CHAPTER SEVEN
_You Can't See Death_
Like A black steel snake with a single yellow eye, the "Flying Scotsman"went roaring northward over the steel rails that led to Aberdeen. Intheir compartment, four cars back from the engine, Dave Dawson andFreddy Farmer tried to lose their thoughts in the newspapers andmagazines they had bought before leaving London. But it was just aboutas easy to do that as it is for a man to shave with an electric razor ina thunder storm.
However, the two air aces stuck grimly to it for well onto two hours,until finally Freddy reached the end of his string. He flung themagazine across the compartment they shared alone, and heaved a long,loud sigh.
"This is without question the balmiest war ever!" he proclaimed withvocal emphasis.
Dawson looked up from his newspaper, nodded, and tossed it to one side.
"At any rate the screwiest one I ever fought in," he said. "So youhaven't been reading either, huh?"
"On the contrary, yes," Freddy replied. "But the same blasted paragraphover and over again. I just can't seem to concentrate."
Dave glanced at the thick blinds that covered the windows and smiledfaintly.
"I guess nobody could blame you for that, considering," he murmured."We've been handed some sweet jobs, since we elected to take our ownpersonal swings in this war. And each time has seemed tougher than anyof the others. But this--this really is tops for cockeyed assignments.Know something, Freddy?"
"What?"
"We stand _less_ chance of pulling this thing off than Mussolini standsof being made King of England," Dave said.
"And don't I know it!" Freddy Farmer groaned. "I swear I don't knowwho's craziest--Leman and Colonel Welsh for putting the proposition upto us, or us for accepting it. Why, good grief, Dave--"
The English youth seemed unable to continue, so he just left the resthanging in mid-air, and scowled unseeingly at the single light in thecompartment ceiling.
Dave nodded, but didn't speak, because he was thinking the same thoughtsas his war pal. And none of them were happy thoughts. True, they wouldgo all out to pull off this miracle that had been dumped in their laps,but he realized in his heart that their chances were thinner than tissuepaper. And every click of the coach wheels on the rail breaks added justanother exclamation mark to that thought.
To be truthful with himself, he had actually believed that their chancesof success were not much less than fifty-fifty. But that had been duringthe luncheon at Simpson's. There he had met Agent Jones, and ColonelWelsh's agent, who was introduced by the name of Brown. And somethingabout both men had touched a hidden note within him, and filled him witha savage desire to succeed, and the partial belief that all might comeoff well, at that. During the luncheon no word, of course, had beenspoken of the secret double mission about to be undertaken. But whenthey had all returned to Air Vice-Marshal Leman's office, they had goneinto the whole thing in minute detail. At that time Freddy and he hadheard both stories of Tobolsk first hand. And though little was addedthey had not already heard, hearing the stories from the lips of the menwho had gone through it all simply made Dave want more than ever todeliver all the valuable information into the right hands. Maybe it wasto help repay Jones and Brown for what they had suffered. Or maybe itwas because he believed that success might shorten the war considerably.He couldn't make up his mind which idea appealed to him most. He onlyknew that, when Freddy and he had finally parted company with theothers, he wanted to come through with flying colors this time more thanhe had ever wanted to in his entire war career.
"Say, Freddy!" Dave suddenly broke the silence. "In case I haven't askedit yet, have you seen any Gestapo lads tagging along after us?"
The English youth shook his head and made a face.
"Not so much as a tiny peep at one," he replied. "And that gets me tothinking. It would be a very bad joke on us if the blighters saw throughour little game, and left you and me strictly alone."
"A bad joke, yes," Dawson said with a grin. "But at least we'd be sureto see Moscow. And that was the big attraction in this to you, wasn'tit? Or rather, isn't it?"
"Oh, quite!" Freddy snapped at him. "Just to see Moscow. _I'm_ reallynot interested at all in this business about Ivan Nikolsk. Butseriously, though, I had a feeling that something might be tried beforethe train left. But nothing was. Frankly, I'm a little worried."
"Hard-boiled Farmer," Dawson grinned. "Never happy unless he has a fighton his hands. Stop worrying, pal. Something tells me you'll have plentyof chance for action before they ring down the curtain on this job."
