"So pleased," hissed the yellow man after introductions were completed. "Have been hearing about your plan."
"Like it?" Sadie sounded unutterably bored as she surveyed her shining self in a mirror.
"Regrettably not." Schmidzu was not in the least bored as he undressed her with his slant eyes. "There is no substitute for honorable war."
"Too bad." The girl turned to Mike. "When do we start?"
In the dripping twilight ... that hour before ravening jitbugs make outdoor life impossible ... the scamour hunters poured out of the gates and into the softly-breathing jungle. Machetes in hand and Tommyguns slung across their shoulders, about a dozen of the commandant's guests spread out and moved forward warily. The chairman attached himself to Sadie and Frank as they advanced.
Mike's gardeners had done a fair job of weeding out the most dangerous plant-animals from the grounds. Nevertheless, their way was made dangerous by roots which snaked out to grasp their ankles and by sucker-lined branches which whipped at their throats.
They had progressed only a few hundred yards when Frank came upon a panting slave girl entangled in a mass of carnivorous vines. While the Japanese hissed disapproval, he defied the immutable laws of Wildoatia by cutting her free. She stared at him as if he had committed a crime and fled without a word of thanks.
"It is, shall we say, bad taste, to help Incors in distress," Schmidzu expostulated.
"You'd talk differently if you were in a jam," flashed Sadie.
"Beg to differ. I would never be in what you call a jam. See." He held out two gold-encrusted blades. "These Samurai swords. My honorable grandsire used them to defend Tokyo in second World War. Gods protect me through them."