He picked up the cloak, started to return it to Jennifer. His eye lit on a slender, three-cornered needle stuck halfway through the heavy material. He pulled the poisoned dart out. One scratch from that deadly missile would have killed him. The girl's instinctive action had saved his life. He felt weak.
"I'm sorry for what I said, Jennifer."
"For heaven's sake," she cried; "apologize later, if you must, but give me back my cloak now."
VII
Once back in his apartment, Norman flung himself down in a chair. They had stopped on the way home in an establishment which sold the short tunics proscribed by law for all female slaves and Norman purchased the girl a complete outfit. She had chosen one of the smaller bedrooms and was putting her things away now. Koal was lounging on the couch.
"Koal," began Norman, "I've an idea and I'd like your opinion."
"Go ahead," replied the Martian with a chuckle. "You really want me to agree with you. But if it has to do with escaping, I warn you, I shall be disagreeable."
Norman grinned, said, "Koal, twentieth century Eire was under the British crown, but for a long time an underground army had fought the English Black and Tans. Around Nineteen-twenty they threw off the English yoke. That party of liberation was known as the Sinn Feiners."
Jennifer wandered back in the room in time to hear the last of Norman's words. She sat down, listened.