“I’ve got this light cylinder, but we don’t know how to work it.”
“Carry it openly in your hand. It adds to the disguise.” There was a note of triumph in Don’s voice. “It’s dark out there—only the green glow. We’ll pass for them, Bob, at a little distance anyway. Come on.”
We started out of the room. “You can hide your revolver in the belt—there seems to be a pouch.”
“Yes.”
We passed noiselessly to the veranda. Over our bare feet we were wearing a sort of woven buskin which fastened with wires to the ankle disks.
“Keep together,” Don whispered. “Take it slowly, but walk openly—no hesitation.”
My heart was pounding, seemingly in my throat, half-smothering me. “Around the back corner of the house,” I whispered. “Then into the banana grove. Straighten.”
“Yes. But not right among them. A little off to one side, passing by as though we were on some errand.”
“If they spot us?”
“Open fire. Cut and run for it. All we can do, Bob.”