Part 2

Don't ever ask me about the next few minutes. I was there in body only. My mind was as blank as a Fourth of July cartridge. I remember seeing figures--two, three, or twenty--darting toward us; I remember yelling, ducking, and punching with one and the same motion; I remember hearing guttural voices snarling commands that ended mostly in "geworden sein" so it must have been German. I remember feeling, with satisfaction, a spurt of sticky warmth deluge my knuckles as I hit the jackpot on something spongy that howled.

I remember, too, hearing Hank gasp, "Judas priest--German spies!" just before his lanky length toppled under the impact of an accurately wielded blackjack. And I remember my last conscious thought: that when I got a chance I must offer an apology to sour-puss Grimper. Because that thin, hawk-nosed stencil of superiority-plus was--what-ever else his faults--a bang-up fighting man in a pinch! With a fury incredible in one his size and build, he was laying about him like a demon. One Heinie was peacefully slumbering at his ankles already, a second was bawling for assistance.

Then three, or four, or a thousand of them rushed me at the same time. I remember something playing "Heavy, heavy--what hangs over your head?" above my cranium--then that's all I do remember. A bomb exploded in my cerebrum and I went to beddy-bye.

I had a nice little dream, then. I dreamed I was in Spain during the Inquisition, and a black-robed priest had me fastened to a windlass. As he murmured pious paternosters in my ears, he was gently screwing the instrument tighter, and I was gasping with pain as my arms slowly, grindingly, withdrew from their sockets.

I wriggled, emitting a muffled howl, and awakened to find the dream based on cold, brutal fact! My mouth was full of cotton waste--slightly the worse for wear--explaining my muffled tones. My arms were tied together with a short scrap of hemp; this length had been passed through the draw-chain of a skylight, and thus, securely locked, I hung dangling like a pendulum with my toes barely scraping the floor.

Nor was I the only trussed duck in this tableau. My pal Hank was swinging from another skylight chain a few yards away, while Grimper made it three-on-a-ratch. The government agent was the luckiest of us all. He was out cold, and so he didn't have to listen--as did Cleaver and I--to the gleeful chucklings of the saboteurs.

And chuckling they were, like the hooded villains in a Victorian meller-drammer. Apparently one or two thousand of them had gone home, because there were now only a half dozen, but these six were the nastiest looking Nazis I ever hope not to see again. Beetle-browed thugs, fine examples of the pure Aryanism Herr Shickelgruber is always bragging on.

* * * * *

They had been rifling the plant as we happened in, I guess, because the floors were strewn with a litter of papers and blueprints, diagrams, schematics, formulae. As my bleary eyes opened, one of the foragers was complaining to the chief rascal:

"--nothing here, Schlegel. This has a search of no value been."

"And you," I piped up rather feebly, "a nest of rats are! What's the big idea? Untie us, or--"

The ringleader turned, grinning unpleasantly. "Or," he sneered, "what _schweinhund_? So, Karl, nothing we can use there is here? Very well; it matters not. When we leave, we shall the plant make useless to the _verdammt Amerikanisch_."

He called to others of his cohorts, scattered around the room. "You are ready? When I give the word--ignite!"

Polecat No. 2 jerked a dirty thumb in our direction.

"And how about them, Schlegel?"

Schlegel's grin would have congealed hot toddy.

"We leave them here."

"Of course, but--" The other man fingered a blunt-nosed automatic hopefully--"would it not be safer to--?"

"_Nein!_" chuckled Schlegel boastfully. "We shall not make bulletholes in their carcasses. That the cleverest part of my plan is. That is why we tied them thus. The same fire that destroys them will devour the ropes around their wrists, dropping their bodies to the floor, leaving no evidence. The investigators will believe _they_ started the fire, and so will not search further for _us_."

He laughed coarsely and poked me in the ribs. "That amusing is, _nichts wahr, mein Freund_?"

