"It's a whole suit," explained Coffee. "H-m.... He don't have to bother with sag-paste. He's got him on a land diving-suit."
"S-s-say," gasped the prisoner, his language utterly colloquial in spite of the beady eyes and coarse black hair that marked him racially as of the enemy, "say, don't take off my mask! Don't take off my mask!"
"He talks an' everything," observed Coffee in mild amazement. He inspected the mask again and painstakingly smashed the goggles. "Now, big boy, you take your chance with th' rest of us. What' you doin' around here?"
The prisoner set his teeth, though deathly pale, and did not reply.
"H'm-m...." said Coffee meditatively. "Let's take him in the pill-box an' let Loot'n't Madison tell us what to do with him."
They picked him up.
"No! No! For Gawd's sake, no!" cried the prisoner shrilly. "I just gassed it!"
The two halted. Coffee scratched his nose.
"Reckon he's lyin', Pete?" he asked.