"That's telling him, kid!" Dawson cried impulsively. Then, looking at the still grinning man, he said, "Believe it or not, he's dead right, Herr Baron. Your boy friends have pulled a boner. I'm not Karl Stoltz, or Karl anybody. I'm a Yank. And no matter what happens, I'm not going to die as any Nazi, either. And just what is behind that masquerading face of yours? Let's have a look, if it doesn't hurt too much to pull that stuff off?" As Dawson simply spoke words that came into his mouth he moved his knee over slightly and gently pressed it against Freddy's knee. The answering pressure he received started his heart to pounding harder than ever. It meant that young Farmer understood perfectly, and wasn't missing a single bit of the picture. In other words, doubt was closing down on the three Nazis like a thick fog. Particularly upon Hans, and his thick-set playmate, Erich. They stood staring open-mouthed, their eyes puzzled, worried, and not a little afraid. Erich's hands were hanging limp like a couple of hams at his sides. Hans was fiddling with his gun with both of his hands, and without the slightest knowledge that he was pointing it straight down at his feet. Herr Baron's stiff lips were no longer smiling. The rest of his face was the same, save for the eyes. They had suddenly clouded over, and in a crazy sort of way Dawson had the feeling that he was looking into the eyes of a dead man, or perhaps a ghost. An eerie sensation rippled through him, but he shook it off. If there ever was a time in his life when emotions and sensations were to be ignored, this was it. Whether the three Nazis believed, or not, Freddy and he were facing death in triplicate. Hans, Erich, and Herr Baron. A ten-year-old child could have figured that this place was a Nazi agents' nest in London. And although Freddy and he had proved their true identity beyond all semblance of a doubt, it was sheer madness to think that the three Nazis would give them a smile, an apology, and let them go their way. Not a chance. The Nazis had the habit of flaunting their triumphs to the four corners of the earth, and of burying their mistakes. Sometimes they didn't bother with the burying part. They simply left their "mistakes" where they fell. Stone dead, but definitely! So Dawson didn't pay any attention to his emotions. He knew just what the score was. And so did Freddy Farmer. "Well?" Dawson said, when Herr Baron just stood there looking at him. "Want proof? But wait a minute! Did this Karl Stoltz have any mark or scar on him that would prove his identity to you?" "Yes, he did," Herr Baron said slowly. "He had a saber scar on his right arm. Near the elbow. Let me see your right arm. Come, swine traitor! Show me your right arm, at once!"