One—two—three minutes dragged by, like a fly crawling through molasses. Dave's nerves strained and twanged inside of him. His heart came up into his throat and stayed there. He watched his two prisoners with one eye, and kept the other on the hallway door. What had happened? Did Freddy need help? Should he leave these two and race out to Freddy's assistance? After all, their luck must be at the snapping point. Everything had gone off too smoothly, too easily. That wasn't the usual way of things in war. Something was bound to crack, and always did. The gods had to have their little laugh. Should he go outside to give Freddy a hand?
Those and hundreds of other questions flew through Dave's brain. He hesitated in soul-searing indecision, and then suddenly the hall door opened and Freddy Farmer came leaping into the room. His face was just a little pale, but there was a brittle gleam in his eyes. He waved a sealed envelope at the two high ranking Germans.
"A dispatch just arrived," he said. "I took it from the chap for you. Sorry, but we've no time for this sort of thing."
And with that Freddy tore the sealed envelope in half, and tossed the two halves on the floor.
"Freddy, that pilot!" Dave asked. "What—"
"Sleeping," the English youth cut him off. "No use for him, now. The dispatch chap is keeping him company. Front door locked, so no one will come in that way."
"Then for the love of Mike let's get going!" Dave cried. "You're wonderful, pal, but don't force your luck. Boy! Will you be snowed under with medals!"
Freddy didn't say anything for a moment. It was as though he hadn't even heard Dave's words. He stood with feet planted apart, and his weight thrown forward on his toes, and his head cocked to one side. Anger blazed up in Dave. He was about to speak again when he thought he heard the sound of aircraft engines. He wasn't sure, and in the next instant he had forgotten all about it. Freddy Farmer had snapped out of his trance and was getting into motion.
"Right-o, Dave!" he said, and advanced on the two Germans. "Take von Gault, Dave. I'll handle the other. Up, you two! Time to move. And remember! A Commando means exactly what he says—or promises. It's a sort of an oath, you know!"
Freddy had slid around in back of von Staube and pricked the back of the Field Marshal's neck with the needle point of his Commando knife. The German felt the pain, and gasped.