Dick Donnelly went off to town alone shortly after dark that evening. He was going to find out about the sabotage at the power plant and pick up the German uniform from Tomaso—that was all. Then he planned to return to the cave, where Max would put on the uniform, and they would all set out for the dam together.

There was nothing to worry him unduly as he circled over the fields and came up toward the villa on the north hill. He saw many trucks and cars on the road, but this was nothing new during the last few days. Just as he left the little dead-end side street and walked up the hill to meet Tomaso at the clump of trees, a car roared to a stop at the end of the street and German soldiers poured out of it, heading straight up the hill.

Dick ran forward quickly to the trees, and there he found Tomaso, nervous and agitated.

“It’s terrible,” the old man said. “You’ll be caught!”

“What’s terrible?” Dick asked. “What has happened?”

“I just learned—overheard the officers talking,” Tomaso said. “They feel sure Americans are hiding somewhere in Maletta. They’ve surrounded the town and are going to search it thoroughly. They’ve got a ring around the town now, and it will close in more and more tightly as soldiers go through every house, every building.”

“Oh—those soldiers who went up the hill over there—” Dick muttered. “They’re part of the ring around the town.”

“Yes, I heard them say men must circle up behind the villa, and then walk down so closely that not a person could slip through the ring. They’ll be here any minute. We cannot stay here.”

“No, come on down toward the villa,” Dick said. “We can talk as we go. You have the uniform there?”

“Yes, shall I try to put it back now so we won’t be caught with it?”

“No, I’ll take it,” Dick said. “I may be able to get away with it yet. What about the power plant?”

“The plan succeeded,” Tomaso said. “The dynamo is wrecked, the water-gates shut, and specialists have been summoned from the north. But I hear they cannot arrive with new parts for at least three days.”

“Good,” Dick said.

“Not good,” Tomaso said. “Of what use is all this if now you are to be caught?”

They were approaching the wing of the villa now, and hid in its shadow.

“I may not be caught,” Dick said. “And even if I am, the others will carry through somehow. Has the guard been increased at the dam?”

“No, because they believe the damage was caused by a German workman,” Tomaso said. “No Italians were there. So the German was judged careless and the Gestapo colonel had him brought down here at once. He ordered him shot. So the guard is not increased. Only a corporal is in charge at night. There are nine sentries under him.”

They stopped and listened. Up above on the hill they heard the tramp of men’s feet, the calling of orders in German.

“Come on,” Dick said. “We might as well make them take as long as possible to find me. Where can we go?”

“I—I was going to the opera,” Tomaso said. “I don’t know now if I should go.”

“Of course,” Dick said. “You must not be found with me if I am caught. But wait—where is the opera house?”

“In the next block—to the right,” Tomaso replied.

“Can we get there without crossing in front of the villa?” Dick asked.

“Yes, around in back,” the old man said, grabbing his arm, “but we must hurry.”

He led Dick behind the rear wing to the western side, cut behind a small house not far from the villa, brushed aside a dog who started to bark at the next house, and then stopped at a narrow street. Between two houses Dick could see what must be the opera house, a large building with numerous lights in it, and people already going in the front doors.

Dick hid the German uniform under his loose peasant’s coat and spoke quietly to Tomaso.

“Take me to the stage door,” he said. “Tell your tenor friend, the man who wrecked the power plant so cleverly, who I am. Then leave me. I have an idea.”

They walked quickly across the street and along the side of the opera house to a side door near the rear. A man leaned against the doorjamb and looked up at them curiously.

“Arturo, quick,” the old man said. “Ask no questions. Find Enrico at once. Bring him here.”

The man’s eyes opened wide, then he darted inside. He reappeared in a few seconds with a young man who limped slightly. The young man had begun to apply make-up to his face. He beckoned them inside.

“Enrico, this is the American,” Tomaso said. “This is Ricardo Donnelli.”

The young man looked at Dick in admiration but said nothing.

“The Germans have surrounded the town, and are searching for him,” Tomaso said. “Help him. Do what he asks.”

“Anything,” Enrico said. “You go now, Tomaso.”