"Here's hoping," Farmer mumbled. "But I'm still a little worried.Frankly, I never ask trouble, let alone danger, to come my way. But foronce I wish we'd see a bit of it. Such as some beggar coming bargingthrough that compartment door, there, with a gun in his hand."
"What a pretty thought!" Dawson grunted. "Do I get it that you'vesuddenly got tired of living, pal? Or are you just a little more goofythan usual?"
"Neither!" the other told him shortly. "I simply mean that if something_did_ happen to me, I'd feel a little bit better."
"Why, then, just move your jaw this way, my friend," Dave said, andlifted his clenched right fist. "Always glad to oblige an old, oldpal."
"The funniest man on earth, for fair!" Farmer snorted. "You'd makemillions on the stage--maybe. You nit-wit, don't you get the point?"
"What point, Master Mind?" Dawson shot back at him. "Do you meanthat--Oh, oh, I get it. If something happened to us, that would meanthat our unseen Gestapo boys were biting at the bait, huh?"
"Splendid!" Freddy Farmer cried in mock joy. "I always knew that thatbrain of yours would come up with the right answer at least once duringyour life. Quite! That's exactly what I mean. I wish something wouldhappen that was connected with us. It would certainly make me feelbetter."
"Well, maybe something will after we get off this train," Dawson said,and stifled a tiny yawn. "Maybe our friends don't like to do things ontrains. Maybe ... Hey! We're slowing up for a station stop. Wonder whatplace it is? Let's have a look. Snap off the light, sweetheart."
Freddy Farmer whipped up his hand, and the compartment was instantlyplunged into pitch darkness. Both boys felt their way over to the windowand lifted up the blackout blinds. It took a few seconds to accustomtheir eyes to the even deeper darkness outside. And then they saw thatthe train was passing the outskirts of a fair sized town, and obviouslyslowing down for an eventual full stop.
"My guess is that it's Edinburgh," Freddy Farmer said, with his nosepressed against the glass. "We've been on this thing long enough to getthere, I fancy."
"There and back, I'd say," Dawson grunted, and squinted his eyes."There! I just saw a sign, but it could say Broadway and Forty-SecondStreet, for all I could read. Well, so what, anyway? Let's just say it'sEdinburgh, and let it go at that. You can't see the end of your nose inthis blackout."
"No, wait!" Freddy Farmer cried out as Dave started to turn away fromthe window. "It's not Edinburgh. Just some small place. I guess it mustbe a signal stop. No, it's definitely not Edinburgh yet."
"Okay, that's what I said," Dawson grunted. "Haul down the blinds, andlet's put on the light. In this war, I want all the light I can get,when I can get it."
"Half a moment!" Freddy called out, with his nose still jammed againstthe window glass. "Yes, just as I thought. A signal stop. Two chaps aregetting on at the rear. Just saw them now as the train came to a stop.See? And now we're off again!"
All of which seemed to be quite true. The train had stopped for only thefraction of an instant, just long enough to let two passengers swingquickly aboard. And now it was on its way again, and picking up speedfast. After Freddy had hauled the blackout curtains down into place, andsnapped on the light again, Dave chuckled and gave a little shake of hishead.
"Now what's biting you?" the English-born air ace wanted to know.
"Nothing special," Dawson replied, and stretched out comfortably on thecross-wise seat. "I was just thinking of how a guy doe
s crazy thingswhen there's something on his mind."
"Meaning me, I suppose?" Freddy challenged with a dark scowl.
"Meaning both of us," Dave replied. "Just these last few minutes. Thetrain slowing down, and whether or not it was Edinburgh station. What dowe care? We don't. But we act as though the thing were of greatimportance. See what I mean, pal? When you've got something big on yourmind, it's human nature to grab at something small just for a change ofscenery, you might say."
"Yes," Freddy Farmer said.
And that was all he said, for at that moment the compartment door wasrolled back and the conductor came inside, rolling the door shut behindhim.
"Travel vouchers, please, Gentlemen," he said, and held out his hand.
Both Freddy and Dave dived hands into their tunic pockets, and came outwith their respective travel voucher slips. They handed them over forinspection, and the conductor stared at them long and hard. Finally helifted his eyes and looked at them each in turn.
