The young man swung around, saw Vermeer boring down on him. The agent
had a poisoned needle gun in his hand. His temple was swollen, his eyes
furious. Scarcely three steps away he swung the needle gun up.
Norman heard the weapon _plop_ softly. At the same instant something
swished between him and the murderous dart gun. Jennifer, he realized,
had pulled the cloak from her bare shoulders, flung it between them.
He snatched the cloak, flipped it over Vermeer's head and shoulders.
His rush bowled the man over backwards. The dart gun dropped to the
pavement. Norman snatched it up just as Vermeer flung the cloak off his
head, sprang to his feet.
"Kill him!" shouted Koal. "Quick!"
Vermeer's face blanched. He turned, began to run back toward the slave
market, bent over, zig-zagging wildly.
Norman brought the dart gun up, then let it fall helplessly at his side.
"I can't do it," he said.
He picked up the cloak, started to return it to Jennifer. His eye lit
on a slender, three-cornered needle stuck halfway through the heavy
material. He pulled the poisoned dart out. One scratch from that deadly
missile would have killed him. The girl's instinctive action had saved
his life. He felt weak.
"I'm sorry for what I said, Jennifer."
"For heaven's sake," she cried; "apologize later, if you must, but give
me back my cloak now."