ay, knowing that anyone
below would hear footsteps above, when he saw a beam of light coming up
through the floor.

Moving very slowly he crossed to the center of the room and bent down. A
torn rug lay under a pile of bricks and the rug covered a broken board
in the floor. Stan got down on his hands and knees. With great care he
slid the rug back a little and more light shone through the hole in the
floor. Stan lay down and put his eye to the hole.

He could see very clearly everything in the basement below the wrecked
house. There was a table directly under him and on it stood a portable
short-wave radio sending and receiving set. A light, swung from the
ceiling, flooded the table and the room.

A little hunchbacked fellow sat before the radio with earphones clamped
over a shiny bald head. Three men sat across the table from the radio
operator. One of them held Stan's attention. He was a short,
thick-shouldered man with a bullethead that was covered with bristling,
cropped hair. His eyes bulged and his mouth was a grim slash across his
face. On the table at his elbow lay an English fire warden's hat. He was
tapping the table with a thick finger and talking to Garret.

Garret sat beside the radioman, his face black and dour. It was plain
the man had been giving Garret a tongue lashing. The other two men,
seated beside the speaker, looked to Stan like London wharf rats.

"Herr Kohle, you are a blundering fool. Seventeen bombers were lost
tonight, and because you failed to do your duty. The _Kommandant_ will
hear of this," the bullet-headed man snarled.

"But, Herr Naggel, I followed instructions. The O.C. ordered the three
to return in the morning and that order was sent to you by Mickle,"
Garret whined.

Stan made a note of the name Mickle. He had a hunch an orderly or a
mechanic would be put on the spot once that name was traced to its
owner.

"Now that the great blitzkrieg is set for an hour before daylight we
cannot afford to take chances. You must do your part as planned." Herr
Naggel spread a map on the table. "Here we have the concentrations of
planes in Belgium, in France and in Norway. One thousand planes will
come over London. There will be no city left tomorrow night. We will
walk out and join the refugees pouring out of London, and then make
contact with the parachute troops and the men from the gliders." He
smiled wolfishly and licked his lips. "Those gliders are ready. You
should see them. Three f