The old man stopped at the door long enough to say, “Not a word of this,” to the doorkeeper, who nodded his head in vigorous assent. Then he disappeared.

Dick spoke quickly in Italian to the young singer.

“I’ve got only one chance to escape detection,” he said. “Let me play your role tonight. In the clown costume of Pagliacci they’ll never recognize me. They’ll just think I’m the regular tenor.”

“Not if you sing as you used to,” Enrico smiled. “You must be sure to sing very badly. Then you will sound like me.”

“Perhaps the audience will know the difference,” Dick said, “but I’ll have to take a chance on that. Even if they do, maybe they will say nothing.”

“They will say nothing,” Enrico assured him. “They will know you are the American for whom the Germans search, and they will want to help you.”

“What about those among you who work with the Germans?” Dick asked. “There are still some quislings, I believe.”

“Yes, but they dare not come to public gatherings like this,” Enrico said. “They are afraid of the rest of the townspeople.”

“All right then?” Dick asked.

“All right,” Enrico replied. “Come to my dressing room now. The others in the company must be told. They can be trusted, all of them. I shall tell them while you get into costume and make-up. Then I shall join the orchestra in the pit and play a drum inconspicuously.”

In a few minutes Dick was putting the clown costume over his clothes. The floppy suit was so roomy that he was able to tie the Gestapo uniform around his waist beneath it. Then he smeared over his face the heavy dead-white make-up of the clown. When it dried, he put on his wig, and then the round red spots which covered the clown’s face. He looked at himself in the cracked mirror.

“A mother couldn’t recognize her own son in this get-up,” he laughed. “I may be able to get away with this.”

He heard a tap on his door and called “Come in,” in Italian. A man in the costume of Tonio, with the fake hump on his back, entered the room and smiled.

“We all know,” he said. “We shall help, no matter what happens. You are safe. And we shall never forget the great honor of having sung with—” then he decided he should never even mention the name, lest the Gestapo hear—“with the world’s greatest tenor.”

“Thanks,” Dick said, with a smile. “I hope I won’t get any of you into trouble.”

While Tonio sang the prologue, Dick wondered what the men at the cave would be thinking. They expected him back there by this time. And what about Tony, still maintaining his lonely vigil in that old bell tower? He would have seen the Germans encircling the town, going through every house. It would be some little time before the searching parties would reach the opera house. It would be best if they came in while the performance was going on, and while Dick was on the stage.

Then someone called him, and he stood in the wings waiting for his cue. He looked about. The sets were old and dirty, as Tomaso had said. The stage was not very large. And the orchestra in the pit was about half as large as it used to be, Dick knew. But the men played as if they loved it, and the singers sang with fire and sincerity, even if their voices did not have the best quality in the world. He felt a thrill—a thrill he had not known for a long time—go through him as he heard the music and got himself ready to step on a stage once more and sing.

When he finally was there, singing, he knew that his voice was rusty, not up to its best by any means. But perhaps it was just as well. If he were in good voice, the Germans might make inquiries about him.

At the end of the first act there was a burst of applause that shook the old opera house, even though it was less than half filled. Between the acts, after taking his many bows, Dick was nervous. The audience obviously knew that he was not Enrico, the regular tenor. It was a big crowd to be in on something that was supposed to be so secret, but it was a chance he had had to take in view of developments. He kept listening for the approach of the searching German troops, hoping they would not come until the performance started again.

Finally there came the bell for the second act, and Dick as Canio went on the stage for his great aria, Vesti la giubba. It was in the midst of that sobbing, heartbroken song of the clown that Dick saw the Germans. They came in the front entrance of the opera house, about fifteen of them, led by the elegant but worried Gestapo colonel, who did not yet know, Dick concluded, that one of his uniforms had been stolen. Then Dick saw more soldiers in the wings, on both sides of the stage. But he kept on singing, as if nothing had happened. The Germans just stood and listened and, when he finished the aria, joined in the applause.

Dick bowed, and bowed again as the applause continued. But then the other singers started to go on with the performance. At that the colonel, with some of his men, strode down the hall holding up his hand for silence.

