“Poor Marble,” Freddy Farmer murmured. “Then he did know something.”
“Yes, that was his name,” von Stutgardt grunted. “We knew he was working with an agent named Tracey, in the Canal Zone. I had Marble watched, while I trailed Tracey northward. Tell me something! Why did he make that trip north so suddenly? I have wondered a lot about that since—since I ordered his finish.”
The question was directed at Dawson, but the Yank ace didn’t reply at once. He wondered, too. But what did it matter now? Tracey was dead, and his real reason for making that sudden trip northward to contact Colonel Welsh would remain another of the war’s unrevealed secrets. Perhaps it was to arrange for a small force attack on this secret Nazi base, or, perhaps for some other reason. Who could tell? And what did it matter? Tracey was dead—and von Stutgardt was about to strike his Panama Canal paralyzing blow. But Dave didn’t let any of that show in his face as he returned the Nazi’s look.
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” he grunted. “Well, don’t worry! You’ll find out soon enough!”
“Quite!” Freddy Farmer exclaimed quickly, picking up Dawson’s lead. “And no doubt you’ll find out sooner than you think.”
But it all seemed to have no visible effect on Captain Karl von Stutgardt. He continued to sneer, and there was haughty disdain in his glittering eyes.
“Very amusing,” he said. “But I, too, am very well acquainted with the art of bluffing. You little fools! Have I not had you watched every minute of the time? Have I not been able practically to read your thoughts? Bah! If it had not been necessary to get rid of you so that the U-boat contact plane could land and give me my final orders from Berlin, I would have let you fly back to your Colon Base—and die with the others there. But I had to let that contact plane land. And also—I could not find it in my heart to let you two die without having found out anything. That is one of my weak points. The Fuehrer has often told me that I am too generous to my enemies. But it will all be over soon, so I can afford to be a little generous. Of course, not too generous, you understand?”
The German thought that was a great joke, and threw back his head and laughed loudly. Dave measured the distance between them with his eyes, but savagely fought down the almost berserk urge for action. This wasn’t the time for action. At this moment von Stutgardt held all the cards, and he was playing them close to his chest. Later, please God! But not right at this moment.
“Okay, have it your way, von Stutgardt,” he said, and shrugged. “You’re a pilot, I suppose? You’re going to lead this sneak bomb and aerial torpedo raid, in American planes, on the Canal?”
“Of course I am!” the German cried wildly. “And how your swine American comrades there will be surprised! They will see us come over, believe us to be from their Ninety-Sixth Attack Squadron, and before they realize what has happened—!”