"Boy, are you a right guy to have along!" Dawson mumbled. "But I sure didn't figure you for a gun. I counted on you to give him the old one-two Commando stuff."
"His nibs, here," Freddy said and pointed a finger at Herr Baron, who was face down on the floor at his feet. "I fancied all along that he had a little gadget like this in his tunic pocket. So when you bashed him I immediately investigated. Saves time and trouble just to shoot the beggars, instead of knocking them about. But, good grief, Dave, you moved so fast. You were a bit of all right, old thing. Quite!"
[CHAPTER FIVE]
Satan's Pawns
Dawson took a deep breath, and slowly got up onto his feet. Then he grinned over at Freddy Farmer.
"I don't care how you did it, kid," he said. "Just doing it was okay by me. And if I haven't mentioned it, thanks, pal. I was sort of close to getting lead poisoning just about then."
"And we were both close to getting heaven knows what," young Farmer said. His face became hard, and deadly serious. "To me it's still like a mad dream. Imagine it, Dave! Right here in London. It just can't be true! Balmy things like this just don't happen!"
"I know, of course not," Dawson grunted, and dropped to his knees beside the prostrate Hans. "But Erich, there, wouldn't believe you, Freddy. He found out. Let's search these rats for anything we can find, and then get out of here fast. I guess British Intelligence would like to hear what we have to tell them."
"There's a phone in the next room, Dave," Freddy said, as he recalled the fact. "The one that Erich used. Let's just tie them up, and then get on the phone. Intelligence may want them just as they are."
"Maybe, but I'm a curious cuss," Dawson said with a dogged shake of his head. "Truss up that bird with his belt, and then go phone the big shots. Me, I'm going to see what these birds have on them, if anything. I—Ye gods! Did Herr Baron's face slip!"