"To serve Herr Baron and the Fuehrer is reward enough!" Erich said as he beamed and clicked his heels. "It was so simple, too. We saw them eating at a hotel restaurant. We recognized them at once. We could see that they were restless and uneasy. We followed them in the car we had waiting outside. That was easy, too, even in the cursed blackout. They became suspicious and tried to escape us by turning down a street that led nowhere. But we caught up with them, and captured them easily." "And that's a blasted lie!" Freddy Farmer blurted out. "If you're this Herr Baron they've been jabbering about, then you're balmy to believe them. I never heard of either Karl Stoltz or Paul von Heimmer in my life. And neither has my friend. You've made just another one of your confoundedly stupid Nazi mistakes! You're not in Berlin now. This is London!" Considering the situation, all that was not exactly the thing to say, and Dave Dawson stiffened and waited for all three of the Nazis to hit the ceiling. Particularly the one known as Herr Baron, who was cloaking his true identity in the uniform of an Air Forces colonel. Oddly enough, though, Herr Baron's face did not change expression one single bit. He looked at Freddy Farmer with the pleasant grin still on his lips. To Dawson it seemed a little stiff. In fact the man's whole face seemed stiff. It was almost as though his features had been stuck on a blank area of skin. The Yank air ace peered hard, his heart thumping against his ribs. And then suddenly something seemed to click in his brain, and he _knew_. Or at least he was quite positive that he knew. Knew that what he was looking at was not the true face of the man who wore the uniform of an Air Forces Colonel. It was a mask. No, it was even more than that. Every feature had been built up separately and fitted over the original feature. Each bit separate but so cleverly formed and blended in, that the whole gave the impression of a single one-piece mask. No, it was not the true face that Dawson stared at, and he wondered what was behind that conglomeration of make-up paste, and putty, and whatnot. However, he did not have much time to wonder about that. Herr Baron took a step or two toward Freddy Farmer, his lips still smiling. "So you have been in England so long, a traitor to the Fuehrer, Herr von Heimmer, that you even talk like one of the swine?" he murmured in a soft voice. "But isn't that a stupid way to try and convince me of something that is not true? You fool! Why have your voice speak as an Englishman, and your body wear the uniform of an American pilot?" "Because I _am_ English, you idiot!" Freddy shouted. "You've made a balmy mistake, and no doubt you'll end up by having your hired thugs there shoot me. But I'll be blessed if I'll die as a dirty Nazi. I'll die as an Englishman, and the devil to you!"