Their sputter heralded a trickle of pitchy, pungent black smoke; the tubes were such smoke-pots as are used by motion picture companies, and such as were used in the war, for fire scenes and smoke screens.
“Drop them—now!” cried Cliff. The three flung down their tubes and retreated; Bill and Mr. Whitley were at the door. Cliff lit another tube as Mr. Whitley reached to hasten the youths up the steps.
The crowd, seeing them move back a step, began to surge forward but the smoke began to pour up in a huge, spreading cloud. It spread in the slight breeze, blew into the eyes and throats of the soldiers and of the mob.
Coughing, choking, startled and awed, they fell back against those pressing forward. The smoke spread into a great fan, hiding the exit of the five; the only one who might have seen them was the Inca; but he was too busy picking himself up.
The smoke subsided. The crowd gasped.
Their quarry seemed to have disappeared as if by magic!
CHAPTER XXI
RATS IN A TRAP
“You meant well,” Bill panted, as they retreated into their antechamber. “Cliff, it was a splendid idea that you had. But——”
“With no door to barricade, we are no better off,” Cliff admitted. “They will soon discover that we came in here.”
“We are like rats in a trap!” said Tom. “Bill, next time you shoot off that pistol you will have to aim lower—or we will have to give up.”