Freddy Farmer gloomily agreed with a silent nod, and not words. Dawson bit his lower lip in meditation, balled one clenched fist into the palm of the other hand, and cast furtive glances at young Farmer out of the corner of an eye. "Are you game, Freddy?" he presently asked in a low voice. The English-born air ace jerked his head around and looked at him puzzled. "Game for what?" he demanded. "What do you mean?" "Taking our chances on getting out of here," Dawson said. "Everything looks like it's been sunk to the bottom. Heaven knows but what that Nazi rat has tossed half a dozen water flares over the side by now. But ... well, until I'm dead and gone I'll never give up trying, at least. No matter how much of a fool I've made of myself to date. Besides, there's always the chance that something lucky _for us_ might happen." Freddy Farmer made an angry gesture with his hands as Dawson paused. "If you've got something to say, Dave, for heaven's sake then say it!" he bit off. "What are you working up to, I'd like to know? What do you mean, take our chances on getting out of here? You know perfectly well I'd risk anything to get out of this hole. But how? It's impossible! We even haven't a gun between us to shoot the lock and bolt off that door. And even if he was lying about the window being sixty feet from the ground, how are we going to get up there? Fly?" "Close that trap of yours, and keep your shirt on, and you'll find out!" Dawson said sharply, but placed his arm on Freddy's shoulder. "I've got a key, see? This. Don't even know how it got into my pocket. Felt it in the lining as Yammanato was leaving. That's why I asked for him to raise the window. Look." As Dawson spoke he pulled a match from his pocket and held it up. Wild hope had blossomed on Freddy Farmer's face, but it faded out in a flash as he stared at the match. He switched agonized eyes to Dawson's face. "Don't, Dave, please!" he said in a voice that was close to breaking. "This isn't the time for leg pulling, or any of your funny gags. Please, old man! It only makes me feel worse, and ..." "Stop it, will you?" Dawson barked. "Sweet tripe! Do you think I'm wasting time kidding, _now_! Don't be a dope. This little match _is_ a hope for us ... I hope. Now, give me a hand lifting the table and stuff, that's here, over by the door. First thing is to block them off from getting in. No, save the questions. Just give me a hand, Freddy. And I'm not crazy, so help me!" Freddy Farmer closed his mouth with an effort, and together they lifted a heavy table, two chairs, and a bamboo chest affair, across the room and wedged them as best they could against the door. "Okay," Dawson said when that was done. "Peel off your tunic and shirt and tear them into strips. I'm going to do the same just as soon as I get old rags and papers over there in the corner."