"W-what is it you wanted to know?" bleated Peter Pettigrew, desperately stalling for time. He was almost within arm's reach of his foeman now. Another step.... "The strength of this garrison. Yes, I know you call it a 'civilian defense post', but that is dirty, democratic propaganda. Tell me the truth! How strong are your forces?" And then--Peter acted! "_This_ strong!" he cried in a voice of shocking thunder. And with the full force of his meagre frame, supplemented by the unleashed vigor of his righteous wrath, he brought the sack down heavily on the Nazi's head! The German cried out once, thickly--then collapsed. The bag split. A cloud of milky-gray powder spumed into the air, flew, spread, eddied into every nook and cranny. Franz and Otto had barely time to turn before it clogged their nostrils, felling them in their tracks like stricken steers. A stifling sensation gripped Peter Pettigrew by the throat. Glancing down, he discovered with horror that in his eagerness to strike and strike hard he had torn his gas mask loose. Slumber-dust was now filtering through the crevice, stealing into _his_ lungs, too! He turned agonized eyes to the attentive Ole Luk Oie. He cried, "Sandman! But you--you can't do this to me! The Sands! Mus' ... have 'em ... f'r the gov'ment. F'r...." That was all. He lurched forward sleepily and fell headlong to the floor. Ole Luk Oie minced toward him gingerly, retrieved the forsaken sack and studied the rent in its side with sorrow. "The very _best_ material!" he muttered. "Now they'll make me get a new one. Oh, well--it was an interesting show, anyhow!" And before he left, he leaned once, strangely tender, over the prostrate little Pettigrew. "Well done, small human," he crooned softly. "Sleep well, and sweet dreams. Forever may your dreams henceforth come true!" And he turned, but he did not walk from the chamber. He simply lifted his head in a curious gesture. One instant he was there--the next he was gone. * * * * * Out of the dark and pleasant rollingness of slumber, Peter wakened to hear faraway voices drawing nearer and nearer. Something cold and wet was at his lips; he swallowed and choked on a liquid-like honeyed fire. The voice said: "You all right now, Pettigrew? Here, take another swig of this brandy--" "Brandy!" gasped Peter Pettigrew, wide awake. "Oh, my gracious, _brandy_! T-take it away!" "Sure," soothed the voice. "Sure, Pettigrew. Anything you say. After tonight, you can have anything you want around here, including the world with a pink ribbon around it if you ask."