"I will attend to the execution myself, tomorrow morning. You will have tonight to think things over." He got to his feet and kicked aside the stool.
Stan finished his tin of soup and stood up. He walked to the barred door. The guard swung around and made a menacing motion with his rifle. Stan grinned at him and stepped back. He was convinced the Gestapo officer had told the guards to shoot on the least provocation, he could read it in the man's eyes.
"Be careful," he said as he seated himself again. "The guards have been told to get rid of us if they can find any excuse."
"I'd as soon be shot by a guard as a firing squad," Allison said.
"We might get the fellow up near the bars and get his keys," Stan said.
"Good idea," O'Malley agreed. "But how?"
"We'll get over near the door and start to whisper with our backs to him. See if we can tease him up close," Stan suggested.
They moved over near the grating and began whispering. The guard stood watching them. He was a full ten feet from the door and did not move. His expressionless, beefy face showed not a flicker of interest. Finally the boys gave it up.
"He has about as much curiosity as a turtle," Stan said sourly.
"Sure, an' they may put on a guard with a brain," O'Malley said hopefully.