"Yeah," I answered grimly. "It's a howl. Just like kidnapping Polish girls and executing innocent hostages. You filthy--" I wrestled savagely with my bonds, but my efforts just sent lancets of pain burning through my already groaning armpits. I glanced at Hank, but he was still hanging quietly from his chain, his eyes closed, his head loud forward upon his chest. He, like Grimper, was blissfully unconscious.

Now came an end to the German's taunts. He swung to his aides, rapped swift commands. Matches scratched, flared, were thrust instantly into heaps of piled rubble. Tongues of flame rose, wavering; strengthened; licked hungrily higher as the inflammable material ignited.

* * * * *

For the first time, a sense of real fear filled me. Up till this moment the whole affair had seemed so fantastic, so maddeningly unreal, that it had been a sort of wild dream. Now I realized belatedly, suddenly, completely, that this was really happening to _me_, here in the heart of the U.S.A. This was War! We had met the enemy in battle--and had lost!

[Illustration: Horsesense Hank was suspended over the blazing debris.]

I realized, too, that something more vital than just our three lives was in danger. This building--up the wooden walls of which angry rivulets of fire were now creeping--was an important cog in Uncle Sam's total war effort. Destroyed, it meant loss of precious materiel to the Allies, hundreds of eager hands restrained from putting into employment the tools which forged the weapons of Democracy, thousands of tanks and guns and aircraft withheld from fighters who needed them.

But we were helpless! The more so, now, because our captors were scurrying from the room like rats from a sinking ship. As the gloom lighted to ochre, they hurried to a door, slipped through it--and the _clank!_ of metal upon metal meant they had dropped the lockbar into place behind them.

Trapped! Trapped to die like moths in a flame. But a moth had wings; we had none. Our hands were pinioned to an inaccessible pillory. I writhed again, a moan wrenching from my lips as my shoulder-muscles strained and tore. And then:

And then a calm, familiar voice speaking to me! The voice of Horsesense Hank.

"I wouldn't do that if I was you, Jim. 'Twon't help none, an' it may jest make matters wuss."

I gasped, "Hank! Thank the Lord you're alive. I was afraid maybe you--"

"I'm awright," said Cleaver gently. "Jest stunned a little. I come to a few minutes ago, but I figgered as how I mought as well keep my eyes an' mouth shut. No sense lettin' the enemy know you got y'r wits about you, I calc'late." His eyes studied the ever-fanning flame with incredibly detached interest. "Hmm! Thing's spreadin' fast, hey? Do you reckon the fire department'll be able to ketch it afore it ruins the whole plant?"

"I'd give a million bucks," I told him honestly, "to be here to find out."

"'Pears to me," mused Hank, "like they will. That's green wood, you know. Don't burn as quick as seasoned timber would. Yep, I 'low as how them spies won't do as much damage as they planned on."

"That," I moaned, "will be a great consolation to us when they bury our ashes!"

"Our which?" Hank stared at me curiously. "Oh, you mean--Why, hell, Jim, we ain't dead yet!"

At this point another voice intruded itself into the conversation. The dry, resigned voice of Mr. Grimper.

"No, not yet, gentlemen. But I am afraid it is time to prepare for that fate. For we are hopelessly secured, the doors are locked and bolted upon us, and in a few minutes the room will be a furnace of flame!"

* * * * *

I shuddered. Of course his prophecy was not news to me. But it made our peril more real to hear it thus spoken.

His words, however, completely failed to disturb the placidity of Horsesense Hank. Hank just said, "Why, 'lo, Mr. Grimper! I was hopin' you'd snap out of it purty soon. Die? Why, we ain't agonna die. Not sence them Nazies was too dumb to tie us up."

My heart gave a sudden leap; I had to swallow before I could choke, "Tie us--What do you mean, Hank? We _are_ tied--and to something far above our heads. We can't even reach the bar we're chained to--"

"We don't have to, Jim. They give us a loophole almost within reach. You notice that there skylight chain is a right thin one. I can't get these rope loops off'n my wrists but I think I c'n squeeze the skylight chain through a loop."

