The boys left the cellar very soon after finishing their meal. Their guide led them down a country lane. They hiked along steadily for several hours, then detoured through a field, making a wide circle.

"We have to go around the patrol stations on the road," Sim explained.

"It's nice to have a guide who knows the way," Stan said.

"I understand the patrol posts are cleverly hidden. Without a guide a man walking down the lane would trip an alarm wire and be caught in no time at all." Sim seemed to know all about the methods used by the Nazis to trap anyone fleeing the country.

They kept walking until midnight. Then they rested for a half-hour, lying in a hedge beside the road. After midnight they moved more slowly. Several times they dived into the fields along the road to avoid patrols moving swiftly along the lane on motorcycles. Once they almost ran into a bicycle patrol. The cyclists did not make any noise and were upon the boys before they had time to duck. A leafy hedge saved them from being sighted.

"We will have to cross the Dutch border soon," Sim said after talking with their guide.

"There won't be much of a guard there, will there?" Stan asked. "The Germans have made Holland a part of Germany."

"There is a strict border control," the guide answered. "The Dutch are just pigs and are kept in their pen."

"That's what the Nazis say," Sim added.

"Sure," the guide agreed. "The Nazis say that."

"How are we to get through?" Stan asked. "You must have a method which works."

"Sure," the guide said. "But it has always been risky. We may be separated. If we are separated, you will ask a Dutchman to take you to 76 Mamur in Arnhem. Do not speak to a Dutchman wearing a swastika. Ask only of a farmer or other working person."

"We all will meet there," Sim said. "After that, we will have no more trouble. The Dutch will take care of us."

"Now we go," the guide said.

"At any rate, we know where we are," Stan said to O'Malley. "Arnhem isn't so far from Rotterdam."

"Sure, an' that just means nothin' to me. I'm stickin' with this here guide," O'Malley answered.

They moved along at a fast pace for some time. Finally the German called a halt. There seemed to be quite a bit of activity ahead; besides, dawn was not far away. They had spent most of the last hour ducking patrols roaring up and down the lane.

"We must move very carefully now. We will leave the road. Keep close to me," the guide said in a low voice.

The party moved off the road and through a hedge. Beyond the hedge they found themselves in a plowed field. The ground was soft and damp. Moving slowly now, because they sunk in to their boot tops, the boys crossed the field and came to a canal. Stan could see murky water in the ditch. He judged the canal was about fifteen feet wide.

They followed the canal for some distance. Lights ahead caused the guide to halt. Stan could see men on both sides of the canal. They were silhouetted against the sky and were moving back and forth.

"We must pass through the guard lines here," the guide whispered. "There will be soldiers with rifles on each side of the canal. There is much barbed wire and many electrical alarms along the border. We must take to the canal."

"Sure, and it looks cold, that water," O'Malley muttered.

"We will keep close to the bank, two on each side. When we pass the guards above we must crouch down in the water and stay against the bank. We must go very slow. Waves or movement of the water will be noticed."

"Lead on," Stan said grimly. "Let's get it over with."

"Those on the far bank will wade across after we pass the border. We will then go to Arnhem and hide there during the day." The German was sliding down the bank into the water as he spoke.

"O'Malley and I will cross over," Stan said. He wanted to keep O'Malley with him.

The water was icy and numbed their bodies almost at once. Stan and O'Malley waded across the canal. The bottom was muddy and the water came up to their necks. With chattering teeth they reached the far bank and began moving along in the black shadows next to overhanging grass.

Slowly the boys inched forward, being careful not to send ripples out across the water. As they neared the sentry post the water was well lighted from electric floodlights set on each bank. Stan halted and flattened himself against the grass.

A sentry was standing on each bank, his rifle butt resting on the ground. Both were looking down at the canal intently. Stan pulled O'Malley close to him.

"We'll have to get down until just our heads stick out, then inch forward," he whispered.

"Inch away," O'Malley whispered back. His teeth rattled louder than his words.

