"Silence, swine!" the German thundered, and practically waved the barrel of his Luger in the Yank's face. "And let me remind you, you American dog, if you do not empty out everything, I will shoot you on the spot!"
Dawson looked up at the man, and although he kept a thin grin on his lips, there was nothing but a chip of ice in his chest.
"Okay, Herr Miller," he replied in the man's own tongue. "I'm tossing out everything I've got. And you can strip me, and search my clothes if you want to. But I just want to ask one question. It's important to both of us, Herr Miller!"
The Nazi narrowed his eyes, and gave Dawson a hard, searching stare. Then he grunted and nodded.
"And what is the question?" he demanded in German.
"Has the Lockheed gone under yet?" Dawson asked with forced calmness.
The Nazi blinked, and looked just a trifle startled.
"But of course!" he finally rasped out. "It was sinking when you fools came aboard. By now it is halfway to the bottom."
"Yeah?" Dawson echoed softly. Then with a head shake of mock pity, "That's tough—for you, Herr Miller. You should have made the Lockheed empty its pockets—if you get what I mean?"
The Nazi started to speak, but checked himself and slid his narrow-eyed stare along to Freddy Farmer's face. The English youth was taking a bunch of keys from his tunic pocket. He stopped the motion for a moment, stared innocently back at the Nazi, then flipped out his hand.