"Too bad, even if it is a Nazi plane!" Dawson heard Farmer's gasping voice. "But I couldn't nurse-maid the blasted thing forever. I had to let it go. Well, that must be the house, what?"
Dawson didn't bother to reply. Freddy had pulled another miracle out of the hat, and that part of the show was over. He just nodded quickly, then spun around on his heel, and went dashing over toward the lone house with Freddy Farmer at his heels. No lights were showing, but Dawson didn't even bother to knock. When he reached the front door he just grabbed hold of the knob, twisted it, shoved open the door and barged right inside. And both Freddy and he just managed to skid to a halt as they saw a small, thin figure come at them, and saw the glint of a gun barrel in the pale glow shed by a single lighted candle on a nearby table.
"Hey! Hold everything!" Dawson heard his own voice pant.
The last half of it, though, was drowned out by an even sharper cry in Russian. And before the echo was gone Senior Lieutenant Petrovski had appeared out of nowhere and leaped between Dawson and the advancing thin shadow. And a second or so later Dawson saw the tattered clothing, the wrinkled face, and the snow white hair of the thin "shadow." And then the Senior Lieutenant was talking to him.
"That was not wise, Captain!" she was saying sharply. "It is lucky I cried out in time, or Nina might have used that gun."
"Yeah, my error," Dawson grunted. "I was dumb. But in this storm I didn't figure that our knock would be heard. Besides, Farmer and I were in a hurry. Look, Senior Lieutenant! From here on we've got to stay in high gear. I mean, we've got to get going, and keep going. No telling when Lady Luck may quit on us. I don't think there's much of a guard on our bomber now. And this storm doesn't exactly hurt the situation, either. Where're Jones, and Nikolsk? The five of us have got to make tracks. You lead the way to the bomber, and we'll be right behind you with Nikolsk. I—Hey! The look on your face! Nikolsk isn't—he isn't—?"
"No, he is not dead, yet," the girl told him quickly. "He was even conscious for a little bit. And he did recognize Agent Jones. He even spoke of things a little. But not one millionth enough. And now he is unconscious again. I have great fear. He may never be conscious again. But what about the bomber? There is a chance to get him to a Moscow hospital?"
"What we're going to do!" Dawson told her firmly. "So let's do the talking later. Lead us to Nikolsk, and let's get going!"
The Russian girl didn't bother with any more words. She nodded for Dave and Freddy to follow, and led the way through a door to a rear room. The smell of Death itself seemed to hang in the air, and when Dawson glanced down at the thin, almost fleshless, and war-ravaged face of the figure wrapped tightly in blankets, his heart seemed to stop and turn into a chunk of ice. Ivan Nikolsk looked like a man who had died years before.
"Good grief, you two? Splendid! Thought all the racket was Gestapo lads breaking in. Now, what do we—?"