Stan sank down into the water and they began moving slowly ahead. Inch by inch they entered the lighted area and moved on. A water rat swam past them in the middle of the canal. It left a wide ripple behind it, and the sentries jerked up their guns. One of them laughed and picked up a rock. He tossed it at the rat. The rat dived with a loud splash. Both soldiers laughed loudly and one of them lighted a cigarette.

Stan shoved ahead a bit faster. They moved directly under the sentries and kept on going. Slowly they edged away down the stream. The light on the water became dimmer and finally faded out.

"How about crossin' over? I'm frozen stiff," O'Malley hissed between chattering teeth.

"O.K.," Stan answered. They moved out into the canal and waded across. Climbing out on the bank, they sat shaking and shuddering.

"Wonder where Sim is?" O'Malley asked.

"We better wait here. They may not have moved as fast as we did." Stan began rubbing his legs to warm them.

They heard no sounds except those coming from the post on the bank of the canal. Finally Stan moved.

"We stayed in the canal quite a long distance. They may be up or down the canal. But no matter which way, they are sure to be waiting for us. We can't stay here because daylight will be breaking very soon. I'll work my way back toward the border; you move the other way. When we find them, we'll turn back and meet."

"Good idea," O'Malley agreed. He moved off at once.

Stan headed back along the bank of the canal. He kept as close to the edge as he dared, because he figured Sim and the German would be sitting on the bank. After going a few yards he got down on his hands and knees and crawled. He would be able to go only a few yards more because the floodlights were growing strong. In a few more minutes he could turn back and be sure Sim was downstream.

He was moving along, crawling slowly, when he felt the bank under him begin to sag and slip. With a swift effort he tried to pull himself away from the canal. The cave-in took a big slice of earth with it. Stan's grasping hands found only torn roots and wet mud. He went over the edge and into the canal along with a half ton of earth. He and the dirt hit the water with a terrific splash.

Instantly a floodlight snapped on and swung around to sweep the canal. Stan went down in a mass of mud and water. He came up pawing and struggling. Men began shouting on the shore. Stan ducked under the icy water and plunged toward the bank. He came up against the grassy bank and shook the water out of his eyes. Both banks were swarming with soldiers.

Stan thought fast. He wanted the others to escape. They had to get away. He was getting set for another dive when the searchlight found him and pinned him to the bank like a trapped animal. Guards with machine guns covered him threateningly. He didn't have a chance. An officer was shouting at him in German.

"Hold your fire, I'll get out," Stan shouted. He wanted to hold the attention of the men until his friends got away.

"A Britisher," the officer shouted. "Get out on the bank!" His English was a bit thick but understandable.

Stan climbed out and was surrounded by armed men in an instant. He was marched up the bank and halted under the floodlight. The officer stood glaring at him.

"Where do you come from?" he demanded.

"I came out of that canal, and it was a bit chilly," Stan answered. "I'd appreciate some dry clothing."

"American!" the officer exclaimed. "A spy dressed in the clothes of a farmer."

"I just borrowed these. I'm not a spy. You can check up on that." Then Stan clamped his lips shut. If he revealed his identity now, the Germans would know where to look for O'Malley and Sim.

"A spy, no less," the officer snapped. "Come with me."

"Gladly," Stan said.

He was taken to a small shack a few yards back from the canal. There was a stove in the shack and Stan edged close to it. The officer stepped to a wall phone and put through, a call. He talked quite a while and finally began to laugh loudly. After he hung up he turned to Stan.

"The colonel agrees you are a spy and a very dumb one. You will be sent to him and he will have you shot at once. It is easy to see why you Americans cannot fight the Germans. You are careless fools, all of you."

Stan grinned. He figured the officer was the dumb one. He had not even asked Stan if there were any other men with him.

"I guess you're right, Captain," he said. "But if I'm to be shot I should be made comfortable. How about some dry clothes? I may contract pneumonia and die before you get to question me."

"I will deliver you to the colonel. What he does with you is no affair of mine." The captain opened the door and called to his men outside.

Stan walked out and a squad of four men marched him to an open car. He was shoved into the back seat and the guards climbed in, three with him and one in front. Stan was grateful for the packed condition in the rear seat, because chill air began to swirl back on him as they roared away. He got a little warmth from the soldiers crowded in with him.