He straightened his legs, and I realized suddenly he had purposely kept them _slightly_ bent at the knees during the time our enemies had been in the room. Now his toes gave him a reasonable foothold on the floor. Using this, he leaped up and gripped the steel chain _above_ his ropes ... drew himself up hand-over-hand until he was swinging comfortably in the loop.

What he did then was weird and inexplicable to me--until, of course, a long time afterward. He pushed the steel chain through one of the rope loops about his wrist, pulled a wide, metal bight through this opening, stepped into the loop--and dropped lightly to the floor, _free_!

The only encumbrance on him was a length of hemp between his arms. Now that he was at liberty to approach us it was a matter of minutes for him to unloose our bonds and have us untie his!

* * * * *

Grimper's jaw had dropped to his bottom vest button. Slow comprehension dawned on his features. He gasped, "A--a problem in applied topography![2] Astounding! I can hardly believe my eyes--but it's completely logical. Mr. Cleaver--I owe you an apology. Please allow me to--"

[Footnote 2: Hank's problem here was similar to those interesting ones presented by Messrs. Krasna and Newman in their fascinating volume, _Mathematics and the Imagination_: The captives were not truly bound so long as freedom of leg movement permitted them to convert their bonds into a simply-connected manifold.

[Illustration]

By way of illustration (and for your own amusement) tie a 36" piece of string to each of your wrists. Tie a second piece of string to each of the wrists of a friend in such a fashion that the second piece loops the first. By experiment, you will discover it is quite possible to disengage yourself from your companion without breaking or cutting the string.

Another interesting example of topological freedom is that achieved in removing the vest without first removing the coat. Try it. The coat may be unbuttoned, but your arms must not slip out of the coat sleeves.--Ed.]

"Topogra-which?" asked Hank interestedly. "I didn't know it had no name, Mr. Grimper. Just 'peared to me like as if a circle's got an inside an' an outside, an' we was in the inside, so we wasn't tied up at all, rightly speakin'. Well, let's git out o' here!"

Well he might make the suggestion. For all this had taken time. As we labored to free each other we had heard an excited hubbub gathering outside, the wail of fire sirens had sounded, the yammer of voices raised in command, and a stream of water was already beginning to play upon one wall. But in the meantime, the fire had gained headway. The walls of this room were ruddy sheets of flame. The narrow circle of safety in which we stood was rapidly dwindling. And my skin was beginning to crack and blister with oven-fierce heat.

I croaked despairingly, "But how, Hank? We're free, yes! But the doors are still locked, and the windows--"

"Why, the skylight, Jim!" drawled Hank. "That's our exit--Hey! Grab him!"

I whirled just in time to catch the falling frame of government agent Grimper. The thin man had come to an end of his endurance. His heart was stout and courageous out of all proportion to his physical makeup. With a stifled cry he had fainted dead away!

* * * * *

Well, there you are! One moment we were on our road to a Happy Ending, and _bing!_--all of a sudden the Three Gray Ladies slap us in the puss with a damp mackerel! I stared at Hank fearfully, and moistened parched lips.

"Wh-what will we do with him, Hank? W-we can't just leave him here to die!"

Hank stroked a lean and thoughtful jaw.

"Sort o' complicates matters, don't it?" he queried. "Let's see--we couldn't h'ist him up, could we?"

I said bitterly, "_I_ can't, Hank. I hate to admit it--but I'd be a damned liar if I pretended otherwise. I'm so weak, and my armpits so badly strained, that it will be all I can do to lift myself. Can--can you?"

Hank shook his head miserably.

"Nup. I didn't _jump_ off'n that chain just now, Jim, I _fell_ off. Hangin' up there like jerked meat wrenched somethin' in my back. I calc'late I c'n climb that chain myself, but I couldn't h'ist nobody else's weight.

"Wait a minute! _Weight!_" He repeated the word more loudly. A gleam brightened in his eye. "Sure! Dead weight! That's the answer! Here--gimme a hand, Jim. We got to lash him to one strand o' this pulley-chain. Use them ropes. Got it? Okay--tie him tight, now."

