"And that's a blasted lie!" Freddy Farmer blurted out. "If you're this Herr Baron they've been jabbering about, then you're balmy to believe them. I never heard of either Karl Stoltz or Paul von Heimmer in my life. And neither has my friend. You've made just another one of your confoundedly stupid Nazi mistakes! You're not in Berlin now. This is London!"
Considering the situation, all that was not exactly the thing to say, and Dave Dawson stiffened and waited for all three of the Nazis to hit the ceiling. Particularly the one known as Herr Baron, who was cloaking his true identity in the uniform of an Air Forces colonel.
Oddly enough, though, Herr Baron's face did not change expression one single bit. He looked at Freddy Farmer with the pleasant grin still on his lips. To Dawson it seemed a little stiff. In fact the man's whole face seemed stiff. It was almost as though his features had been stuck on a blank area of skin. The Yank air ace peered hard, his heart thumping against his ribs. And then suddenly something seemed to click in his brain, and he knew. Or at least he was quite positive that he knew. Knew that what he was looking at was not the true face of the man who wore the uniform of an Air Forces Colonel. It was a mask. No, it was even more than that. Every feature had been built up separately and fitted over the original feature. Each bit separate but so cleverly formed and blended in, that the whole gave the impression of a single one-piece mask. No, it was not the true face that Dawson stared at, and he wondered what was behind that conglomeration of make-up paste, and putty, and whatnot.
However, he did not have much time to wonder about that. Herr Baron took a step or two toward Freddy Farmer, his lips still smiling.
"So you have been in England so long, a traitor to the Fuehrer, Herr von Heimmer, that you even talk like one of the swine?" he murmured in a soft voice. "But isn't that a stupid way to try and convince me of something that is not true? You fool! Why have your voice speak as an Englishman, and your body wear the uniform of an American pilot?"
"Because I am English, you idiot!" Freddy shouted. "You've made a balmy mistake, and no doubt you'll end up by having your hired thugs there shoot me. But I'll be blessed if I'll die as a dirty Nazi. I'll die as an Englishman, and the devil to you!"
"That's telling him, kid!" Dawson cried impulsively. Then, looking at the still grinning man, he said, "Believe it or not, he's dead right, Herr Baron. Your boy friends have pulled a boner. I'm not Karl Stoltz, or Karl anybody. I'm a Yank. And no matter what happens, I'm not going to die as any Nazi, either. And just what is behind that masquerading face of yours? Let's have a look, if it doesn't hurt too much to pull that stuff off?"
As Dawson simply spoke words that came into his mouth he moved his knee over slightly and gently pressed it against Freddy's knee. The answering pressure he received started his heart to pounding harder than ever. It meant that young Farmer understood perfectly, and wasn't missing a single bit of the picture. In other words, doubt was closing down on the three Nazis like a thick fog. Particularly upon Hans, and his thick-set playmate, Erich. They stood staring open-mouthed, their eyes puzzled, worried, and not a little afraid. Erich's hands were hanging limp like a couple of hams at his sides. Hans was fiddling with his gun with both of his hands, and without the slightest knowledge that he was pointing it straight down at his feet. Herr Baron's stiff lips were no longer smiling. The rest of his face was the same, save for the eyes. They had suddenly clouded over, and in a crazy sort of way Dawson had the feeling that he was looking into the eyes of a dead man, or perhaps a ghost.
An eerie sensation rippled through him, but he shook it off. If there ever was a time in his life when emotions and sensations were to be ignored, this was it. Whether the three Nazis believed, or not, Freddy and he were facing death in triplicate. Hans, Erich, and Herr Baron. A ten-year-old child could have figured that this place was a Nazi agents' nest in London. And although Freddy and he had proved their true identity beyond all semblance of a doubt, it was sheer madness to think that the three Nazis would give them a smile, an apology, and let them go their way. Not a chance. The Nazis had the habit of flaunting their triumphs to the four corners of the earth, and of burying their mistakes. Sometimes they didn't bother with the burying part. They simply left their "mistakes" where they fell. Stone dead, but definitely! So Dawson didn't pay any attention to his emotions. He knew just what the score was. And so did Freddy Farmer.
"Well?" Dawson said, when Herr Baron just stood there looking at him. "Want proof? But wait a minute! Did this Karl Stoltz have any mark or scar on him that would prove his identity to you?"