"Anybody can have my share," Dawson grunted. "Okay, let's go inside."
Young Farmer nodded in the darkness, eased open the rear door, and slipped inside without making a sound. Dawson went in right at his heels, pulled the door shut, and for a moment both youths stood there motionless in the dark. Presently Dawson pressed the button of his flashlight and sent the beam roaming about a rear entry hallway. Dust and dirt seemed to be everywhere, and there was a smell in the air that made Dawson think instantly of Death.
He started to mention it to Freddy when suddenly the beam of his flashlight came to rest on some brownish red smears on the plaster wall to his right. He caught his breath in a sharp gasp, and Freddy Farmer echoed the sound. For a long moment neither spoke, their eyes held by those reddish brown smears as though by a powerful magnet.
"Bloodstains!" Freddy finally whispered. "Some chap came in here badly hurt, and he braced his hand against that wall to hold himself up."
"Yeah!" Dawson said, and swallowed hard. Then, as he lowered the beam of his light, "Look, Freddy! More stains on the floor. Boy! Somebody was hurt bad. He spilled blood all over the place. Oh my gosh, Freddy! Do you suppose—?"
Dawson didn't finish. The rest seemed to stick in his throat as he looked at Freddy. Young Farmer's face was tight and drawn, and the look in his eyes was proof that he had the same thought. That the man who had made those blood smears was one Heinrich Weiden. Why they both thought that, neither youth bothered to question. They just knew it, and that was that!
"Let's get—" Dawson began, and then cut himself off short as both he and Freddy went rigid.
They did so for the simple reason that from out in front they heard the protesting scream of rubber on the pavement as a car was braked to a violent halt. And almost before the sound had been lost to the echo there came the sounds of heavy booted feet pounding up the front steps. And almost no time after that the front door shook and then crashed open under the impact of somebody hurling his full weight against it.
Split seconds before that door crashed open Dawson and Farmer were already in action. Dawson killed his flashlight, and the two youths, without a word to each other, both darted toward a hall closet door, yanked it open and slipped inside. And not a second too soon, either. It seemed to Dawson that he had hardly pulled the door to within a quarter of an inch of being closed when the hallway they had just left was flooded with light, and a voice spoke hoarsely in German.
"Swine dog! He will not escape us this time. See! There on the wall! Bloodstains. I knew I had wounded him. He cannot be far. We will try these rooms first. Be ready with your gun. We will not talk this time. We will simply shoot the dog!"