I was to be hauled out of bed, and hurried
without warning to look at the biplane in her hangar. The
mechanics were to be sent outside, there to wait for a signal to
open the doors: this to avoid gossip if I was honest after all.
Hupfer was to spring it on me that he'd decided to take me up
instead of Herter. My face was to be watched as this news was
flung at me. If I showed the slightest trace of uneasiness, it
would be a sign that I had played a trick and feared to fall its
victim. In that case the 'third degree' was to be applied until I
owned up, and could be haled away for punishment.
"There was just time to carry out this programme, and
Hupfer fell for it. Herter had put me wise beforehand, and
I knew what to expect. His real plan was to stand behind
Hupfer, the Bosch Ace, and bash him on the head with a
spanner, while his (Hupfer's) whole attention was fixed on
me. We would then undress the fellow. I would take his
clothes, and we'd put him into mine. Hupfer's body (stunned,
not dead, we hoped) we would lay behind a pile of petrol tins. I
acting as pilot, would trust to my disguise and the darkness of
night not to be spotted when the two mechanics threw open the
hangar doors.
"Everything happened as we'd arranged, without a hitch--again,
all credit to Herter! When we'd hidden the limp Ace,
trussed up in my prison rig, Herter yelled to the waiting men, in a
good imitation of Hupfer's voice.
Pages:
342
343
344
345
346
347
348
349
350
351
352
353
354
355
356
357
358
359
360
361
362
363
364
365
366