So what? What good was that knowledge to him now as he walked aimlessly along Kholerstrasse? Freddy was gone, and he was alone in Duisburg. The day after tomorrow, by arrangement, a British Recco plane would land at a certain spot and pick him up and take him back to England. The day after tomorrow. But tomorrow was the twenty-fourth of the month. The day when Herr Baron's last agent in England would report to Number Sixteen Kholerstrasse. Or would he? Would Herr Baron change all his plans the instant he learned that he didn't have his little black book any more? And the secret weapon Hans and Erich had toasted with schnapps? What secret weapon? Spot welded metal cylinders, and stripped down landing gear parts? In the name of--! "I think I'm just going stark, raving nuts!" Dawson breathed, and clenched his two fists helplessly. "It's all mixed up. No part of it makes any sense at all. Oh, dear heaven, if only Freddy were here. If only Freddy were still alive. I can't believe that he is gone. I can't!" CHAPTER FOURTEEN _Sinister Silence_ Night had come again to the German city of Duisburg. As yet the air raid sirens had not given their terrifying warning that the R.A.F. was on the prowl once more, but the streets of the city were practically deserted. Many of the inhabitants had gone underground to spend the night there whether there were bombs dropped on Duisburg or not. Only a scattering of soldiers and patrolling guards were to be seen on the streets. One of them, though, was an officer. An officer of the Nazi Luftwaffe, as a matter of fact. At least he was dressed that way, and being a Luftwaffe officer none of the patrols stopped him for questioning. Or if they did they instantly saw his rank, his decorations, and gave him a snappy salute, and a loud "Heil Hitler!" in the very next breath. All afternoon, and during the early evening, that "Luftwaffe" officer had strolled about the Kholerstrasse section. Every now and then he had stepped into a restaurant for a bit of food. And in Duisburg a _bit_ of food was just about all that one could get at a sitting. Whether private soldier, or field marshal, it didn't matter. There just wasn't enough. But after going into several spots Dawson was able to get filled up. Getting filled up, however, was not the entire reason for his many visits to Duisburg restaurants and food shops. Into each one he walked with the burning hope that he might see Freddy Farmer trying to fill that perpetually hollow leg of his. But it was all in vain. There was no sign at all of Freddy Farmer. His English-born flying mate and dearest pal had simply vanished from the face of the earth. Or rather, vanished from the face of a dawn sky where Dawson had last seen him alive.