CHAPTER SEVEN

_Shoot!_

If the roof had suddenly fallen down on top of his head Dave Dawson could have not been more astonished or surprised. Shot? He gaped at the German officer half expecting to see the man burst out laughing. Colonel Stohl did not laugh, however. He remained leaning forward over the desk and raking them with eyes that looked like twin cubes of ice.

"Shot?" Dave heard himself speak the word. "You can't shoot us. We haven't done anything! Gee whiz, why do you want to shoot us?"

"Of course we haven't done anything!" Freddy Farmer spoke up loudly. "I think this is all just a bluff!"

"A bluff?" the German snarled. "Do you take me for a fool? I do not bluff at a time like this. Take a look at this that I hold in my hand, so! Ah, you recognize it, eh?"

The officer had suddenly whipped up something off the desk. Dave took a good look and saw that it was a rolled up map.

"It's a map," he said, "but I never saw it before."

"Nor have I," Freddy said stoutly.

"It was found hidden under the seat of the ambulance," the German said in a flat voice that made Dave shiver inwardly. "There are certain marks on it. Numbers and figures written in pencil near the names of towns you passed through before you were caught. So you told me the truth, eh? No, you lied. This map contains information that would be very useful to Germany's enemies. You thought you could protect yourselves by driving an ambulance ... but you can't. But ... and listen to what I say ... you _can_ save your lives!"

Dave tried to speak but his tongue was sticking to the roof of his mouth. He felt his knees go weak, and it was all he could do to force himself to stand upright. He had the feeling that this was all a crazy dream, a nightmare. In a few moments he would probably wake up and find himself safe and sound in bed in his room at the Hotel de Ney. He didn't know anything about a map. He'd never even seen it before.

He half turned and looked at Freddy Farmer. The English youth's face was a little paler, but his chin was firm, and his eyes were filled with scornful defiance.

"I haven't any idea what you are talking about, sir," Freddy said to the colonel. "I was not trying to protect myself, or my friend, from anything. I was simply delivering the ambulance to Courtrai. And, for the hundredth time, _I lost my way_!"

The German made a movement with his hand as though brushing the words to one side.

"Enough of that!" he said. "This is a serious business. I am not saying that you collected the information about our advance units I find here on this map. Perhaps you were only taking it to somebody else. Yes, perhaps you did not even know you were being used for such work. Let us say that is the truth. We Germans do not make war with boys, but.... But this information _was found on you_, and that is most serious. Answer the questions I ask you, and I promise that you will not be treated as spies. I also promise you that you will be made comfortable until arrangements can be made to send you home. Now!"

"What are the questions?" Freddy asked.

The stern look fled the German's face, and he smiled.

"Ah, that is better!" he said and spread the map on the desk. "Now, here you have marked a line showing the route you traveled from Paris. Each town you passed through is marked. Those towns are French troop and equipment garrisons. This town here, close to the Belgian border, what did you see there? French troops? British troops? And what was their equipment? Tanks? Big ones, or small ones? Were there motorized anti-aircraft batteries? Were...?"

The German suddenly stopped and looked up from the map.

"You are not listening?" he said softly.

Freddy's face seemed actually to grow thin as Dave looked at him. The English boy licked his lips just once and then put his shoulders back a little more.

"Certainly I'm listening," he said. "But I won't answer a single one of your questions even though you do shoot me!"

Dave felt like throwing his arms about young Farmer and hugging him. Here was the kind of cool, calm courage for which the British were famous the world over. Instead, Dave turned his head and looked at the German.

"We're not saying a thing!" he shouted. "I demand that we be permitted to see the nearest American Consul!"

The German officer ignored Dave's outburst as though he had not spoken. He looked steadily at Freddy for a moment and then sighed heavily and raised both hands in a gesture of despair.

"Very well," he said. "That is all for now. I will give you until tomorrow morning to think it over ... and change your mind. Guard!"

The side door popped open and in popped the guard. Colonel Stohl pointed a finger.

"Take them back," he said, "and stand guard outside the door. If either of them attempts to escape ... _shoot!_"

The Colonel gave them an angry stare and a curt nod, and then busied himself with some papers on the desk. Two minutes later the boys were back in their prison room. The door was closed and bolted, and they could hear the boots of the guard pacing up and down the hallway outside. Freddy sat down on a cot and started to shiver violently. Dave went over to him instantly and put a friendly arm about his shoulders.

"Steady, Freddy!" he whispered. "We'll get out somehow. He was only bluffing. He wouldn't dare shoot us. I'll make him let me see the nearest American Consul. I'll ... I'll make him let me telephone the American Ambassador in Brussels."

"I hope you do for your sake, Dave," Freddy whispered. "But England is at war, and I'm an Englishman. And, Dave ... that map was mine. I used it and marked my route until it got too dark."

Fingers of ice clutched at Dave's heart and pressed hard. He sucked air sharply into his lungs.

"Holy smokes!" he breathed. "Then you did put down all that stuff he was talking about?"

"Oh no, not that!" the English youth said and shook his head vigorously. "I just penciled in the route I had taken until it got too dark. Besides, I lost my pencil when I tried to do it in the glow of the dash light. The rest of the things he must have marked in."

