The Second Murray Leinster Megapack
that of the jungle all about, became suddenly a cosy and comfortable place.
    “Well?” said Paula quietly.
    Bell hesitated, and took a deep breath.
    “We’re stuck,” he said wryly. “We must have struck a snag or perhaps a rock, just under water. Half the bottom of the hull’s torn out. There’s no hope of repair. If I hadn’t given her the gun and beached her, we’d have sunk in mid-stream.”
    Paula said nothing.
    “Things are piling on us,” said Bell grimly. “In the morning I’ll try to make a raft. We can’t stay here indefinitely. I’ll hunt for maps and we’ll try to plan something out. But I’ll admit that this business worries me—the plane being smashed.”
    He passed his hand harassedly over his forehead. To have escaped from Rio was something, but since Paula had told him Ribiera’s plans, it was clearly but the most temporary of successes. Cabinet ministers are not so commonplace but that the scandalous and horrifying crime that was imputed to Bell and Paula would be printed in every foreign country. Newspapers in Tokio would include the supposed murder in their foreign news, and in Bucharest and even Constantinople it would merit a paragraph or two. Assuredly every South American country would discuss the matter editorially, even where The Master’s deputies did not order it published far and wide. There would be pictures of Bell and of Paula, labeled with an infamy. In every town of all Brazil their faces would be known, and those who were The Master’s slaves would hunt them desperately, and all honorable men would seek them for a crime. Even in America there would be no safety for them. The Trade does not exist, officially, and a member of the Trade must get out of trouble as he can. As an accused murderer, Bell would be arrested anywhere. As worse than a mere murderess, Paula.…
    She was watching his face.
    “This morning,” she said queerly, “you—you quoted ‘ Nil desperandum .’”
    Bell ground his teeth, and then managed to smile.
    “If I looked like I needed you say that,” he said coolly, “I deserve to be kicked. Let’s look for something to eat, and count up our resources. The thing to do is, when you fall down—bounce!”
    He managed a nearly genuine grin, then, and to his intense amazement, she sobbed suddenly and bent her head down and began to weep. He stared at her in stupefaction for an instant, then swore at himself for a fool. Her father.…
    * * * *
    Half an hour later he roused her as gently as he could. It was helplessness, as much as anything else, that had made him leave her alone; but a woman needs to weep now and then. And Paula assuredly had excuse.
    “Here’s a cup of coffee,” he said practically, “which you must drink. You can’t have had anything to eat all day. Have you?”
    That question had haunted him too. She had been a prisoner in Ribiera’s house for half an hour, possibly more. And Ribiera had in his possession, and used, a deadly, devilish poison from some unknown noxious plant. Its victim took the poison unknowingly, in a morsel of food or a glass of water or of wine. And for two weeks there was no sign of evil. And then the poison drove its victim swiftly mad—unless the antidote was obtained from Ribiera. And Ribiera administered the antidote with a further dose of poison.
    If Paula had eaten one scrap of food or drunk one drop of water while Ribiera’s captive.…
    She understood. She looked up suddenly, and read the awful anxiety in his eyes.
    “No. Nothing.” She caught her breath and steadied herself with an effort of the will. “I understand. You tried not to let me fear. But I ate nothing, touched nothing. I have not that to fear, at least.”
    “Drink this coffee,” said Bell, smiling. “Ribiera was a luxurious devil. There’s canned stuff and so on in a locker. He was prepared for a forced landing anywhere. Flares and rockets will do us no good, but there are a pair of machetes and a sporting rifle with

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