"But of course!" Jones gasped as his face reddened slightly. "I didn't think. Naturally. Sorry, Dawson."
"Skip it, pal," the Yank grinned at him. Then, stabbing a finger at Freddy Farmer, he said, "Boy! On your feet, and come with Papa. And watch those big feet, too. The less noise, the better our chances."
"Really?" the English youth snorted, and made a face. "Well, if it wasn't for the situation, and the fact a young lady is present, I'd tell you, my good man, to—"
"But of course you won't!" Dawson shot at him. "So pipe down, sweetheart, and let's get going. By nightfall at the latest, you two. Keep your fingers crossed!"
With a grin and a wave of his hand at Senior Lieutenant Petrovski and Agent Jones, Dawson turned and led the way out through the slanting doorway, and sharp left into the thick woods that edged that side of the house. He kept going until he was a good two hundred yards deep in the woods. Then he slid to the ground and crawled into some of the heavy undergrowth. Freddy Farmer crawled in right beside him, and even in the bad light Dawson could see the library full of questions that gleamed in his pal's eyes.
"Easy does it, sweetheart," Dave said softly, and held up a restraining hand. "I know you think I'm nuts, pal. But I couldn't very well explain everything in there. Besides, I wouldn't be able to explain everything, because I haven't caught all the angles yet myself."
"Yes, you are quite balmy, or seem so," the English youth replied with a gesture. "But I've seen you just as balmy in one or two other tight corners. So I'll wait and listen before I make up my mind one way or the other. Well, just what is steaming in that head of yours?"
"The word is cooking, not steaming," Dawson chuckled. "But skip it. Look, Freddy. As I get the picture, the Nazis—Gestapo, or maybe no Gestapo—have stolen the play from us. Naturally, if they've found the B-Twenty-Five, as the Senior Lieutenant says, they know for sure that there is somebody behind their lines. Right? Okay. However, I've got a feeling that there is one thing they don't know."
"Go on," Freddy Farmer grunted as Dawson paused. "What?"
"They don't know how many of us are here," the Yank replied quickly.