Day was breaking as they moved into a city. Stan figured it was Arnhem. The car pulled up in front of a long stone building and Stan was hustled inside. He was taken into a bare room and left there alone. There was some heat in the room and he ceased shaking.

An hour passed and a tall soldier came into the room. He beckoned Stan to follow him. They walked down a hall and entered another room. Here Stan was served a bowl of potato soup. It was watery thin, but it was hot. His jailer sat watching him as he ate. When he had finished, the man nodded and got to his feet. Stan followed him down the hall again and into a room furnished as an office. A fat German colonel sat at a desk. His bloated cheeks puffed out and he burst into a hearty laugh when he saw Stan. His fat stomach heaved as he laughed, and his bristling mustache made Stan think of a walrus he once had seen in a zoo.

Stan stood waiting. For the life of him he could see nothing so funny about his personal appearance. He looked the colonel over with a critical eye. The colonel ceased laughing and regarded Stan closely.

"Lieutenant Stan Wilson, Eighth Air Force, U.S.A.," he said softly. "But for my purposes a spy, caught creeping up on one of our outposts dressed as a German farmer."

Stan jumped in spite of himself. The colonel knew his name. That was bad. He said nothing, knowing the colonel would explain more in detail.

"You American swine are such fools, so easy for the German mastermind to handle. But you are the prize dummer of all. We gave you a chance to escape along with your friend Lieutenant O'Malley, and you had to get caught in spite of us." He leaned back and laughed loudly.

"Sim Jones was a spy?" Stan shot the question at the colonel.

"Sim Jones is no spy, but Herr Egbert Minter is a spy and a very clever one. He fooled you men into thinking he was Jones. You were trapped by a very clever actor, Lieutenant." The colonel patted his stomach and smiled broadly. "I have been given a complete file upon the case along with orders to put you out of the way."

"Why should you let us escape?" Stan asked.

"As you will not live to tell about it, I may as well enlighten you." The colonel fairly beamed. "When Herr Minter and the redheaded lieutenant reach England, as they will, Minter will send us information as to a big raid we are sure you are planning. After Lieutenant O'Malley and Herr Minter tell your High Command how near collapse Germany is, they will make the raid with everything they have to knock us out of the war." The colonel bent forward. "We were careful to stage many little scenes for your benefit. I am sorry only that this O'Malley person is to get through to tell how weakened Germany is within her own borders. You would have served much better."

Stan stared at the German and his teeth clamped shut hard. "A very clever set of tricks, Colonel," he said coldly. "But they won't get you any place. Minter won't be able to get a message out in time."

"We already have the radio equipment where he can use it. We have made a careful study of the habits of Lieutenant Jones. You see he was knocked a bit out of his head and talked a great deal about his home and about his career in the service while he was in the hospital." The colonel leaned back. "I, Colonel Glotz, had no small part in this and will earn an advancement. Heil Hitler!" He snapped the words out sharply.

"And you intend to shoot me?" Stan said.

"Perhaps, unless you can give us some information regarding this new fighter craft you were flying."

Stan's eyes narrowed. He was sure Colonel Glotz's orders did not call for shooting him on the spot. He would have a little time to plan an escape. His chances would be desperately slim, he knew that, but he had faced death many times before and had always cheated the final pay-off.

"Well?" Glotz asked.

"I don't know what I could tell you," Stan said, pretending to be debating with himself.

"We'll give you a few hours to think it over. I have some important messages to dictate." Glotz rang a bell and two guards appeared. They stepped up beside Stan and nodded toward the door.

Stan was marched out into the hall and down a few doors to a small room. He was shoved inside and the door was locked. There was a cot and a table in the room. A small light bulb dangled from a cord. Its feeble light was necessary because the room was an inside one without windows. Except for a barred transom over the door, there was no means of ventilation.

Stan sat down on the cot to think. He had to get away and warn the Eighth Air Force of the trap being baited for them. That matter was more important than saving his own neck.