They talked, as well as they could for smoke, and looked at each other as well as they could for smarting eyes. It was not at all the conventional idea of romantic conversation, but it was probably a good deal more honest than most, because they both knew quite well that their chance of life was small. A plane whose motor was precariously patched, flying over a jungle without hope of a safe landing if that patched-up motor died, was bad enough. But with the three nearest nations subservient to The Master, whose deputy Ribiera was, and all those nations hunting them as soon as they were known to be yet alive.... "Would it not be wise, Charles," asked Paula wistfully, "just for us to try to escape, ourselves, and not try--" "Wise, perhaps," admitted Bell, "but I've got to strike a blow while I can." He was staring somberly at the little plane, fast upon a mud bank, with the tall green jungle all about. "The deputies and all their slaves have their lives hanging by a thread--the thread of a constant supply of the antidote to the poison that's administered with the antidote. The deputies--Ribiera, for instance--don't realize that. Else they wouldn't dare do the things they do. But let them realize that the thread can be broken, and what their slaves would do to them before they all went mad.... You see? Let them learn that a blow has been struck at the center of all the ghastly thing, and they'll be frightened. They'll be close to mutiny through sheer panic. And there may be slip-ups." * * * * * It was vague, perhaps, but it was true. The subjection of the poisoned men and women was due not only to terror of what would happen if they disobeyed the deputies, but to a belief that that thing would not happen if they did obey. If Bell could do enough damage to the _fazenda_ of The Master to shake the second belief, he would have shaken the whole conspiracy. And a conspiracy that is not a complete success is an utter failure. It was close to sunset when they heard a droning noise in the distance. Bell went swiftly to the cockpit of the plane and searched the sky. "Don't see it," he said grimly, "and it probably doesn't see us. We're all right, I suppose." But he was uneasy. The droning noise grew to a maximum and slowly died away again. It diminished to a distant muttering. "What say," said Bell suddenly, "we get aloft now? We'll follow that damned thing home. It's going from Asuncion to that place we want to find. This is on that route. Whoever's in it won't be looking behind, and it's close to darkness." * * * * * Paula stood up. "I am ready, Charles." Bell swung out on the floats and tugged at the prop. The motor caught and roared steadily. While it was warming up, he stripped off the rest of his shirt and tore it into wide strips, and tied the rags in the handles of the gasoline tins in the two cockpits.