Amarro grinned ruefully.
"You struck," he assured Steve, "hard enough. But that was well. I was still unconscious when they found me. No one dreams I aided your escape.
"Should you wonder how I managed to get here so soon, I'm supposedly searching for you. And I am but one of scores, O Dwain. Grudo sent an emergency call to headquarters, and soon these fens will be combed by a hundred bloodthirsty Daans."
Steve said, "Then must I press on still farther?"
"No. This island is small, and it is but one of thousands in this wild, uncharted swampland. Through the eternal mists they might search for weeks without ever stumbling upon it. But even if they should—" Amarro grinned—"they won't find you. Because you will be completely out of sight."
"On this exposed beach?"
"Only surfaces," reminded Amarro, "are exposed, O Dwain. There is more here than meets the eye. Help me shift these motorcraft to concealment; then I will show you."
A few minutes later, their boats hidden beneath the small landing pier, Amarro led Steve to what appeared to be a small natural promontory near the center of the island. Before a huge granite boulder, taller by half than a man, he stopped, scrabbled briefly in the sand, and uncovered a small metal disc. This he fingered in a curious fashion. And as he did so, Stephen Duane gasped aloud. For the boulder, which had seemed firmly entrenched in its foundation, swung smoothly to one side, exposing a narrow, artificial passageway leading into the subterranean bowels of the island refuge.
Amarro turned, smiling.