Dave gave a shake of his head and looked puzzled.

"I don't get it!" he murmured. "Why?"

"Don't you see?" Freddy said. "It's really very simple, Dave. They did it to frighten me, to make me answer their questions. They'll hold a military court and use that map as evidence. There'll be an awful row. They'll make one, hoping to scare me into talking. I knew a Jewish boy in England who escaped with his family from the German Gestapo and he told me about the tricks they play to scare you into telling them things. That's what he plans to do with me. But, I won't tell him a thing, not a thing! It's my map all right, but they're not going to frighten me into telling anything that would hurt the Allies. They can't make me!"

"You bet they can't, pal!" Dave said. "And they won't get anything out of me, either."

"I don't think he means any harm toward you, Dave," Freddy said after a long pause. "You just insist on seeing the American Consul and I think he'll let you. When you spoke of your father's trip to London he seemed surprised. You're an American, Dave. You'll be all right."

"But what about you, Freddy?" Dave exclaimed.

"I won't tell them a thing, no matter what they do," the English youth said determinedly. "Never!"

Dave started to speak, checked himself, and stepped back a pace.

"So that's the kind of a pal you are, huh?" he grunted. "You just up and let me down!"

Freddy jerked his head up in blank amazement. Tears were dangerously close to his eyes.

"Let you down, Dave?" he gasped. "But, Dave...!"

"Sure, let me down," Dave snapped at him. "I thought we were pals? I thought we were going to see this through together?"

"But, Dave, you...!"

"Me walk out and leave you behind?" Dave interrupted the English youth's speech. "Quit a pal just because I'm American and he's English? Not a chance. We're sticking together. You can't toss me off like that!"

"But I was only thinking of you, Dave," Freddy protested. "After all I really got you into this, you know."

Dave suddenly stopped acting hurt and angry. He bent down and grinned broadly.

"So what?" he whispered. "So I'll get you _out_. We've got until tomorrow morning to think things over. That's what he said. Well, we're not going to think things, we're going to _do_ things. Are you game, Freddy?"

For an answer Freddy put out his hand, and the two clasped hands warmly. The color came back into the English youth's face, and that made Dave feel almost happy.

"Okay, Freddy," he whispered. "I saw something besides airplanes out the window awhile ago. Come over and I'll show you."

For a couple of seconds Dave stood still listening to the footsteps of the guard outside, then he motioned to Freddy and tiptoed over to the window.

"Look out, and down," he breathed in Freddy's ear. "See? The bottom half of this building sticks out. See the roof? It's not more than six feet below this window. And it's not more than ten feet from the edge of the roof to the back yard. Think you could jump it?"

"Easy!" Freddy whispered. "But what about this window, here? It's screwed in."

"Got that all figured, too," Dave said and pulled an army canteen spoon from the pocket of the old clothes he wore. "Swiped this from the breakfast tray," he said. "A hunch made me stick it in my pocket. A spoon makes a swell screw driver sometimes. I found that out once when I was a kid. I used one of my Mother's to open an old chest I found up in the attic. I got a licking for it because I marked up the wood pretty bad. But the spoon did the trick. Now, here's what you do."

Dave paused and slipped the tip of the spoon handle into the groove of the nearest screw head and applied pressure with both hands. He turned the screw a sixteenth of an inch or so and then stopped.

"Hot dog!" he whispered. "I was scared for a minute the darn things would be so rusted with age they wouldn't budge. But, it's okay. Now, you go over to the door and start talking to me. Talk about anything. Sure, let's talk about baseball."

"But I don't know anything about baseball!" Freddy whispered.

"That's swell!" Dave said. "You can ask me questions and I'll give you the answers. But keep an ear open for that guard. If he starts to open the door you ask me, What's a home run? See? That'll give me time to get away from this window. Okay, got it?"

"Yes, I understand," Freddy said and nodded eagerly. "Gee, you're a great friend, Dave!"

"You too, Freddy," Dave said and gave him a push. "Now, get over there and start asking questions. Thank goodness this window is dirty and nobody can see me from outside."

The instant Freddy went over near the door Dave gave his attention to the first screw. The English youth asked question after question and Dave answered them without half thinking. Every second of the time he worked feverishly with the spoon on the screws. There were eight of them and he guessed it was well over an hour before he had seven of them out and the eighth well loosened. That one he let stay partly in so that the window would remain in place. The last thing he did was to cover the screw holes with bits of cobweb so they wouldn't be noticed. Then he walked over to the cot and sat down.

"Okay, that's enough baseball talk!" he said in a loud voice and winked at Freddy. "Gee, how you can ask questions. Well, it looks like we're not going to get anything to eat. So I'm going to try and get some sleep."

Stretching out on the cot Dave pointed at the window and grinned. Then clasping his hands together he put them over his head and shook them like a prize fighter being introduced to the fight fans. Freddy looked puzzled for a moment, then realized what Dave meant, and went through the hand-shaking motions himself.

"Well, I guess I might as well try to get a little sleep, myself," he said loudly and walked to the other cot.

A moment later the two boys listened to the sound of the guard's footsteps outside and looked at the gradually fading light of day outside the dust and cobweb smeared window.