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The hour of siesta was not yet over, and the streets were still deserted probably the reason why the politicians of Todos Santos had chosen that hour for their half secret meeting.
The bubbles were equipped with lights, but they were seldom used. He outlined his plan swiftly. Both Santos and Dowst acknowledged. Koa reported in. "We’re after two more Connies near the wreck of the landing boat, sir." "Be careful. Pederson, go help Koa. Nunez, how are things at the cave?" "Nunez reporting, sir. Two Connies in sight, but they haven’t seen us yet."
"We'll stay under cover, except for Santos and Pederson. You two sneak out. Take advantage of every bit of cover you can find. I don't want you spotted. When a boat lands, report its position. The Connies operate on different communicator frequencies, so they won't overhear. We'll let them think they've burned the asteroid clean." He paused. "They'll search for a while.
He tried it, removed a slight irregularity with his torch, then said quietly, "Finished, sir." Rip took over. He slid the thorium-plutonium block into the tube, took a rocket head from Santos and used it to push the block in farther. When the rocket head was about four inches inside the tube, its wires trailing out, Rip called Kemp.
Constance looked up quickly. "But that is counterfeiting," she exclaimed. "No," rejoined Santos, "it is a war measure. We the provisional government merely coin our own money. Besides, it will not be done in this country. It will not come under your laws." There was a magnetism about the man that fascinated her, as he stood watching the effect of his words.
"Let me know when they spot the cave." "Yes, sir." "Santos, go ahead." For long moments there was silence. Rip felt for a solid foothold, found one, and flexed his knees. He kept his back straight and his eyes on the crater rim. His hands were occupied with two air bottles taken from his belt, and his thumbs were on their valve releases.
In 1901 Santos Dumont flew round the Eiffel Tower, travelling 6-3/4 miles in 1-1/2 hours, and in 1903 the flight of the "Lebaudy," covering a distance of 40 miles at a speed of 20 miles an hour, led the French military authorities to take up the question of airships.
"Ah, why!" echoed Santos, with a smile and a shake of the head; a suspicious tolerance, an ostentatious truce, upon his parchment face. And already he was sufficiently relieved to suck his cigarette alight again. "You know why," I said, trusting to bluff honesty with the one of them who was not rotten to the core: "because I still meant escaping." "And then what?" asked Rattray fiercely.
I finished on my legs, my back to the fire, my hands beating wildly together. I had told my dear Rattray of my own accord more than living man had extracted from me yet. He interrupted me very little; never once until I came to the murderous attack by Santos on the drunken steward. "The brute!" cried Rattray. "The cowardly, cruel, foreign devil! And you never let out one word of that!"
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