"No use just standing here," said Manning. They started to walk, turning at random into a narrow street that crooked among the ruins. Then Manning began to talk in a lowered voice. "If I'm not badly off, we're going to be followed and watched. Obviously the Germans have taken us for somebody else, and they didn't ship us across like ambassadors out of the kindness of their hearts. They think we belong to an American underground, and what we do now--they figure--is lead them to it. I wouldn't be surprised if--Uh huh." He pulled a hand out of the pocket of his field jacket with a small bundle of paper--money. It was marked, stamped _Ausland_. "They even slipped us a stake to make sure we didn't have any trouble in getting to underground headquarters--with the goon squad on our heels." "Well, at least we can eat. And I guess we can wander around, looking as ignorant as we are, and lead them a wild goose chase.... That sounds like a hell of a life," Dugan appendixed glumly to his own description. "You and me both. Sooner or later we've _got_ to get in touch with whoever's still carrying on the war. Because the war's still going on, in spite of--this." He didn't gesture, and Dugan knew he meant more than the broken buildings around them--the broken look they had both seen in the eyes of the people. "Sure we've got to," said Dugan fiercely. "But how?" * * * * * Manning shrugged. Their footsteps echoed, died away, echoed again in the deserted street, which here, in what must be the heart of the destruction, was hardly more than a tunnel between leaning walls where tons of masonry still hung in the twisted steel frames. From behind them the trick echoes brought briefly the sound of other footsteps. They were being followed, all right. "If the Gestapo just knew it," muttered Dugan, "they'd come nearer what they're looking for if that guy was leading us." Manning nodded somberly; then he drew sharp breath and looked at his companion with kindling eyes. "Maybe that's the answer to our problem, Eddie." "What answer?" "Just an idea--maybe there's nothing in it. But if I'm right, we'll meet the underground--and soon!" "Okay," said Dugan. "Anything you say. But what do we do?" "I think we can concentrate on digging up something to eat," said Manning judiciously. "The sun's still up here, but it's been all of eight hours since we had dinner." They emerged at last, tired and hungry, from the labyrinth of total devastation into a more populous district--a squalid village sprung up amid the ruin of New York. Along the edges of its dusty main street, where no lights were lit against the descending dusk, stood or squatted the people, talking listlessly in low voices or merely staring at the passers-by. Before one of the larger groups Manning halted. "There's a joint down the street says 'Eat'," Dugan nudged him.