"These aren't in order," he said with a gesture of impatience. "The datestamped on them is too light. I can't read it."
Dawson was tempted to tell him that that was simply his tough luck. Buthe decided that a train tearing through the blackout was no place forwisecracks. And after all, the conductor was only doing his job.
"They were stamped today, sir," he said instead. "At the Air Ministry. Isaw it done myself. So did Captain Farmer. You can take them as beingall in order."
That last seemed to be the wrong thing to say. The conductor's eyesflashed and he shot a stern look at Dawson.
"Oh, I can, can I?" he snapped. "Very nice of you to tell me, I'm sure.But I have my orders, and I know what they are. All travel vouchers mustbe in order for people to travel on _my_ train. I'll have to ask you tocome along with me and see the Company Inspector, who is in the next toone car back. You can make your explanations to him. And if he says it'sall right, then it'll be all right for me."
"And that will be just ducky!" Dawson growled, and got up off the seat."Okay. If it will take a great load off your mind, my friend, then we'llgo back and see the Inspector. But on second thought, let's have theInspector come see us. What do you say, Freddy, huh?"
"Oh, come off it, Dave!" the English youth growled. "Why make a mountainof it? The chap is just doing his job. So let's go back and straightenit all out with the Inspector. Besides, a bit of a walk wouldn't doeither of us any harm."
"For that reason, I agree," Dawson grunted, and stepped through thecompartment door that the conductor had rolled open.
Leading the way, he headed for the end of the car, and, unlike in thevast majority of English trains, the end door and passageway thatpermitted travel from car to car. But just as he was stepping into thenext car a figure suddenly appeared out of nowhere directly in front ofhim, and something blunt and hard was jammed against his chest.
"One sound, and there'll be a dead man under the wheels!" a voicehissed. "Stand right where you are!"
Dave froze stiff, and then was almost knocked off balance as FreddyFarmer came bumping into him from behind. For a split second he halfexpected to hear the English youth comment volubly on the situation. Buthe didn't hear a sound. He only felt his pal stiffen, and that was morethan enough to tell him that one fake conductor had unquestionablyrammed a similar blunt hard object into Freddy's back, and whispered afew words of warning, too.
For a long moment the whole world seemed to stand still for Dave. Heknew that he was straining his eyes for a glimpse of the figure blockinghis path, but in the bad light he could see nothing but a vaguesilhouette. Then suddenly he saw the figure's hand reach up and yankhard on the emergency cord. Almost instantly the speed of the train felloff as the engineer up ahead slammed on the brakes. The jolting andjarring lurched Dave forward, but he was prevented from going on hisface by the blunt, hard object still digging into his chest.
"I am going to open the side door!" the voice suddenly whispered in hisear. "Get in front of me, and, when I order, jump off the train. But donot try to run away. I will have both eyes on you. And I am a perfectshot, even in the dark. You understand?"
"You've still got the ball, my rat friend!" Dave grated, and took twosteps toward the edge of the platform.
The train was almost at a dead stop now, and cool evening air rushed inthrough the open car door. He stared up at the few stars he could see inthe black heavens, and mentally kicked himself hard. Nobody had to sendhim a telegram to explain what this was all about. He and Freddy hadwalked right into a perfect trap with their eyes and ears wide open. Aneat trick, that conductor stunt. If he ever got out of this he shouldkeep it in mind. A stunt like that might come in handy sometime. In waryou never can tell.
But serious as the situation seemed, and unquestionably was, there wasstill one very satisfying thing about it: an item to which he'd givenmore than a little thought since Freddy and he had pulled out of theLondon station. It was the problem of just what they could expect shouldthe unseen Gestapo boys get on their trail. Now he knew. That is, heknew now that it wasn't instant death they could expect. And praise beto the Fates for that small favor. No. Removing Freddy and him from thepicture wasn't the goal of those who were after them. It meant that thebait had been perfect. The little play had been acted out to absoluteperfection. In short, one Freddy Farmer and one Dave Dawson were wanted_alive_. Yes, very much alive, because it was the information that theywere supposed to possess that was wanted most.
And so it wasn't to be murder. It was to be the slightly less importantcrime of kidnapping. And--
"Jump! And, remember my warning!"