"At once, Herr Field Marshal!" the Captain gasped, and went out the door as though he had been kicked.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Steel Nerves
When the German Captain slammed shut the door behind him, and there were sounds of his footsteps along the hall outside, Dave slowly let locked air from his lungs and stole another glance at Freddy Farmer. The English-born air ace still stood at rigid attention, but there was not even a flicker of fear in his face. His expression was one of perfect coolness and calmness. It was as though he went through this sort of thing every day in the week, and doing it again were just a wee bit boring.
The two German high rankers stared at Freddy in sullen anger. But it was plain to see that neither of them had the desire to exert their supreme authority at the moment. In fact, it was a perfect picture of the Nazi system. The Army Staff vs the Gestapo. And the Gestapo was holding the whip hand because of events which had taken place in the past. Perhaps some day, when the Army Staff was sitting in the saddle, and was Adolf Hitler's favorite for the moment, Gestapo heads would drop like apples shaken from the tree. Right now, though, the Gestapo was the so-called power behind the throne. And so von Staube and von Gault were feeling their way—cautiously.
However, nuts to the German Army Staff! And likewise, nuts to the Gestapo! What was Freddy Farmer's game? What crazy insane goal did he think he was shooting at, anyway? Darn him for not giving out a single hint, or a tip-off. The least Freddy could do would be to shoot him a quick look that would tell him a little something. But, no! Freddy was acting as though he didn't know that Dave existed.
Worry and anger boiled around in the Yank-born air ace. Past friendship and experience told him, or at least tried to tell him, that Freddy hadn't suddenly blown his top; that he wasn't crazy, and knew exactly what he was doing. But if Dave only had some idea, then he would know how to play his part. But this waiting, this nerve-tingling silence! Dave wondered a little if he weren't going crazy himself. He swallowed and pressed his wrist comfortingly against the small gun in his pocket. And he pressed the upper half of his other arm against the hardness of his sheathed Commando knife hanging from his shoulder under his German tunic. If worse came to worse, he—
At that moment Freddy Farmer suddenly had a fit of coughing. He bent over a little and put one hand to his mouth. The two Germans looked at him in a sort of cold delight. But Dave didn't notice their looks. His gaze was fixed on Freddy. And suddenly his heart gave a great leap, and tingling warmth shot through him. Freddy had turned his head slightly, and for the fraction of a second their eyes met. But it was long enough for Dave to catch the quick half wink; to see the second and third fingers of Freddy's other hand quickly cross and uncross.
True, it told Dave nothing of his pal's game. But that didn't matter too much, now. At least he knew for sure that Freddy was playing a wild game, and that he was not completely crazy. There was method in his apparent madness, and he had signalled to Dave to be ready for anything, and to pray hard for a bit of luck.