Don saw the flicker.
As he started downward in a tight spiral, to keep close over the area and get lower, Garry spoke quickly.
“No, Don!” he objected. “Stay high, and go on away. Then we will climb higher and come back.”
Don took the ship out of the tight spiral, but turned his head inquiringly.
“It might be a lure!” Garry explained.
Don saw the logic of his chum’s reasoning: if the Demon, as he thought of that strange occupant of the helicopter, wished to draw them down into a trap, it—or he—would chose such a ruse.
Don, lifting the nose, soared away, climbing.
A mile away he banked around, and returned.
“There it is, again!” Garry, observing, indicated the flicker. It was more vivid than the intermittent glow of marsh gas which they saw in spots where rotted vegetation gave off its luminous aura.
“He is trying to lure us down, I’m sure,” Garry declared.