"Prosit!" the bullet-headed one shouted. And once more they drained their glasses in typical sloppy, noisy German style. A moment later when Erich was about to refill the glasses again, the sound of a door buzzer froze him, bottle in hand in mid-air. He made a gasping sound, snatched Hans' empty glass from him and went swiftly to the wall cabinet. As he turned from it he swiped the back of his big hand across his mouth, then hurried to the foyer door. As he went through, closing it behind him, an electric charge seemed to invade the room. Dawson could feel, and almost hear, his heart pounding against his ribs. The blood in his veins seemed like liquid fire, and his mouth and throat were bone dry. How many more minutes were Freddy and he to live? The crazy question cut through his brain like a sword of fire. He tried to shake his head and drive the maddening thought away, but it kept coming back to taunt him. Seconds were as years hanging on the edge of nothing. Had Hans taken his eyes off them for even an instant Dave knew that he would have hurled himself forward in a frantic, desperate effort to overpower the man and get possession of that Luger before it was too late. But Hans' eyes never wavered for a fleeting split second, nor did the gun in his hand move a fraction of an inch. Then there came the sound of footsteps and voices outside, and a moment later the inside door knob was seen to turn. Dawson sat staring at it as though it were some powerful magnet that his eyes could not resist. In fact his gaze still clung to it as the door was swung open, and it was not until he heard Freddy Farmer's half choking gasp that he was able to tear his eyes from the doorknob and look up. And when he did, when he stared at the uniformed figure framed in the open doorway, it was akin to a blow right smack between the eyes. For there in the doorway stood a man in the uniform of a colonel in the U. S. Army Air Forces. He wore on his tunic the wings of a command pilot, and there were two rows of decoration ribbons under the wings. But it was the officer's face that stunned Dawson the most. The man _looked_ American. The clear light in his eyes, the good old U. S. A. rosiness in his cheeks, and the friendly grin that curved his lips. And when he spoke, spoke in perfect German, it was like the ceiling falling down on top of Dawson. "Ah! So the two swine traitors have come to the end of their run? That is good. That is very good, Hans and Erich! My compliments. I shall inform Herr Himmler of your good work. And no doubt he will tell the Fuehrer himself. Your rewards will not be small, I can tell you."