The singers stopped, and the orchestra drifted quickly into silence. The colonel then mounted the steps leading to the stage, strutting like a peacock. An aide followed him. When he was sure he had the attention of everyone, he uttered a few words in German to the aide, who thereupon spoke in Italian to the assemblage.

“His excellency begs your forgiveness for interrupting this beautiful performance,” the man said in a toneless voice, “but he is compelled to do so because of spies in our fair city.”

The aide paused while the colonel spoke more words to him in German. Then he continued to tell the audience that American spies were known to be somewhere in the town and a thorough, house-to-house search had to be made for them. The colonel was sure, the aide said, that only a few of the Italian population would think of harboring such criminals, and that most of them would aid in running down their common enemy. He then asked if anyone knew of the whereabouts of any American spy.

No one raised a hand. The colonel then said it would be necessary for his men to go through the entire theater carefully looking for the Americans. As soon as the search was ended, the performance could continue. At that, German soldiers moved down the aisles, asking everyone for papers, for some means of identification if they had lost their papers. Others went through the orchestra pit, the dressing rooms, the basement, and the catwalk above the stage where sets were pulled up out of sight.

The colonel waited on the stage while all this was going on. Dick and the others stood on the stage not far from him, waiting until everything was over. No one thought of asking the singers for identification papers. No one paid any attention to them except the colonel, who rather self-consciously smiled at them a couple of times.

In half an hour the search was ended, and the colonel looked a little worried as he told his aide to say that anyone knowing of the presence of an American should report it to headquarters at once.

As the Germans moved toward the exits, Dick motioned to the orchestra leader, who raised his baton, and took up where he had left off. In a few minutes there were no more soldiers, and the ring closing in on the American spies had passed beyond them. Dick sang the rest of his role with a happiness and a fervor such as he had never felt. His singing inspired the other performers and the orchestra to new heights of beauty.

Shortly before the end he had an idea.

He knew all these people in the opera house could be trusted now. So he would take this opportunity to tell them of the impending destruction of the dam. Following the music of the orchestra but making up new words as he went along, he thanked them all for their help, assured them they would soon be liberated by the American Army. He told them when the dam would be blown up, told them to leave the town before that time, filtering out into the hills as unobtrusively as possible.

At the end of the passage in which he told them these things, one of the other singers sang his part and also invented words for the music. He said that the Americans could count on full cooperation of the people of Maletta, who would return from the hills to welcome the conquering American Army.

Soon the opera ended, and the applause was deafening. After many bows, Dick left the stage and hurried to his dressing room. There he found Enrico, and soon Tomaso came. He hardly listened to their praise of his voice, of his cleverness in using the opera to tell the townspeople of the plans ahead. But, when he had removed the make-up and costume, he shook Enrico by the hand heartily.

“You have been a tremendous help,” he said, “in more ways than one. First the dam, then this. The whole American Army will thank you, Enrico, believe me!”

Then he and Tomaso were gone. They left the side door of the opera house, cut back of the villa, and then Dick went up on the roof and into the tower with Tony. There he told the whole story to the young radioman, who had been fearful that something must have gone wrong.

“Why couldn’t I have heard you?” he asked. “I’m missing everything imprisoned up in this tower—most of the war, and now your singing!”

“Well, I’m going to sit down for a few minutes,” Dick said. “We can’t carry through our plan to go to the dam tonight. It’s too late for me to get back to the cave, get Max into his uniform, carry the dynamite to the dam and place it. It will just have to be done tomorrow night. So I’ll stay here until our one o’clock broadcast to headquarters and help you with it.”

“No you won’t,” Tony said. “You’ve had one narrow escape tonight. After this broadcast, they’ll have their mobile units out trying to find us. They may throw another dragnet around the city, because that Colonel Klage will be just about crazy. I’ll handle this one alone. You get on back to the cave and let those boys up there stop biting their nails for fear something’s gone wrong. I don’t care if you are my sergeant and I’m only a corporal. You get out of here—right now!”

Dick grinned and shook his head. “All right, all right,” he said. “I guess you’re right at that. You know what to tell them in your report. Good luck! I’ll see you sometime tomorrow night.”