"So you are pilots, so?" he murmured. "That was not just Nazi boasting to get you to give me work? Fine! Yes, it was made by a pilot. One of your own kind in England's flying service, it may interest you to know. He has been of great value to your Fuehrer out here. He will be a great hero when he returns to your homeland."
"Perhaps we know him," Dave murmured in a half interested sort of way.
The lead didn't draw Serrangi out any, however. The Devil's Den owner shrugged and made a little gesture with his half smoked cigarette.
"It is possible," he grunted. "But we do not speak names out here. Have you not noticed I have not even asked your names? I do not care to know them. Then nothing can make me reveal them to anybody else, you see? Who a man is, is nothing. What he can do, and does, is everything. A name is but another unnecessary detail you have to keep alive in your brain. Too many details is a bad thing. But, yes, that is a pilot's map. You think you could fly by it?"
"Why not?" Dave echoed.
"It is clear enough for a blind man to read," Freddy Farmer added. "Where do you want us to fly?"
Serrangi smiled and lifted both hands palms showing outward in a slow down and stop gesture.
"Let us obtain the plane first," he said.
The words fell like thunderbolts on Dave and Freddy. They stared at him out of incredulous eyes.
"You mean, you have no plane?" Dave eventually demanded.