nisms of wires carrying the transition current.
The transportation was possible because all the articles
they brought with them were of organic substance.

* * * * *

We worked swiftly and got the apparatus on somehow. The wires,
broken and awry, would not be noticed in the darkness.

"Ready, Don?"

"Yes. I--I guess so."

"I've got this light cylinder, but we don't know how to work it."

"Carry it openly in your hand. It adds to the disguise." There was a
note of triumph in Don's voice. "It's dark out there--only the green
glow. We'll pass for them, Bob, at a little distance anyway. Come
on."

We started out of the room. "You can hide your revolver in the
belt--there seems to be a pouch."

"Yes."

We passed noiselessly to the veranda. Over our bare feet we were
wearing a sort of woven buskin which fastened with wires to the
ankle disks.

"Keep together," Don whispered. "Take it slowly, but walk openly--no
hesitation."

My heart was pounding, seemingly in my throat, half-smothering me.
"Around the back corner of the house," I whispered. "Then into the
banana grove. Straighten."

"Yes. But not right among them. A little off to one side, passing by
as though we were on some errand."

"If they spot us?"

"Open fire. Cut and run for it. All we can do, Bob."

Side by side we walked slowly along the edge of the house. At the
back corner, the small banana grove opened before us. Twenty feet
away, under the spreading green leaves of the trees a dozen or so
men were working over apparatus. And in their center a group of
captive girls sat huddled on the ground. Men were passing back and
forth. At the edge of the trees, by the naked field, men seemed
preparing to serve a meal. There was a bustle of activity
everywhere; a babble of strange, subdued voices.

* * * * *

We were well under the trees now. Don, choosing our route, was
leading us to pass within ten or fifteen feet of where the girls
were sitting. It was dark here in the grove; the litter of rotted
leaves on the soft ground scrunched and swished under our tread.

There was light over by the girls. I stared at their huddled forms;
their white, terrified faces. Girls of Bermuda, all of them young,
all exceptionally pretty. I thought I recognized Eunice Arton. But
still it seemed that Jane was not here.... And I saw men seated
watchfully near them--men with cylinder weapons in thei