"Let me go! Jetta! Come out!"
De Boer dashed for the window. I was still struggling. A hand cuffed me in the face. A projector rammed into my side.
"Stop it, fool American!"
De Boer came back with a chastened bandit ahead of him. The man was muttering and rubbing his shoulder, and De Boer said:
"Try anything like that again, Cartner, and I won't be so easy on you."
De Boer was dragging Jetta, holding her by a wrist. She looked like a terrified, half-grown boy, so small was she beside this giant. But the woman's lines of her, and the long dark hair streaming about her white face and over her shoulders, were unmistakable.
"His daughter." De Boer was chuckling. "The little Jetta."
ll this had happened in certainly no more than five minutes. I realized that no alarm had been raised: the bandits had managed it all with reasonable quiet.