Dawson acted as though he were giving the German's explanation careful thought. His heart was beginning to pound against his ribs, and the blood surged through his veins as he realized that he was very, very close to learning the guarded secret of this mysterious factory. If only Freddy Farmer were there with him. Freddy, among other things, was very clever with words. Freddy would make this fat-faced German talk, without realizing that he was saying a thing. But Freddy wasn't there. For a brief instant, as sharp grief and bitter despair ripped through Dawson like a two-edged knife, he almost lost the grip he had on himself. With a mighty effort, though, he forced thoughts of Freddy Farmer to the back of his brain and once more fixed Herr Krumpstadt with a cold stare. "French welders, eh?" he murmured. Then, with a sharp ring in his voice, he snapped at the German, "And what are these French welders making for you, Herr Krumpstadt?" For one fleeting second the German hesitated, and almost made as though to shake his head and refuse to answer. However, the terrible fear that every German has of the Gestapo was too much for him. Perhaps his orders from the Ministry of War Production had been to let no word pass his lips to an outsider. But a member of the Gestapo? That was something very, very different. "They are making the metal cylinders for the American and British planes, _Herr Leutnant_," the German finally said. "And they also make repairs on landing gear parts that are shipped to us. They are swine dogs, all of them, but they are expert at welding. If I could get a hundred more of them I could double the output of my factory." Dave Dawson didn't allow a single change of expression to come into his face, but inwardly he was all on fire. And considerably puzzled and confused, too. Metal cylinders for _American and British_ planes? What in heaven's name had the Nazi meant by that? And the Frenchmen also made repairs on landing gear parts that were shipped to this factory? At the moment it made no sense at all to Dawson, but although a hundred questions hovered on the tip of his tongue, he didn't voice a single one of them. He didn't because once again he knew that he was skating on very thin ice. His little Gestapo act had filled Herr Krumpstadt with terror, but he could very easily overplay his part and plant the seed of shrewd suspicion in the man. After all, as a member of the Gestapo seemingly come to make a check on Herr Krumpstadt, it would be only natural that he would know all about what was taking place in the German's factory. To ask too many leading questions might prove very disastrous. And then suddenly Dawson was hit by a very bright idea. Instead of asking questions here in Herr Krumpstadt's office, why not take a look for himself, and perhaps obtain the answers to his questions that way? So he nodded curtly, pursed his lips, and stood up.