"Der Fuehrer's Tag!" he grunted and put his lips to the vile smelling cup.
"Ja, ja!" Freddy Farmer grunted in reply. "Der Fuehrer's Tag. It cannot come soon enough to please me!"
Both spoke in pure German, and both held their breath as the shadow of the passing native seemed to linger a second on the table. Then it passed on by, and it was all either of them could do to refrain from turning around and staring directly at the man. With an effort though, they remained seated as they were. And with a thousand times greater effort they forced themselves to sip a little of the most horrible liquid they had ever tasted in their lives. It took every ounce of Dave's will power not to spit it out. Instead, though, he forced it down and had the sensation of a couple of red hot coals dropping clear down to the pit of his stomach. He waited a full minute before he dared to speak.
"Are you still alive, Freddy?" he whispered. "I'm not sure just how I feel."
"I think, so," the English youth whispered back. "At any rate, I can still talk, and see and hear. But I think we'd better not talk much, Dave. Serrangi is taking interest in us again. It's possible that he might be a lip reader."
"Or has eyes in the back of his head like you seem to have," Dave murmured. "How you can look two ways at the same time, I'll never be able to.... What's up?"
Dave cut himself off and asked the last as he saw Freddy's hand resting on the table suddenly stiffen. The English youth didn't reply for a moment. Then he spoke loudly in bad French.
"Those cigarettes!" he exclaimed. "Do we get them, or must we go someplace where they don't steal a poor man's money?"
As the English youth spoke he glared at the native waiter who was busy about something over on the other side of the room. Then as he slouched back in his chair again he flashed Dave a warning look.
"Serrangi just nodded to somebody in back of us!" he breathed behind a hand that pawed at his mouth. "To some one in back of us! Our little friend, of course. I wonder what it means?"