“Get that lad in the wireless house from the window. I’ll take the door.”
“Okay. Good luck!”
“Good luck to you. I’ll wait until I hear you speak.”
“I get you.”
Keeping always within the shadow cast by the big stack, and careful to avoid the broad ray of light from the open window, Osceola glided swiftly toward his goal.
The blond young man who sat at the open window, dozing, with a magazine in his lap, awoke with a start.
“Stick up your hands and keep them there!” muttered a low voice.
Just outside the window, the dazed operator saw a white-faced blur in the darkness. The grim figure behind the mask held a black object pointed directly at his head.
Like most North Germans, the wireless expert was a sensible young man. He held up his hands.