Freddy hesitated a moment and fumbled with the hem of his coarse peasant jacket.
"Sheer rot, probably," he said after a moment. "But a chap is bound to think of things, you know. Colonel Fraser admits that word from Deschaud cannot get through to him except by one of the colonel's agents. He also admits that the last five agents who have gotten in touch with Deschaud have failed to return. They have either disappeared or died, or both. Well, that makes me wonder a lot."
"Well, he said the Nazis were smart and clever guys," Dave pointed out.
"Sure he did," Freddy nodded. "But don't you get the idea, Dave?"
"The old brain has swallowed up so much today, it's a blank," Dave confessed. "What are you driving at, anyway?"
"What proof is there that Pierre Deschaud is still alive?" Freddy asked suddenly.
Dave gasped and went back a step as the real significance of the words came home to him.
"Holy catfish!" he eventually breathed. "That is a thought, isn't it!"
"And one worth a lot of consideration, too," Freddy nodded. "As I said, it may all be a lot of rot, but chew on this a bit, Dave. It is possible that the Nazis have trapped and caught this Pierre Deschaud, but aren't saying anything about it. Maybe they are using him, or somebody exactly like him, as bait for the colonel's agents. Don't forget, the last five agents were caught!"
Dave swallowed hard and wiped a hand across his forehead, which had become just a wee bit moist—and not from the warmth of the night air, either!