"He--he's tied!" I puffed. The smoke was beginning to get me now. Tears were coursing down my cheeks. Time was getting perilously short. "W-what do we do next?"

"Git on the other end o' that chain," ordered Hank, "an' _climb_!"

"W-what? And leave him dangling here below? But it only saves our lives, Hank! See, the flames are right on us. We won't have time to reach the skylight and haul him up--"

"_Do whut I tell you!_" roared Hank, "_An' hurry!_"

There was more vehemence in his voice than I'd heard at any previous time. It shocked, startled me into activity. I leaped for the side of the draw-chain opposite to that upon which Grimper was hanging limp; began climbing like a monkey, hand-over-hand. The dangling chain drew taut above me, and I saw that Hank, too, was climbing. I looked for Grimper--

And Grimper was _above_ me! As Hank and I climbed one side of the chain, the agent's inert body was being hauled up the other. He reached the cool sanctuary of the skylight before we did, lifted to safety by our combined weights, before I remembered the old monkey-weight-and-pulley puzzle that one time caused a near-riot in a staid academy of savants!

* * * * *

So all's well that ends well. It was an easy matter to unlash Grimper when we had reached the roof, an easier job yet to hurry him down a fire escape to the ground. And as my ever-logical friend had guessed, the fire-laddies put out the blaze before it spread to adjacent buildings; thus what might have proved a serious loss to America's _offense_ was held to a minimum. One building which could be easily replaced.

We didn't leave town that night. We were exhausted, for one thing; for another, Hank was in no condition to board a train. His suitcase had been destroyed in the fire, and as he ruefully confessed to me when I asked his reason for _backing_ away from the wildly cheering mob that escorted us to our hotel, the fire had got in one last, farewell lick just as we escaped. Said caress had singed a neat, round hole in Hank's southern exposure.

And the next day there came a hurry-call from Johnny Day. They had caught the saboteurs, or thought they had, and would we please come and identify them?

So we did, and they were, and the Jerries were taken into custody by a detail of granite-eyed soldiers who gripped their Garands as if they hoped Hitler's hirelings _would_ break for freedom. Which of course they didn't. No longer holding the whip-hand, they were the meekest, humblest looking skunks you ever saw.

It was then that Grimper, so trim and fresh that you would never know he'd almost been baked _Grimper au jus_, moved forward to shake Hank's hand.

"Last night, Mr. Cleaver," he said, "I apologized to you. This morning I want to repeat that apology and wish you all possible success when you leave here."

Hank just blushed and wriggled a bulldog-tipped shoe into the carpet. "Aw, that's all right, Mr. Grimper--"

But if he could take it like that, I couldn't. In a fury I stepped forward and shoved my nose into Grimper's pan.

"You may be an agent for Uncle Sam," I snarled, "and a joy to your loving mama--but you're a pain in the pants to me, Grimper! You've got one hell of a nerve. This man saved your life and MacDonald's plant after you fired him. And now you've got the almighty guts to wish him _bon voyage_! Well, I for one--"

But, surprisingly, it was Old Mac who stopped me.

"Now, take it easy, Blakeson," he said. "'Tisna the time to gripe and growse. Mr. Grimper kens his dooties as an agent o' Oncle Som. There's a cairtain amount o' accuracy in whut he says. There _is_ no fitting place here for Hank's peecoolyar talents--"

"If not here," I howled, "then where on earth--?"

"Now, Jim!" begged Hank mildly.

But the answer came from Mr. Grimper. A smile split the lips of the scrawny little fighting-cock.

"Why, in Washington, of course," he said. "Like all humans, I make mistakes, Mr. Blakeson. But when I discovered I erred, I try to rectify my hastiness. Therefore I have today wired Washington that Mr. Cleaver is on his way. He will act as personal and confidential adviser to--the President. Mr. Cleaver, do you think you'll like that?"

But he got no answer from Horsesense Hank. For that gentleman had fainted dead away on the floor. And me? Well, I slumbered blissfully beside him. Where Hank goes ... I go....

THE END