Cautiously McKildrick raised his head, and, as though to establish his bearings, surveyed the landscape. To the north he saw the city; to the east, a quarter of a mile away, the fortress, separated from the mainland by a stretch of water; and to the south, the wild mesquite bushes and laurel through which they had just come, stretching to the coast.
“Is this a serious proposition?” he asked.
“It’s a matter of life and death,” Roddy answered.
McKildrick seated himself on the flight of stone steps, and for some time, in silence, studied them critically. He drove the heel of his boot against the cement, and, with his eyes, tested the resistance of the rusty bars of iron.
“With a couple of men and crowbars, and a pinch of dynamite that wouldn’t make a noise,” he said at last, “I could open that in an hour.”
“Could you put it back again?” asked Roddy.
There was a long pause.
“I guess,” said McKildrick, “you’ll have to let me in on the ground floor.”
The sun had set and the air had turned cold and damp. Roddy seated himself beside his chief and pointed at the great slabs at their feet. His voice dropped to a whisper.
“It’s like this,” he began.