“Colonel Holt will vouch for me,” Stan said.
“What was the last password we used here?” the guard asked. “The one in use when you left.”
Stan grinned and stepped forward. “Port wing,” he said.
The two guards stared hard at him. “He has it,” one of them said. The other turned to the British officials. “We’ll take him to Colonel Holt. You can come along. If he’s a phony you can have him.”
“Now you’re talking sense,” Stan said.
The guard made a call and two soldiers appeared. One of the British officials went along, but it was clear they had begun to believe Stan. The guards took Stan straight to the administration building. Stan and the secret- service man were led to a small room off the operations room. Within five minutes Colonel Holt appeared.
“Wilson!” he almost shouted. “Where in heck did you come from?”
“I came in just one jump ahead of Scotland Yard,” Stan answered and grinned at the Britisher.
“Guess I’ll be running along. Sorry we took you for a Jerry,” the man said.
“You did a fine job. Stick around. We may be able to grab one of the men you are looking for,” Stan said.
“You got out of Germany?” Colonel Holt asked. “The Germans seem to be getting slack about prisoners lately. O’Malley and Jones got back a few days ago.”
“O’Malley got back but not Jones. The Jones who got here is a spy. I’ll give you the story briefly.”
Stan outlined the whole scheme. When he had finished, Colonel Holt rushed him in to the officers meeting where the final touches were being made on plans for the big raid. Stan had an audience composed of generals and other high-ranking officials for the next fifteen minutes. Then phones began to buzz. The R.A.F. was notified to hold up. Stan soon found himself out of the meeting. He headed for his barracks. Officers had been sent to round up Egbert Minter, but Stan had a hunch he might be able to locate the phony Sim Jones before the officers found him.
Stan found Splinters Wright in the Nissen hut. Splinters leaped to his feet when Stan opened the door. He had a service automatic in his hand and the light of battle in his eyes.
“Oh, it’s you,” he said and seemed disappointed.
“Who were you expecting?” Stan asked.
“O’Malley left me here to grab Sim Jones when he comes in,” Splinters explained. He grinned broadly. “You sure started a little war around this hut.”
“Where’s Allison and O’Malley?” Stan asked as he began getting out of his civilian clothes and into a uniform.
“They tore out of here like wild men. I’d hate to be Sim Jones if O’Malley locates him. We’ve all been wondering about that bird. He has acted half cracked since he got back.”
“He isn’t Sim Jones, he’s Egbert Minter, a German spy,” Stan explained. “And we have to grab him.”
“O’Malley seemed to have a clue,” Splinters said. “Bugs Monahan went with him and Allison.”
“That Sim’s locker?” Stan asked.
“Yes.”
Stan walked over to the locker and opened it. Inside hung one of Sim Jones’ uniforms and a few other things. Stan examined the uniform, then turned to the toilet kit. There was nothing there. He opened the first-aid kit. It contained sulfa pills, powder for dusting, and other medicines. Stan picked a roll of bandage out of the kit and looked at it intently. The bandage was packaged to keep it sterile. Suddenly Stan ripped open the package and unrolled a strip of the bandage. It came away freely because there were only a couple of yards of it. Under the bandage was a roll of adding machine tape. Stan whistled softly and Splinters crowded close to look.
The tape was covered with figures and fine, even German writing.
“Can you read Kraut?” Splinters asked.
“No,” Stan said softly. “But our Intelligence Department can.”
At that moment the door banged open. The boys turned and found themselves staring into the muzzle of a service revolver. Above the barrel glinted the eyes of Egbert Minter.
“Toss that gun on the floor,” he snarled.
“Toss it,” Stan said sharply as he saw Splinters’ arm muscles begin to tighten. “This bird will shoot.”
“You are right, Lieutenant Wilson. Now give me that roll of tape. It contains valuable data regarding the Eighth Air Force.” He stepped closer and Stan passed over the roll.
“You’ll never get out of camp with it,” Stan said softly. “I have tipped the boys off to your little game.”
“I will take it back to Germany,” Minter said. “But before I go I will see that you do not make more trouble for us. You are a very capable man, Lieutenant Wilson.”
“You flatter me,” Stan said smoothly. “But how are you going to get back to Germany?”
“Don’t try to stall for time. I have killed your pals, Allison and O’Malley, the idiotic Irishman. Now it is your turn. I shall break a container of Herr Domber’s gas in this room before I lock you in.”
“Is that the way you killed Allison and O’Malley?” Stan asked. A dangerous light had begun to flicker in his eyes.
“It is and I will go back to the hut where I left them. I have a radio there and will send a message. Two hours later I will be crossing the channel on a British patrol boat. You know we have captured a few.” Minter smiled. He could not help gloating over his victims.
“You Nazis have very nice habits,” Stan remarked.
“Yes, we are efficient.” Minter laughed. “This hut is made of corrugated iron, the floor is cement, the windows are steel with such small panes. You will die like rats!”
“Interesting, but I prefer to be shot!” As he spoke Stan dived in a lightning-like leap, straight at Minter. The Nazi’s gun flamed and Stan felt a blow like the smashing of a big fist against his chest. The gun flamed again, its fire searing Stan’s neck, then he had closed with the German and had forced his gun arm down. Splinters had dived in and hit the Nazi around the knees. They went down in a twisting, writhing mass with Stan’s blood spattering over all three.
Splinters got the gun and brought its butt down on Minter’s head. He slumped down and rolled free of Stan. Splinters stood up.
“You’re hit bad,” he said.
“I’m all right. Get some water and bring him around. We have to locate his hut and the radio. He must have others helping him.” Stan steadied himself with an effort. He was beginning to feel sick to his stomach.
Splinters got water and doused the Nazi, while Stan tore open his shirt and began plugging an ugly wound in his shoulder. He had to sink down on a bunk to do it. But he refused to give in. He had to get to the death hut and rescue O’Malley and Allison. The medics might be able to save them.
Minter opened his eyes slowly. He groaned and pulled himself to a sitting posture.
“Take that container away from him,” Stan ordered. Minter had pulled a square glass container from under his coat. It was attached there by a leather strap with a snap on it. Splinters grabbed the container and unsnapped it.
“No, you don’t,” he growled.
“We have to make him talk,” Stan said thickly. His head was beginning to feel light and his tongue thick. The corrugated dome of the Nissen hut was wavering and swaying.
At that moment the door burst open. “Sure, an’ I told you the rat would come back here!” That was O’Malley’s bellow. “And there the spalpeen is!”
“I say, old man, are you hit bad?” Allison’s voice came to Stan through the dizzy haze closing in around him.
“Just nicked,” Stan muttered and grinned. By some twist Allison and O’Malley had escaped. He felt much better, so much better that he laughed, or thought he did.
Stan lay on his bunk with a medic giving him treatment before the ambulance boys packed him off. He opened his eyes and found the haze had gone. He could feel the morphine working and knew he would drift away again in a few seconds. O’Malley was looking down at him, his homely face twisted into a scowl. There were two suspicious- looking beads which were not sweat on each side of his nose. When Stan looked up at him, O’Malley grinned broadly. Beside him, Allison was smiling too.
“We’ll have him fixed up as good as ever in no time,” the doctor said.
“How did you keep from getting gassed?” Stan asked.
“Aisy,” O’Malley answered. “The rat was so scared we’d rush him that he jest eased out through the door an’
