"No! No!"
Only the heavy sealed door, and this broken window. The bandits in the garden had paused at sight of me. Someone had called.
"He may be armed, De Boer."
They had stopped their forward rush and darted into the shelter of the pergola. I might be armed!
We could hear their low voices not ten feet from us. But I was not armed, except for my knife. Futile weapon, indeed.
"Jetta, keep back. If they should fire—"
got a look through the oval. De Boer was advancing upon it, with his barreled projector half levelled. He saw me again. He called:
"You American, come out!"