"Of course not, you stupid fool!" the other retorted. "But we know who you are. And so does Herr Baron. He will be glad to see you, Karl Stoltz. Ja, ja! Very glad!"
Dawson started to speak, but at that instant he saw the two slit headlights of a car coming along the street. It slid up to the curb with no more than a soft mechanical whisper of sound, and came to a stop. The door opened, and a shadowy figure stepped out, gathered the limp Freddy Farmer up in his arms, and dumped the English-born air ace down onto the floor of the car, as though he were no more than a wet sack of meal.
"You—!" Dawson began savagely.
But that's as far as he got. A crack on the side of his head sent stars and comets spinning, and seemed to paralyze his entire body from head to foot. By the time he was able to shake off the paralytic spell, and take stock of things, he found himself beside Freddy Farmer on the floor of the car. A pair of heavy booted feet were resting on the small of his back, and the car was in motion and pulling away from the curb.
The first thing he did when complete consciousness returned was to move his head as close to Freddy as he could, hold his breath, and strain his ears. Almost instantly a great wave of relief flooded through him. He could hear Freddy Farmer's regular breathing. At least the blow Freddy had received had not cracked his skull and killed him. He was just out cold, that was all.
Was that all? It was more than enough. It was too much. And as the car rolled on almost silently down the pitch dark street Dawson mentally promised himself that the instant he was given the opportunity he would pay it all back to these two rats, and with plenty of interest.
However, his flash of silent anger died as various thoughts concerning the utterly incredible business began to pass through his brain. Utterly incredible, maybe, but a very definite reality just the same. That it was a case of mistaken identity was as plain as the nose on anybody's face. But that the two kidnappers were obviously Nazi agents right there in London was something you just couldn't laugh off. Nor could he laugh off the fact that Freddy and he had stumbled into something that was deadly serious. The reasons, and what have you, were completely beyond him. He believed that they were being taken to someone known as Herr Baron. But from there on it was all just a lot of blanks that no amount of imagination could possibly fill in.
He checked his rambling thoughts as he felt Freddy Farmer stir, and then heard him groan and mumble.
"Blast the dirty blighter!" young Farmer got out. "Good gosh, my head!"
"Take it easy, Freddy," Dave murmured. "You got clipped good. But if you can talk, it can't be too bad. Just try—"