The English youth didn't so much as watch the redhead crumple. Instead he brought the automatic down into line with the pilot sitting stunned at the table on the other side of the room.
"Don't even wink an eye!" Freddy barked, and slowly sat down again. "I can put a bullet in your rotten heart from here with my eyes closed. Keep your hands just as they are on the table. Don't move them an inch, you dirty blighter!"
[CHAPTER TWELVE]
Westward To War
As Freddy Farmer hurled the words at the pilot, he reached down with his other hand and fumbled with the ropes tied about his ankles. In less than a minute he had them free. Still keeping his eye on the pilot, who now was practically green with terror, he went over and around in back of the man. In less time than it takes to tell about it, he had his gun. Then he jerked him from his chair and spun him around.
"Sorry, old thing," he said, tight-lipped. "But you shouldn't say things like that about America. Next to England, it's the grandest country on earth."
The pilot blinked stupidly. Then he closed his eyes for good. He did so because Freddy Farmer slugged him on the jaw, putting every ounce of his one hundred and fifty-five pounds behind the blow. The pilot turned slowly around twice, then fell flat on his face alongside his unconscious pal. And it was then Dave realized he was not dreaming, and was able to find his tongue.
"Holy jumping jellyfish!" he gasped. "I—I thought you'd blown your top, Freddy. But it was a gag, huh? Boy, oh boy! Me for you, pal, every day in the week, and twice on Sundays. Gee, Freddy! I'm a no good bum for thinking—"
"Quite!" the English youth said with a wide grin. "But I'll forgive you this once. But speaking of gags. I'll free the Colonel, and then see about you. Just cool your heels a bit, my little man."
Moving over to the Colonel, Freddy took the gag away and freed the senior officer's hands and feet. It wasn't until he was completely free that the Intelligence chief was able to speak.