The underling Nazi agents needed no second bidding. With the grim, mechanical purposefulness of their race, they leaped to their task. One sprang to the nearest hogshead of gunpowder, smashed loose a stave and began scattering the barrel's contents about the chamber. The other ripped open a carton of dynamite sticks, hastily unreeled and adjusted the wires of a detonator. While his underlings labored, the leader enjoyed the luxury of gloating over his accomplishment. "So," he gibed, "there you stand, foolishly agape as sheep! You wonder at our being here, _nichts wahr_? Ach, you _verdammt Amerikanische_! You are all fools! Not only do you advertise in the public papers your idiotic practice blackout, but you leave your Armory unguarded! "In the Fatherland such madness would not be tolerated! Our _Fuehrer_ weeds out the weak and incompetent. That is why we will soon rule the world!" He personalized his scorn, directed it squarely at Peter Pettigrew. "Little man, you have a revolver at your side. Why don't you draw it? Is it because you fear death? What? You don't answer? You are silent? But why is that? You were voluble enough a moment ago when we entered the room. Standing here alone in an empty chamber, chattering to yourself like an insane ape--" "A-lone!" The word wrenched itself unbidden from Peter's lips. Like a blinding flash of light, the truth hit him. Of course! The _saboteurs_ wore no ultra-violet glasses. They saw no Ole Luk Oie standing and watching this typically "human" drama with detached disinterest. Peter gulped. "Oh! Oh, yes. A-lone. I was just--" "Come closer, little man!" taunted the Nazi captain. "I would pinch your scrawny arm to test if you are a man or a mouse. _Stop!_ What are you leaning over for?" "My--my shoelace--" faltered Peter. "It--it came untied--" But his heart gave a tremendous leap. For now he knew that the Sandman's _bag_, too, was invisible to the enemy. And that bag of dream-dust was now secure within his hands. "Never mind your shoelace!" commanded his antagonist. "Walk toward me slowly with your arms raised--There! _Das ist gut!_ I see you wear a uniform. Tell me, little man, what is the strength of this garrison? When I make my report--" * * * * * Peter was grateful for the semi-gloom of the chamber. Were it not shadowy, the German must have noticed that though his arms were above his head his elbows bent with strain, and his knuckles were tensed whitely with the effort of gripping a heavy sack above his head. He shuffled forward another step. Another. Another.... "That is near enough!" said his captor. "Franz, you are nearly finished? You too, Otto? _Gut!_ Light the fuses. In a moment we shall go. Well, little man, speak! Will you answer and be allowed to flee with us, or will you hold your silence and die here?"