"You will report at once for mess. Heil Hitler!" Hans clicked his heels and did an about-face. He moved out of the room almost goose-stepping. Stan grinned after him.
"Get up, you bum," he called to O'Malley.
O'Malley got out of bed and began dressing. Within ten minutes they were in the hall. As they walked down it they passed no less than three pictures of Hitler hanging on the walls. O'Malley moved every one of them and peered behind it.
"I don't like the scenery here," he grumbled.
The mess was a large room which once had been a living room and dining room combined. There were twenty prisoners, mostly R.A.F. men, all of officer's rank. They looked bored and listless, but they greeted the new arrivals with friendly interest. Sim was seated at the table. He looked up and nodded.
Breakfast was not bad and the boys ate everything set before them. After breakfast the men went out into the yard. The sun was shining and the air was warm, but there was a feel of winter in the wind which blew over the high wall.
Stan and O'Malley sat down on a bench with Sim. The other men busied themselves with handball and quoits. Sim bent down and traced a line with a stick in the dirt.
"I have everything lined up. We get away tonight. A British colonel is giving a lecture in the big room at nine tonight. I have fixed the checker. We'll get away while that is on." Sim did not look up.
"Hans is the checker?" O'Malley asked.
"Yes."