Yuble’s scars turned very white. It was a bad sign if Phil had noticed it, for it meant that Yuble’s face was purpling invisibly under his peculiar tan, the scars staying white because they weren’t included in the process.
Yet Yuble’s tone was still a purr, polite and persuasive.
“Mr. Ronjan has gone out to Skipper’s Rock,” Yuble informed. “If you wish to know why - look there!”
By “there” Yuble didn’t mean the Rock. He was gesturing to the huge tank in the center of Ronjan’s main room. For the first time Phil saw the model ships and the peculiar articulated tunnel, formed in miniature, that was designed to give safe passage to a treasure hunter.
“It is very interesting,” purred Yuble from beside Phil’s shoulder. “You may study it closely if you wish.”
Phil’s training as an engineer was coming to the fore. He leaned to take a better look at the device. In turn Yuble leaned forward and made a gesture as if to point out certain features of the invention. Only Yuble’s hand didn’t stop.
With a hard downward thwack, Yuble’s flattened palm struck the water with the violence of a beaver’s tail, hoisting a regular geyser right into Phil’s face. Before Phil could recover, Yuble gave him an arm clamp that somersaulted Phil over the tank, clear beyond the water and across the other side to a hard landing on the floor beside the window.
Yuble didn’t pause. Like a pirate boarding a merchant ship he clambered onto the tank, sprang across it and landed at Phil’s side with a drawn and lifted knife, like those that Phil had seen in the fists of the leopard men. But Phil, leaned back against the tank, was too groggy to attempt any warding of the stroke that was to come.
It didn’t come quite yet.
With a leer, Yuble gestured to the window, outside which the distant blinks had ceased.